Posts
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The Misplaced Eight, Book 1: Prologue
Saturday, July 17th, 1954: 1:10pm
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the end
like the small itch before the writhing pain,
humidity before the hurricane,
the end is coming
there’s no use running
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family heirloom
a fragile family heirloom
for which no one seems to care
a quickly passing phantom
you’re not sure it was ever even there
a million cracks in the glass
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false and fact
I don’t know what I should think anymore
you left me standing out on the dance floor
with the best of intentions I go back
finding no difference between false and fact
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symphony
why does your sympathy
sound like a symphony
that I don’t want to hear?
that hidden part of me
sounds like a harmony
that I can’t even bear
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a beautiful day to say goodbye
the waves lapped up on the shore
your arms wrap me up, I’m secure
we’re ignored by the seagulls
to them, we’re just more people
and did you think that day
Loves
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Last Day of School
I wrote this poem about a month ago, and I recited it at Fifth Grade Night on Wednesday, June 12, and just this morning at my graduation.