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Calhoun Poetry Mar 2015
The day my heart stops beating will be a mystery,
They'll see me laying there in my bed just smiling.
They'll wonder if I was smiling because of all the rules I've bended,
Or they'll be wondering if I'm smiling because my life had ended.
I'm curious for when I go to sleep - for my very last time,
Will people see me as a blessing or as a freak just like Frankenstein.
Will they rejoice and tell tales of how I lived and drink a big glass of wine,
Or will they dig me in a ditch so deep where no body can find.
I'll never know that's the truth, but that won't stop me from thinking,
What people would think of - of my life - the day my heart stops beating.

Once my time has come, and Marcus has left this Earth,
I'd travel back in time, to see my own birth.
How young so sweet, and innocent,
Before I learned how to talk and be so belligerent.
I learned quickly how to fail and even quicker how to succeed,
I had some cuts, some bruises, and everyone now and again I'd bleed,
But a tear would come to my eye to see how beautiful of a life I'd lead.
Calhoun Poetry Mar 2015
Your hair is the least substantial yet most outwardly striking
part of you
Like a pillow coming out of a dryer,
A perfect cliff before slowing descending back down
I can never get over your hair soft and with
allegedly no gel.
Either way Jesus ( who is not white) should be jealous.
It’s not just your granted stunning hair that makes
me fall for you.
Your ability to flip my reality on itself, then
twist me the other way before laughing and
confessing that you were facing another direction completely.
I will never know which direction you raced, nor
do I care all in good fun and to show off.
A laid back disposition calm, easy
a scholarly gentleman.


Don’t mistake me for some fool, finding music
then falling for the guy playing the harp.
Also for the readers if you have any problem
with this poem about how gay it is for a guy
to serenade another guy, I would
strongly advise you to make sure your calendar is set to
the correct decade.
Calhoun Poetry Mar 2015
Darkness nervously approaches people and
is quiet and awkward.
Rumors begin to swirl about what a mean person darknesses is
what she hides. As if a light was thrown people
stop hanging out with Darkness.
The rumors swirl into facts.
She is untrustworthy and her name
is now a bad word.

Dangerous people start doing their business with Darkness.
She allows it her, figuring they will
go away soon.
They don’t and soon people who don’t care for her
enter her house, only interested in what she hides.
Light sends a message to Darkness: What a loser,
only professionals and the slickest trust me.
Darkness stares into distant Light and is in awe of her
variety and how she is not herself just the opposite of light.
Darkness looks at her spots and cries about the uneven
distance between her spots about how everyone sees her
differently.

Just one star, Light feels for Darkness.
Slowly Light’s feelings light up, and like a
series of candles random pockets of her pop on.


Light and Darkness grow used to seeing other’s silhouettes and
slowly start hanging out closer, sharing the sky, careful
not to negate each other
Light starts to defend Darkness.
Slowly, saying Darkness sure is a pain but
she adds another layer to everything,
she doesn’t like those who visit her any more
than you do. She just has to be everywhere that I’m not.

Darkness starts to grow fond of Light and has
a light-bulb moment when she realizes that Light needs her
the same way she needs Light, yet they can never grow
too close, always a barrier in-between them, weather
it be distance or a wall.
Long distance friends, they settle
knowing that they will negate each other,
almost seeing each other.
So I guess I've spent too much time on Harry Baker's the sunshine kid
Calhoun Poetry Mar 2015
His brown eyes gaze into space
Freezing the world with one glance
Both orbs mirroring flecks of light
Capturing moments in time
I wonder... What does he see?
Calhoun Poetry Mar 2015
Every day begins with a walk from the train to the doors of school.
With headphones in my ears, music playing, and a sweet melody comforting my morning blues
I am content.
Calhoun Poetry Mar 2015
Burnt out cigarette buds decorate the pavement with black blobs that were once white cubes of Dentyne Ice Spearmint, green and yellow slivers of Trident Layers , and blocks of pink Hubba Bubba
Some spots contrast to their lighter halves from the melted ice, creating dark slicks of black cement

It's wintertime in Manhattan.
Calhoun Poetry Mar 2015
I see
the endless universe
with the sky as my viewfinder to my still-life
yet not so still as
vibrant explosions of stars scatter small, small particles
marking an end and a new beginning.
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