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natt-rozanska
English
I know I'm ******* But you're ******* too And I quite like that.
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Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 5:44 AM UTC
A Pragmatist's Love Poem
No one leant me shoes The day I met you So I have no one to blame But myself I don't think the shoes were really important They just made me an inch or two taller And gave me farther to fall
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Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 5:43 AM UTC
more than enough
you always wanted to give a girl a heart shaped lollipop it's endearing, you say as a child i always wanted a boy to give me a heart shaped lollipop so you do it now and it's not the same as we both laugh and i use the stick to poke down the spliff
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Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 5:41 AM UTC
flowers and rainbows and insects and planets
i walked up the drive, and was reminded of how little attention i actually paid to the place when i had the luxury of being there. i never walked the drive, far too lazy. just twice, once there, once back, two separate occasions. both at night, both with company. i debated hitchhiking, still lazy. i picked someone up once. a third year choreographer. she was late for a tutorial and smelt of alcohol. everyone i walk past has grey hair. i look out of time. two years late. there's no room now for an art student with a suitcase. i walked the halls again, because the door was propped open, framed with familiar white handprints, that fit comfortably under mine. it smelt just as i remembered, musty, and comforting. with the paint still peeling on the stair rail, from where we'd sat for hours, pulling it off in strips. i wrote a letter to my room. the room in which i fell in love, lost my mind, and changed my life. it's just a room. just a place, a space. but so much was shared, with the air in there. and i can't explain the relief that it isn't in rubble. i hitch hiked back, or i'd have missed my train. a lovely man picked me up, and i felt the drive from a car, how i remembered it. we talked about the place, about it what it did. he was as upset as i was. he was the type of person i'd forgotten existed. someone who wasn't one of us, but understood our loss. a stranger on the street who felt what i felt.
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Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 5:40 AM UTC
past
Because you have this way Of looking at me That makes eveything else Fall away. How can I exist alone, Or with anyone else, When you have the abilty To do that? You have to promise Only to look at me Without recognition, Without revealing anything, And I'll stop asking questions Without saying anything.
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Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 5:38 AM UTC
Reserved
So many times, You fell asleep on my bed, At noon, or by night, And I sat beside you, Rolling a joint, And everything Was. A company felt In the imitations of Immortality A distraction, A perfect waste of time.
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Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 5:37 AM UTC
While Rome Burns
It doesn't matter when we met. There's no point in starting there, It wasn't our remarkable day. There was so much else to distract me From noticing such bright blue eyes. We exchanged words on stairs, Words I've since forgotten. The ground didn't shake, Time didn't stop, There was no spark yet. The spark came the moment your hand Rested on my knee, Caught in a laugh, That moment you found me looking at the sky And draped an arm round my shoulder, Or even before when we shared a bench Under a blanket of shooting stars, That's when the air started humming.
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Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 5:37 AM UTC
spark
you're an arms length away from me only my arm is lying across a map of the world not the folds of my duvet and I can't just wrap the sea around myself and curl into you
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Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 5:36 AM UTC
fault lines and tidal waves
I used to be so good At dreaming But now they just turn into Memories of you Now my dreams are shorter Smaller So much warmer And I can't remember How to imagine Something so bittersweet
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Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 5:36 AM UTC
Skin Hunger
I stop existing Every time you Leave the room
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Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 5:35 AM UTC
A Descartian Love Poem