Butterscotch

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I'm no poet 

Unless you call cheap tumblr-esque writing poetry

I remember the girl who first told me I should become a writer

The same girl I told myself I would love forever

She was at some point my world

Ironically enough she's more of an awkward stranger now

Someone you engage in polite yet awkward conversation with

Directions are useless 

Point me in the right way I'll stumble backwards

Maps are a foreign language 

What I'm trying to say is that I'm lost

In more than one way

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