Posts
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Brotherly Love
*warning: includes scences not for younger views. envolves mistreatment*
Try and imagine this as a movie scene, with all the upclose camera shots, dramatic music, and made up actores of your choice
INT: Aaron's Bed Room. -
After the PArty
I guess I missed the party.
Again.
As soon as I free up some time to come-
Everyone has long gone.
They leave me things.
Cups, chips, a slice of cake.
And I thank them for that
But i'm not supprised the lights are out -
Homewards
Though straying from your path
Maybe into woods unknown
maybe into waters cold
perhaps down the side of a mountian
or shot into a water fountian.
though straying far from path so true
and lying down in muck or dew -
Thank you for your bullying
Thank you.
Seriously, thanks a lot.
Thank you for making me feel like a fool.
Truly, my day would not have been complete without that comment.
Thanks for making my cheeks turn red -
Mrs. Nobody yet
There is that same girl
dressed in black. who sits by her locker.
Quite.
Pensive? Hurting? Board?
walking with knees to high
head down, bangs always in her face
Does she have eyebrows?
How shall i know? -
Of Course its Cold!
Of course its cold!
I mean, why wouldn't it be at this point?
I should have known, it should have been expected.
Time to get out them winter boots
Time to find them winter coats
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.