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Cam May 2018
To those days of thinking,
where something on our mind
just makes us stand,
and stare.
Where we feel lonely and empty,
yet surrounded,
by the furniture,
the walls and the clutter,
the clutter we continue to procrastinate about,
“I’ll get it later,” repeating to ourselves,
The mess grows more everyday.
She is broken,
heart broken,
she recently got the news on note,
the note she holds at the tips of her fingers
says written in black ink,
“move out, it’s over.”
She had just woken up,
to a lonely bed and a lonely house.
She slips on her yellow and blue stripped underwear
and white collared shirt before
she approaches what was once the living room
full of furniture and decorations,
What is now filled with her belongings.
Clothes, paintings, pictures,
all scattered,
in and pouring out the brown-worn out boxes.
It is quiet and still
like the painting left hung on the naked wall,
she stands,
and thinks.
this is material thoughts. a poem based off of one of my favorite artist, sangram majumdar’s paintings, “Material Thoughts”
Cam May 2018
I remember the disappointment,
the loss in battle,
more so the loss of hope.
I missed home.
My mother, she was my home,
she knew what was best for me, she had my heart.
I remember looking over the ledge,
questioning myself, "What if?"
What if the sounds of birds chirping,
the sound of waters movement,
the warmth and comforting feeling of the sun were my last.
Oh how the sun felt on the surface of my skin and the scalp of my head.
The chill feeling as I sat on the rock,
the refreshing feeling of being under the leaves in the shade.
The sound of the waterfall in front of me
as it glided down the stream,
taking everything down with it in the ripple's path.
Being here was all for show,
the money,
your reputation.
Why didn't you speak up sooner?
I was young, scared,
I didn’t know what was right,
Or what was wrong.
Why did you put me through it?
You swore you didn’t have a problem,
you swore you did nothing wrong.
We fought,
we cried,
we ran,
we hid.
I remember the arguments,
the broken glass and the broken walls,
a broken family.
Thinking that leaving my problems,
would solve my fear of you.
But you never left,
you’re still around in my nightmares,
And what I used to call home.
While I sit on that rock and look over the edge,
I continue to ask myself today,
what if?
“If It Were My Last” reaches a more personal side of my childhood.
I wrote this poem based off of a picture that was taken of me looking over the water. I remebered the day.
Cam May 2018
Every year is the same,
same people,
same places,
same time,
same faces.
They bring me their labeled tickets,
the same **** tan-colored, black-inked tickets.
Bent and smudged as if it went through their wash.
No time for conversation,
not even small talk,
only the same old.... hello.
They sit, they smile, they leave.
They sit,
on that same old boring brown box,
"Feet placed where the red exes are please."
You think they'd already know that by now.
They smile,
tilting their head to the right,
their eyes looking directly at the lens,
looking as if they were hypnotized.
They leave,  
the camera flashes bringing them back to realization,
they release their breath,  
"Goodbye!" They say,
"Have a nice day!" They say.
Who I wanted to be is who I am not today,
who I wanted to be is not where society has placed me,
who I wanted to be is what society calls a joke,
who I wanted to be is free.
A photographer.
Not here working for life touch taking pictures of the same bland faces,
I imagined myself... flying,
Like a bird traveling around the world,
Capturing every moment I see,
Where the natural light glistens across the landscape,
where i can direct the poses of my subject.
But instead,
i'm stuck here taking pictures for life touch
of the same people,
at the same places,
of the same faces.
this is my first time posting a poem.
i do not work for life touch.
a soliloquy is an act of speaking one's thoughts aloud when by oneself or regardless of any hearers, especially by a character in a play.
(so im acting as if i were working for life-touch but i really wanted to be my own free photographer).

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