' ' 'life' 'family' 'childhood' 'home' 'love' 'growing up'
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in a walgreens in a college town
a boy wearing that scent walked by
suddenly I’m little again
I want to go back in time
when I used to be free from cares
and Mother would hold me close.
I remember when we came
to that brand new world, America,
that sang of hope and freedom.
I grew up with a promise
Promise that was supposed to make me happy
My mother promised me that she would never let anyone hurt me
But like a broken mirror, that promise shattered
As a child, I too had trauma and adult responsibilities
I too, slept in my car wondering when I would eat
I too, had dreams of helping others
while learning to love myself
I too, worked hard to stand up
To understand your future
You must dig into your past
Dig deeply
To the moments that made you
To understand your future
You must dig into your past
Dig deeply
To the moments that made you
You're gone.
I can't help but feel the pain,
The excruciating never ending pain.
A single tear left my eye
And that was our final goodbye.
People say that grief is easy to get through,
to think he made himselfwithout the helpof an Olympian Godwho molded men from clay. nor did he risefrom bone and ashor the fires of Hell. he did not comefrom the seawith a pod of vengeful whalesfor an army. he was not bornholding a silver spoonor
Boomon is a two-year old.
He smiles when he is happy
and when he is sad,
God help you and your ears
if you are around
when he is sad.
He loves who he loves,
and shows it when he feels like.
Is my life traced? Are the patterns already there to let me be free? Is there already a thought before a thought? Staring into the universe I ask myself am I traced?
texas,don.,g,nutt59,poem.tha,don,tha don the power the life the cars the star the hoods the creep tires burning rubber heat sound gunplay bulletts explode the richochet boom sound of the mausberg 12.gauge the pump shotgun street sweep the sound th
Dear time,
Take me home,
No, I don't long the building I used to live in,
I miss the ground where I injured my leg,
Cycling on the broken road.
eighteen years.
that's how long i've been breathing.
eighteen months.
that's how long i've been thrashing.
eighteen weeks.
that's how long i've been thinking.