North Pole

Are you ever a sugar cube? Sweet and square and packaged quite nicely, not a piece of you out of place. Are you ever mashed potatoes? Everywhere, messy, and illogical. Are you ever a jet plane? Metal streaking through the air at alarming speeds? I am the sugar cube mashed potato jet plane. I am the submarine that keeps beneath the surface, and I am the neon green yacht that screams and sings pop songs. I am both the spinal fluid and the spine. I am a cinnamon bun. I am a penguin. 

But most of all, I am the North Pole. I am on top. I refuse to melt into oblivion. I remain relevant, mysterious, seen yet invisible. I will fly across the earth in my metaphorical red sleigh, laughing merrily as I drop joy from the sky. I am the North Pole. I am so free. 

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