Posts
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The boys in my class
The agony of the human race
simple creatures
snickering at my poetry
banging their fists against their heads
stalling work
reading mushy parts of books they pretend not to enjoy
saying stupid things
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Sleigh ride
Just hear those sleigh bells jingling, ring tingle tingling too
F F F F F G F-D Bb C D C-A G F-
imitating the human voice with instruments
percussion back there repeatedly hitting the sleigh bells
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Family
I showed my grandmother my keyboard
she took six years' of lessons when she was younger.
Her fingers found the keys -
she could still read -
just enough
just a little.
I pulled out my flute-piano duet book
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First kiss
You cared;
I tried to.
You did;
I thought I did.
I wanted so badly
to be a character in my books
and to feel longing
to feel needing
to feel love and to
be loved
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The thing is
The thing is,
I can't get over it.
It sticks in my memory
unforgettable
and I want it
but I know it was just
subconscious dreamland.
It was old
-
Future fantasy
I dreamt
it was next year
everyone I loved was there
tall chairs
light work
not reality
everyone
perfect
I woke up and I felt his love
butterfly wings against my cheek
Loves
-
blueberry pancakes
the last time i ate
was this morning
blueberry pancakes
warm
the smell of cinnamon
wafting from them
i ate a bite
then stopped
i imagine
ten year old me
running to the table
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love
what is it?
i've always found it
confusing
why
are we tied to
one person
only
why
is romantic love
more important
than friendship
why
do i push people away
yet long
-
I want to LIVE
I want to live,
I want to hear a million songs and dance in the rain,
I want to kiss and make love,
I want to see the world from every angle,
meet people that I will love and ones I won't,
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ode for the girls in seventh grade
you’re perfect.
all of you.
and i don’t need to say more
but i will
because i want to write about every one of you
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"perfect."
I pick at my face
on a daily basis.
Rub my fingers over
my acne scars and oily skin,
every unwanted mark
that supposedly makes
me beautiful.
I try to convince myself
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nightingales
We hold hands and they call us lovebirds,
But they are too colorful and noticeable,
Not nearly strong enough as your grip,
As your hands around my waist,
Keeping me from falling (but it's already too late.)