at twenty, my mind loses its rhythm.
at nineteen, i'm boiled to perfection
and at eighteen, I'm in the real world.
My head feels so bombarded, I cry.
nobody's perfect. by Jessie J.
I am intertwined with a cycle called life. We fall, we crawl then we fly! It's the same old story. Join me as I surrender everything and just be the plain outkast that I am.
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