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Curtis Sep 2012
look in the mirror at eyes blood shot
a fight with life
a war hard fought
this roadmap of scars
i've wandered and ran
through all the storms i've endured
i've managed to stand.
i wake up weary of my constant striving
on my knees in the mud
barely surviving
a battered soul
a broken heart
with the hope i hold
i wont fall apart
i dig a little deeper
i stand a little taller
the power of my past
grows a little smaller.
Curtis Sep 2012
anywhere u go
its about what u do
who u know
what u have
take a piece
and one for the road
take and take
is all we do
judged like a book
every single day
in one glance
no second thoughts
hardcover hollywood
special editions
and just for dummies rule
those text book kings
and things of the past
replaced by
sefl-help gurus
with a thirst for power
history books burn
and dictionaries die
bibles and korans
wage war for deeds
written in oil
more precious than blood
lawbooks lie
with family trees
while notebooks fill
with pointless lives
but my story is written
with my sweat
and tears
filled with pages and pages
of love and fears
i dont need to be
hardcovered
reprinted
bound up
and edited
forget the colors
and the revamped image
no motion pictures
just a story
on my shelf
the last of them all
the Paperback Boy.
Curtis Feb 2013
there were spaces to fill, and I filled them, for a time.
with bits of this, and some of that.
the usual things, I suppose.
but the spaces began to grow, as such things often do
and I found that all those things
had suddenly turned to foes.
the subtle war with one’s own self, is a difficult thing.
stitches would cause more wounds,
while the scars became badges.
weaponized clichés waited their turns in the chamber.
drunken meaningless wondrous ***
of the kind the soul ravages.
it becomes easier to ramble, to roundabout the details.
feint and parry at the past,
be metaphorically rich.
and the spaces have filled me up, I think that I will float.
don’t fight, if you can fly
dying in a ditch.

— The End —