Posts
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Woodga Look at that!
Woodga look at that!
And that! Over there?
Golden colors everywhere,
and this time no, its not a blur
I see each leaf and flower curve.
And wow! See that?
A street sign- far
And next to that a cadilac car! -
LYAAF
Thank you.
I needed that today.
Whatever that was.
The laugh, the tease, the game, the tea.
I needed all of it.
I really needed you. And you were there.
Don't get me wrong, you never fail to drive me crazy, -
I Am NOT Afraid Of The Dark!
I am NOT scared of the dark.
The soupy inky blackness hardly phases me.
Monsters under the bed?
Pu-lease
Creepy spiders in the covers?
Borr-ing
Electric tentacles of death swooping inside -
The First Last Time
Please don't say this is the last time,
Even if it is. Don't speak it.
I've tried my best not to cry and laugh at the same time
Of how ironic it is, that we experience the last first time only once. -
A Good Safe Place
Inspired by a quote from A Thousand Splendid Suns
Oh the places I will take you that always wished to go
Oh the wonders I will give you that you didn’t want to know, -
This, Is Why I Write
I write because my tongue is too tired to speak. I write because somethings are easier to say if their shaped in ink. I write because I want to say the things that are hard to say. I write because sometimes you don't listen.
Loves
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Spooky Season
When the air is crisp,
with a chilly breeze,
fall puts a spell on me.
The leaves fall in a wisp,
as an artist weaves-
a portrait of the fiery sea.
Though, it’s not February,
love seeps through the air.
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The Orchestra of Fall
Autumn leaves flutter around my head,
The color popping in the chilly,
Swirling air.
The veins stretch out,
Delicate within the leaves.
They connect,
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autumn's embrace
as fall starts rolling in
and summer slows to a stop
i like to imagine many things,
everything, nonstop
i imagine the sweet, sweet song of hooting owls after dark
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Things to remember, pt. 1
You are not a number.
You are not a letter.
You are not something that can be
measured
on a scale
with a beginning -
My Childhood Home
My childhood home is filled with plants,
plants that we never water
but are somehow still alive.
Its island is littered with junk mail,
different types of olive oil,
stray flakes of salt,
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Thoughts after the fair
I’ve never enjoyed the feeling of being sick to your stomach on a fair ride. Maybe I just don’t have the iron-willed intestines that all of my friends seem to have, because I get sick from going on the teacups at a normal speed.