Aug 12
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A Love Letter To My Bedroom

My dearest darling, 
My most beloved chamber, how my heart aches at the words that I have to say to you now. I am behind a veil of tears as I think of our nearing separation. It is you that have been close by my side all these long eight years, you who hath raised me alone in the comfort of your insulated embrace. I still remember when I first met you, a child of seven years, eyeing your vintage 50's floral wallpaper and sea-foam green carpet. Stuck to your hardy, pale walls and auburn floorboards since birth. 
Aug 17
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A Summer Faded

A summer came and passed by fast. 
Leaving nothing but empty mass. 
In colors of orange and red and gold,
 will mark colors of death as summer foretold. 
Gone away are fire lit nights, 
The sweet sent of midday rain, 
the pretty sights of morning twilights. 

The sweetest flowers once bloomed in your wake, 
Lilac, 
Daisy, 
and Sunflowers,
now leave not an earthly trace. 
Summer's beauty, you may take,
but you can't sow a field with yellow lace.

They say all stars burn out eventually, 
so is true of summer stars. 
They bloom and flourish right in your hand, 
then disappear to a far off land. 
Demands are made and promises kept,  
will you soon sing again? 

Shall spring never compare to thy lighter brest? 
Will the deers still prance and birds still sing, 
under winter's turbulent test? 
Or must they wait again for you? 
Aug 01
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Deleted

May 12
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A Letter for Me Ten Years From Now


​What is it like to live by yourself (At least I assume you do)?
​Is it like the freedom you craved when you were fourteen? 
​Did you ever find that perfect escape? Were you finally able to runaway for good? 
Where do you live? 
​When you were fourteen, you wanted to move away to Europe (Preferably The Netherlands or the UK) 
You wanted to live in one of those hipstery towns with coffee shops and fancy apartment buildings. 
When you were fourteen, you wanted to travel the world. 
​If you're reading this, I assume you're twenty-four. 
​You probably haven't gotten that far, but have you see more than Canada? 
If you have, is it as beautiful as we thought it would be? 

​Do you still write? 
​When you were fourteen, you wanted to write for a living. 
I knew that would be some time before that could happen. 
​Have been writing out more drafts? 
​Which brings this question, what do you do for a living? 
Apr 08
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Take Me Home

Take me home. 
Oh breath of wind and song of bird, 
​take me back to the land I yearn for.
For long have I traveled this winding path. 
​The oceans I sailed, the deserts I've crossed.
​Forevermore have I see the wrinkled, ancient faces of man. 
​I have seen each rain and storm.
Each grain of sand a speck of dirt.
Evermore, did I see the pain. 
The war that tore us all apart 
Destroyed each lively breath.
The blood stained shirts and opened chests. 
​The broken families, the weeping children. 
​The husbandless wives and departed lovers.

Take me home. 
Back to the land of yesterday. 
The land of my boyhood and my land of paradise. 
​Oh ye, of blinded fate and darkened hood, 
take me back to the land I know. 
​The world I remember. 
​The world l know is there.
Beyond the shadows and the thorns of briars. 
​Oh, take me me back!
Feb 15
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NoT CLiCkBaITe (Vermont Writes day)


YouTuobe and other sites such as Washenonpoast and NeW Yok times have recently been useing clickbair for atricals and people are cleeking like a moths to a felted flam. ThIS has been souch a problem that PEEPple have started to noTIVE. From Jak Pull's Deed bomy in Suiteside forest, to Pronagraphic images in YaTub tumbnails to attract veiws. Thees isss an abomnation! Hwo could we subjeect our cheeldren to such trickery? MY soon TEEMy has recently deeesscovered PewPiDie. HEe is thee most vullgar man I have evvvener heard! How could wee let our children be corrupted by such dirty language?! 
Sometimes, I wish my husband Den ISs would come home. That jerks always out weeth hisis freinds. my housband is a jerk annnyyway. Meybe I shouk divorse hem. What do you guys thiink? Commen below. 
That is itt. 
Jan 27
eulusivepurplepanda's picture

The Troubles With Living Inside Your Head

No one will ever understand. 
No one understands the worlds you've created, the planets you've moved. 
​All without ever leaving your room. 
​No one knows the things you've seen and places you've gone.
You could never tell anyone of these places.
​For fear of looking silly or never being able to truly describe it.  

You go into your head often.
In the middle of class, in a boring conversation. 
Sometimes at random when you least expect it.
Or whenever a thought jumps into you're mind. 

​That's another thing.
 Sometimes, the thoughts will consume you. 
​Envelop you in their madness and suggestions.
Sometimes, take over your entire day. 
​That's what you will cling on to. 
​The little ideas and unfinished poems that fill your head. 
That's what you hear when you lay alone in bed. 
A thousand thoughts competing for a chance to be written or transposed into art. 
Jan 15
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Acceptable- an open letter to the president




Dear Mr. Trump, 

​Well, here we are again! I've come to complain. A white, middle class, teenage girl. Writing to you: An orange, 1%, seventy-year-old man who also happens to be my President. 
​Here we go. 

George Washington owned slaves. He was publicly excused because he helped found the country and was a gentleman. 
Though I, and most others are still mad about the slaves, we still study him in school.
Abraham Lincoln signed an act to imprison Civil War protesters. That was excused because he ended slavery.
John F. Kennedy authorized, then blotched the Bay of Pigs invasion in Cuba. That was excused because he died a martyr.

​But you sir, are neither a gentleman, a founder, nor have you done anything to liberate anyone. 
​You gave a woman hush money to stay silent about a private love affair. 
Jan 06
poem 0 comments challenge: Forest
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Passive

I ran away to you. 
In hope you would guide me. 
​I ran to you because I couldn't make a decision. 
My heart had raced, my brain was scattered. 
​You were my only option.
The Forest.

I find myself coming to you often now.
I apologize for that.
​I run and hide within your limbs and twisted leaves. 
Because it's so much easier to run and hide,
then make a quick decision. 
The deeper I go, the denser the Forest gets.

They ask where I've disappeared. 
​I tell them "I don't know"
​Yes is so much easier than no. 
​Because no needs an explanation. 
Silence is so much louder.
And don't have a voice.

The deeper I travel in your keep,
​the more lost I feel and become. 
​I can't turn back because I don't know how. 
​I've buried my thoughts and dreams deep beneath you're soil.
​You responded with quiet.

​When I yelled for help, nobody heard. 
Dec 10
eulusivepurplepanda's picture

You, Me, and an Open Grave

I prayed this day would never come.
​The day I said good bye.
You were my life.
My love.
My drive. 
I thought we were okay. 
You promised me you were okay.
I tired my best to keep you safe. 
Yet, you took the gun.
​I never saw you again.

​A suicide they said. 
A body found in the middle of the woods.
At first a missing persons case, now a tragic death.
I knew we were both broken.
​But that's what made us whole.
​You stitched me together, all my imperfections made perfect by your touch. 
​You healed my heart with every embrace. 
You made me believe again.

​Now you leave me here, alone and shattered. 
​My heart left in this grave. 
​If I could just have gotten one more day,
One more day. 

You promised you were fine. 
​You promised you would talk to me!
You promised you would get help!

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