| I do remember writing this poem when I was 17. Just a little past my birthday. Apparently I was contemplating the world. |
| What does it mean to be the Same? The same chances. The same romances. The same rights. The same nights. The same days. The same ways. The same people say we are The same... And should be created equal. But those same people argue that we are different. What does it mean to be Different? Different races. Different paces. Different views. Different hues. Different faces. Different places. How can we be so different, when we are so similar? |
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