Posts
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My City, My City
My city, my city
It takes many forms
In people and plants
Vines and beggars
Angry men and sour women
The worst of the best people
And the best of the worst
Poets and great minds
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A Boy And His Fists
A boy is quick with anger
With charm, he uses force
On anything that breathes
Anything that has a pulse
But this boy is amazing
He's kind and uses words
His poetic touch, how he thinks too much,
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Fall Romantics
Little red leaves organize scattered on the ground in geometric patterns we fail to recognize
Except me, of course.
I love fall more that I love myself
"Don't murder the flow, the stream, the book, or the poet."
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A Boy And His Fists
A boy is quick with anger
With charm, he uses force
On anything that breathes
Anything that has a pulse
But this boy is amazing
He's kind and uses words
His poetic touch, how he thinks too much,
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My Mind and Rivers Flowing
My steps across this long, rugged road are uniform and absolute
My face, a complex blend of remorse and discomfort, does her best to morph and mold into something approachable
But this walk, this hike, this trek
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I Despise Annotation
I despise annotating in my books and in my notes
It takes away from the beauty of the page
It's confusing and maiming and hurts the book
And it hurts me deeply
Too many shapes and writings to follow