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I'm surrounded by a world of pretentious posers.
They hide behind the title 'hipster'
They don't hide behind brand names,
they hind behind thrift store clothing,
they call themselves authentic.
How can you be authentic when you take the ideas of others,
change a few words,
and call it your own?
I am surrounded by a world of posers,
wondering if I should submit and head to the nearest thrift store.
I am trying to figure out who I am,
find myself in everything I see,
figuring out what I like and what I don't.
I don't know where I am.
I read the poetry of Plath and feel like we share similar thoughts.
I am not Plath, I cannot be Sylvia,
I won't end my life with my head in an oven.
I am not depressed,
at least I don't think I'd call it depressed.
I don't know what I am,
I can't label it.
When I try I am afraid to,
I dont want fall under the category of pretentious poser,
but I am afraid that's where I am headed.
Peel the paint, and scrape away the plaster. Remove the panels, and look at the view of an-others room, oops.
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp?
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered Heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did He who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

                                                             *William Blake
Were there one moment
In the day
That words didn't fly
In flights and swarms
From our mouths
To the sky
Without stopping
By our ears,

I might consider
Telling you
How I feel about
What we're turning
Into now,
But why say
Even one word
If you won't hear?
 Mar 2013 Christopher Plath
Lee
The smoke drifts up a pale blue
making ribbons in the lone lights spread
above our panting heads.
We built ancient temples in the forest green
and dug holes for warming hands on fire rocks.
Do you understand?
There is no time here.
Sleeping in the cold grounds embrace,
I kiss the sky goodnight through the holes in the roof.
Lost in the eternal emerald of this season, SAvaGES was our cry,
beating hearts howl out in a brooding bark.
Lick your wounds,
bleed your blistered hands chopping saplings.
This room is finally complete.
I,
I am content.
You,
You're as angel pale as the moon,
by its light I see your curves.
Touching soft till the morning birds.
No air between our lips to feel the words.
Its *** in our bellies
that sweetened southern swill.
The trees groan in the breeze
I groan rapped between your knees.
This forest is aphrodisiac enough for us.
We've changed so much
Since only last year.
We can't talk anymore,
Not without awkwardness,
Generally caused by me.
I miss my best friend,
But he's barely there,
You've managed to hide him from me.
.



I've loved you in secret
since those first
unspoken
words


<3
Amazing how poetry can do this
I was just,
Covered in puke,
And toilet water,
You don't know gross
Until you have to clean that
When I was in 4th grade a girl named Claire
Kicked my ***
And left me on the blacktop
I swore it would never happen again

When I was 17 a girl named Ashley
Kicked my ***
And left my heart in pieces
I swore to never trust love again

I just turned 23 and a girl I shouldn’t name
Kicked my ***
I wanted to give her everything
For the very first time

But I never got off the blacktop
My heart is still in pieces
Love is still untrustworthy
I need to learn to fight.
We accept the love we think we deserve.
I don't accept much.
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