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Malcolm Eaves May 2016
I'm funny!
I'm weird!
I'm happy!
I'm feared!
I'm so many things, but none so much as
Just another old human, a bit of a spaz
Who simply has got a few things to keep
Safely inside, locked away, within, deep.
I never could tell if those who act scared
Really feared me, or loved me, or even just cared.
I wonder sometimes what it's like to be you,
A normal old person, so boring a crew.
I wear many masks. The ordinary people are simply not interesting. I regret nothing, for I appreciate my insanity.
Malcolm Eaves May 2016
Hard to say. You got a friend?
If you do, you know it, then.
If you don't, I hate to say,
Happiness has gone away.
Hard to live and hard to love,
Hard to hear the One Above,
Hard to take a playful shove,
When you don't have a friend.
Talk to others, not the same,
Think that this is such a shame,
Suddenly your life seems tame,
When you don't have a friend.
"Tell me how your day went, dear."
From your eye, a single tear,
Then, your voice in tones of drear,
"Today I lost a friend."
Do you feel the way I do?
Just 'cause I don't listen to
What you think that I should do
Doesn't mean I can't.
Think before you leave behind
All the things we've worked to find
And what both our minds combined
Learned to give and grant.
The stories, and the legends told,
The lore, the characters of old,
The many things that they foretold
Will never come to be.
And why? Because you just won't speak
Because you see me as a freak
'Cause you won't turn the other cheek—
You just won't talk to me.
Lost a friend today. I hope to get him back.
Malcolm Eaves Apr 2016
Beautiful disrepair,
Flowing from the world like blood,
Natural yet somehow undesirable.
Why do we deny this?
There is a pattern, even in its disorder,
For it is simply what should happen.
Nothing can stop it, but it can be harnessed;
We simply put it away, as humans do
When they don't understand.
Malcolm Eaves Apr 2016
In a faraway land, without too much wealth,
Where the tall mountains howl and the thieves use no stealth,
Where the rivers all mourn and the fish lack strong health,
There was once a young prince of the landfill.
He desperately wished for a life without toil,
He wanted a life without mold in the soil,
He wanted a way to escape all the spoil,
He wanted to leave from this foul swill.
But, sadly for him, there was no way to win,
For he had to remain there on duty;
There was only he (besides, of course, me)
The guard dog was this junkyard's beauty.
Malcolm Eaves Apr 2016
Peaceful noontime on Saturdays,
Teasing my sisters about their bad grammar,
Petting the cats as they snuck downstairs,
Building with Bionicles,
Talking to my friends.
My grandmas coming over,
My indescribably weird dreams,
Having my own bedroom,
Creating my world of stories,
Huddled in my dim room of treasures.

I haven't changed much.
Malcolm Eaves Apr 2016
A warm though lonely shore,
The tide reflects a violet sheen;
The scent of lilacs fills the air,
Reminding me of where I've been.
The gardens that my mother grew,
With orchids, plums, and periwinkles;
I take the scent and feel the mauve
In my head, I hear purple twinkles.
I taste the distant, sad yet merry
Hue of peaceful, calm mulberry;
I look upon the island divine,
And remember the sweet amaranthine.
Malcolm Eaves Apr 2016
I lay beneath an oak,
Around me, winter's white;
I remain as just a cinder
And a gong bash hails my plight.
I'm surrounded by the leaves,
And I hear the cold wind whistle;
Near the deadly dragon draws
Shadow on the moon like a missile.
I can hear the crash of thunder,
I feel delicate, clean lace;
And I wander to the dance
That glows under the clock's face.
The winter may be white,
But to my eyes it's grey;
I sigh throughout the festival
Taking place this winter's day.
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