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 Jun 2014 Brooke Davis
rose14195
If you want a rainbow
you have to put up with the storm
 Jun 2014 Brooke Davis
Sam Kirk
When I think about our future,
I think about lounging on the couch, Sunday afternoon,
watching our favorite t.v. show and eating pizza hut in our underwear; because we were too lazy to cook dinner and we like being comfy.
I think about playing hide-n-seek, tag, and many other childish games because deep down we'll never truly grow up.
I think about having our own privacy,
exploring each others bodies like they're undiscovered art at the bottom of the ocean.
I think about having to wake up early for work,
how we'd kiss goodbye and say "I love you."
(we'd always say "I love you." too much)
I think about how I'd always call during lunch breaks,
and if you happened to not answer I'd leave a voicemail just so you could hear my voice and know I was thinking of you.
I think about getting home late, running through the front door and yelling "Honey, I'm home!" at the top of my lungs; being showered in kisses and being carried to bed.
I think about how I'd make up silly rules like "No clothes allowed!"
how you'd just laugh at me for being such a dork,
but you'd still follow the rule.
You'd strip down to nothing then pick me up and carry me to our bedroom and take my clothes off of me,
laughing when you fumbled with my bra strap and me laughing along as I helped you.
I think about how after making love we'd just lay there together and sleep.
Two messes all tangled up in bed sheets.
I think about how some nights we'll keep each other up late at night,
talking for hours about anything and everything.
I think about how we'll treat each other like we're a king and a queen living in a castle for all eternity.
I think about how we'll fight- not a lot, but believe me we will.
Though of course, with a fight, will always come a make-up.
And boy, will we make-up.
We'll cry and hold each other no matter how tough life gets.
We're invincible, me and you.
Poetry has become my self harm,
I only write at my lows...
Instead of blood I see words,
Instead of a blade I have a keyboard...

I want to write about...
The wind dancing with the sea...
Or...
The way you smile and it lights up your innocent face...

I don't want poetry to be my self harm,
Because poetry is beautiful...
An art...
Not.
Just.
Blood.
And.
Scars.
Judge away... I'm trying to not care... No matter how much I do ...
O how I love her,
she brings out
the beast in me.

And how can one
ignore impulses
rising
from a genetic level,
try to keep
a voracious
caged-tiger
at bay?

Pray tell.
Some might say Vlad
was totally misunderstood
& I'm not sure why,
he impaled tens of thousands,
even roasted whole children.
How cow,
now if that's
not a pretty clear picture,
then I don't know what is.
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