Posts
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Because The Monster Writes Poetry
The Monster is massive
with fangs and with claws
all lacquered and sharpened
sticking out from its jaws
The Monster is ghoulish
with deep, sunken eyes
it speaks whispers of wicked
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To Be A Poem
If to be a sonnet is to be vain, then to be a sonnet is to be a friend.
If to be a limerick is to be laughed at, then to be a limerick is to be a child.
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To My Teenage Self
i know you've noticed.
the change in your eyes,
like they used to be bluer.
i know you've noticed
that something's missing from the sky,
like it's gone grayer.
i know you long for me,
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autobiography
her hands are chapped and raw from anxiously
peeling away her skin
so she goes through every fidget she can find
and wears them down until they break.
her lips and nose are red and cracked
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Winter Sunsets
you used to love the snow and ice
the dark and stormy winter nights
December's magic festive glow
now seems many years ago.
you crave the warmth of summer's kiss
let sunlight bring you back to bliss
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Lost in Time
I'll find you in the golden hour
I see your eyes in the trees
when the world, for an hour, is rimmed with glow
I'll look for you in the leaves.
I'll find you in the pink hour