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jess-t
jess-t
American i write for fun. creativity & originality are refreshing to me.
The party had been over for a month And the balloons remained. Lifeless, lying on the floor; Half filled, And half as bright as they once were. As she cut each, old balloon Covered in dust and crumbs, She felt her Mother’s breath leave each rubber covering As she pricked the latex with an overused, dull scissor. The air did not escape quickly, As the original material was stretched out, But long and labored was each balloon’s Last exhale.
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Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 9:40 PM UTC
last exhale
Invincible-young, Running through the pages Like the book will never end. Muscles never sore, Chest never tight, With breathless, lightheadedness. Free like a beast from his cage, On a warm spring day, For the first time in a decade. Sprinting till the crowd is in sight, Embraced and lifted on their shoulders, Welcomed to the next stage, Grown, we now must be.
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May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 2:20 PM UTC
we now must be
Given everything Since her first day in the womb, She never had to work for anything. Beauty, brains. When she performed, Folks gathered Regardless of the venue. One day she lost control, And that’s when she realized she had nothing. Worked for nothing. Presented with gifts of gold, and silver, She barely wrote her fans a simple card in return. Motivation, A fleeting word, Retired from her vocabulary. I hope she finds it again, Because I quite fancy her.
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Mar 26, 2013
Mar 26, 2013 at 9:43 AM UTC
fancy her
Sleeping on the floor Same clothes on. Night before, How many juices of the gods did you imbibe? Still feeling its heroic effects. Night filled with swirling, incomplete memories Shared by your soldiers at your side. Some may say we fight too hard, And too often. We say we fight because we are obligated, And, to guard our youth For one more week.
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Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 12:02 PM UTC
us, soldiers
I don’t know what it meant then, And I don’t know what it means now, But in that moment, He wanted to kiss me; And I did not oppose.
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Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 9:19 AM UTC
I don't know
The Crowd’s all laughing Wrapped around the bar Smiling big, throwing heads back Like it’s their first drink. One more shot- C’mon, someone will cover you. Drive away, glistening eyes. Smirks to the night sky Spin me round, till I forget my name. Thursday night, I’d like to dedicate you to the freezing cold And your amicable stars.
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Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 12:08 PM UTC
the dedication
The love cantor sings in streets and bars. She sends her voice to foreign stars. And when a couple falls in love, Her heart strings get a little tug. For she sings of affection and bliss, Her only prayer is for a kiss. One of truth, forever a hand, She searches for love in such a man.
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Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 1:17 AM UTC
the love cantor
Every picture found Every memory had Every smile that was seen, Has melted into dishonest wax. Every tear; Is one of those Pictures, or memories, or smiles, Burning down and melding Into something, Unrecognizable To the candle lover. When all the tears Stop, The past will vanish. And all that will remain, Is a mis-constructed wax figure, That no longer recognizes His face nor his footprint.
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Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 4:31 PM UTC
wax footprint
They bless the rings Then say “kiss the bride.” Smile out of the church, With sun beams filtered. Trusting your hand To a stranger in shiny shoes And neatly combed hair. Heart thrown to the wolves, In return for weightless, Messy-haired affection.
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Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 1:55 AM UTC
messy-haired
Sitting at her desk The quill to the paper. She wrote viscously, As she was urged. Drip, Of blood fell from her nostril. Every once in while A high pitched shrill Could be heard from the hall. A small area of the window pane Was not covered by drape. Peering out, a porcelain girl Was there. Dancing. In the sun, as if she was the leader Of the orchestra. Writing as she bled, She glared through the minute hole, Mesmerized by the movement. --Freedom of body. The blood poured now, Like a stream. Wiping it on her dark sleeve, She continued; Blurry-eyed now. As the dancer leaped to her partner, The pen-slave collapsed on the pad. Her quill continued by her spirit, and captured each detail of the dance.
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May 7, 2012
May 7, 2012 at 11:09 PM UTC
detail of the blood-dance