Jul 14
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Smiling at Strangers

Jun 25
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Mother Says

May 04
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The Crave of Music


My lips still crave the enchanting land of the smiling face of the songs that sound like gold. My body shakes with new rhythm of an old song. Understanding isn’t something that may come to me easily but with the musical words I make no mistake. Piano keys, microphones, and blank paper are the planets to my empty galaxy of stars, they shall never dim. Just like dimples magic only happens when you smile. It feeds off the laughter at parties, or even to calm the tightened muscles of an angry jaw. I can feel the musical strings such as a guitar, replacing the nerves in my legs, arms, and face. It’s in my blood and it keeps me warm in times when im cold.
 
May 04
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For the screen in the Sky.

For the Screen of the sky, am awake for the static it brings. My mind is awake for it always has been. Just like the sky I can relate to the static in my head. Being awake isn’t bad for I watch, my eyes never close, but for I always have the noise of static in my presents. My TV plays on repeat daring me to forget its words watering in its mouth, as I forget my mind is drifting to sleep. The bitter words of the characters on TV leaves a taste of admiration, so my mind plays the static once more.  

 
May 04
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For the screen in the Sky.

For the Screen of the sky, am awake for the static it brings. My mind is awake for it always has been. Just like the sky I can relate to the static in my head. Being awake isn’t bad for I watch, my eyes never close, but for I always have the noise of static in my presents. My TV plays on repeat daring me to forget its words watering in its mouth, as I forget my mind is drifting to sleep. The bitter words of the characters on TV leaves a taste of admiration, so my mind plays the static once more.  

 
Apr 24
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My brain and survival

Apr 09
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Genesis 2.0


Genesis 2.0
Hair as dirty as blonde, soft as sight. Complimented and as spoken as her glasses, purple and petit. Eyes of the river, song of the rhythm, her eyes speak as fluent as her mouth. Her bones infused with the very soul of her thought, swift, silent, but her body is loud, no not as a voice but as a metaphor, her body’s spirits are loud when it comes to choice. See her with paper, and shell blow you away as her dragons, ghouls, fowls, and blood is escaping her veins, paper is her veins. Dragons or fire, dragons of fur, hooves, and caves. Her 11:11 wishes are as strange, as ice, solid but slippery, strange but nice. Her path of weapon is not through swords and bows, but through staring and pens, she will kill you with the colors of her mind and the 
Apr 03
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White Flag

White flag
Surrender. The end of a fight, but the beginning of a long recovery. The cloth of the wind and the dirt under your feet. The final thing, a final thing, not many people see. Giving up. Letting go of the fear of death. The black crow is finally put to rest. The person rising the flag, only with sweat and tears, not of his hand. Done. Done with blood. Done with being done. White flag a sign of relief and concur.
White flag

 
Mar 23
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Florida shooting 10:00 walkout

10:00
10:00 was not about a rebellious act.
It was not for laugher.
It was not for the sake of missing class.
It was not to boil ones blood.
It was not for a lost cause.
It was not for an angry eyebrow.
But, I can tell you what it was about.
It was about a bullet. A child. A gasp. An incomplete high school diploma.
It was about the last memory. A final hug. A bitter pill to swallow.
It was for him. For her. For them.
It was for a voice that has hushed. For An intercom which is now broken.
It was for the heart of a broken mother.
It was for the phone call that shattered a family tree.
17 precious moments for a life time of scars, guilt, and broken glass.
So please fix the damn door, get a button that saves a life, and get a better drill of safety.

Or one of your kids in your class room, could be the kid dragged away in a body bag… and all you can do is watch, and regret everything you didn’t do.
Mar 09
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Sunrise


Sunrise.
Breathe, breathe you’re alone,
no one to judge, no one to make your teeth grind like a tool.
No one.
You may open your page like eyes and show the sun your words.
Sip your coffee, it will get cold.
See, look at the rising sun. Look at the orange and how it melts into the yellow,
red, orange, yellow, pink.
Look at its beautiful eyes, it gives not warmth but song.
No it may not sing, but it may talk through the birds,
song of the birds.
It is starting to die.
Wave it goodbye, but it may keep a promise.
It will fill your eyes with words you lack and sounds you crave.
It will be back tomorrow.
Wait for me. I'm coming back.
 
 

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