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Life seems simpler when you believe it's already marred,
No need for caution, no fear of scars.
Like staring at a pristine canvas, blank and white,
Afraid one wrong stroke will blemish its light.
So pristine, it intimidates to even begin,
Frozen in perfection, unable to spin.
But imperfections color our tale,
Each stroke a story, in every detail.
Embrace the canvas, flaws and all,
For perfection's myth, imperfections call.
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