things my mother taught me - I

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some mornings

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beautiful

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you're an ocean inside me

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well-woman

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we were not so poor then

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I should have dated losers

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you are a poem

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love left, III

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love left, I

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love left, II

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hate is hot coals on cold nights

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love is a warm blanket for cold days

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lust is a hot knife through hard ice

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scar

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enough

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journey

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sobriety

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