I got the feeling that this might be a bad poem.
Perhaps it was the traffic,
or trying to find Sandy,
navigating the lights,
making a turn,
and I can't park there,
while trying to explain why I understood,
but also refused to accept,
where I stood in her priority list,
as my passenger,
and reader,
it must have been frustrating,
to watch me casually brick, by brick,
throw them at you
while also trying to buy chocolates.
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