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They told me about you. You always came to me in the end. The end. “Keep writing poetry, Erin,” my Literature teacher told me At the end of the fall semester. The end.
Hey little me, I know that nothing has been okay, and I know that you're afraid. I know that you're alone. I know that all of the scrapes and bruises they are nothing compared to what can't be seen.
walking through hallways of deceased childhoods and wet pillowcases where little boys and girls couldn’t find protection in their own homes their lips cold
I miss the random trips, When girls came trashy and liquor came cheap. When it rained weed and laughter came easy. When dictionaries lacked words like “free” but had words like “crazy” in plenty.
My stage is made of concrete. My audience is the stars. My play is called Life, and it just became funny. I sit backstage right, the audience has a full view of my profile and I light a cigarette.
I miss the world I once knew.
When night comes and all is quite, the amount of thoughts that run through my head are countless. Thoughts of things that were done or said that shouldn't have been done or said.Things that should have been and things to come.
There are times I scream out to the stars, Thinking of you and all these times, so hard.
I could spend forever day drea
Sometimes thoughts fall in my mind and knock me off my feet and I'm afraid that one day I will not be able to lay bricks around my legs and build myself back up again.
I hate cancer My mom throwing up everywhere, everynight Two years of this and still I'm tight Feeling of sadness Thinking is she going to make it through the night.
I miss the green. I miss the sweet sound of fresh fruits Falling straight from its' trees. I miss the roaring laughter of my family As we reminisce on childhood memories.
The beginningThe beginning of my failure; where I come up short before that bar that says I’m strong enough to be called a man.I saw her face and my heart raced as I stood in place and stared at her for a while
Staring at her past self Evaporated Dreams Waistline Increased Color Dimmed Snapshots of happiness Endless Sunny Skies Playful Fights Summertime How old was she?
I remember him
I'm lost in blue underneath this waining moon, Just thinking of you and all the thoughts pool, Wishing I could see through, All the insanity I let you go through, And let it go.
Dark, fresh, drowsy excitement Before the sun could greet us Threatened not to make a fuss Our little clan with all intent To pack and leave as all discussed And migrate to the family bus
A little marble Found by a young boy on the stairs Interest is found for a little while Then, not lost, The interest diffuses But the boy still keeps it On his desk
Swimming in white mist, It’s hard to move, But so raw, Finally uncovered from the black, Laughter turns to pain, From the chest expanding to contracting Inside itself, Heavy, And tears
The trees, hid her from everyone around The water, flowed beneath her tiny feet For nothing more beautiful could astound Like the pleasant river beyond the street,
Dedicated to my father I live on this Old Farm, a Farm that seems to have lost all of its Value.... No cows graze Here, there's no clucking or feathers, or the fresh smell of manure.