Posts
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Little Musicians
The beginners of the beat,
Just learning the ropes,
Figuring out their instruments -
They come in,
Wide-eyed,
And regard the older kids
With awe.
I love to be looked at this way
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Anything, Everything
I write a lot of stuff
About my friends.
I write a lot of stuff
About anything,
Everything,
Under the sun I could
Possibly dream up or
Imagine.
But you?
Somehow
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What if?
What if I never find it?
What if all of this is for nothing?
I've been hurt by caring before.
It's easier not to...but it's been a freedom for me.
I don't want to give that up.
I want to take the next step.
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Amongst the clover
Here you lie,
Upon the grass,
Clover disguising your fragile body.
Far away from your nest and kin,
How did you get here?
Ruining your innocence
Ruining mine
Comes the wheel -
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When
When I find
That maybe I don't love it anymore -
When I lost the spark
When I realized
I don't really care
If I make it,
Or don't -
It scares me.
I wander around at practice,
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A field of dandelions
Walking through a field of dandelions
Clinging to my wish,
Clutched in one hand,
Wondering what on earth
I could possibly ask this field of dandelions for.
Should I ask
Loves
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Vulnerable
At school
we're doing a poetry unit.
"Oh cool, we write poetry all the time!"
My friend says.
What we didn't realize, though,
was that the teacher turned on the tap
to our inner selves
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An Idea
It is started by a piece of paper
written in blue pen ink
smeared as it is folded twice
passed to a friend.
Purple marker replies to blue pen
folded up the same way as before;
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You and me
You and me, hand in hand like always. From the moment I met you, I’ve felt safe and I can’t really explain why. Maybe it’s the way your whole face smiles when I round the corner, maybe it’s the way we are always laughing.
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How Could One Love So Hard?
“How could you ever love me?” she asked.
Look at my skin, charred.
My face, scarred.
My body, branded by people’s opinions of me.
“How could you ever love me?”
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Identity Crisis
How am I supposed to know
what love is like
when I'm questioning love itself
when I'm questioning me
the world
this point in time that has
rubbed the fear
frustration
anxiety
into my skin
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Crave
I crave physical touch,
I need to feel skin to skin,
I need to be felt,
I crave something I hate.
I've never liked hugs or the feeling of someone touching me,