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I am not a possession
A number
A piece of property

I may be young
But I am a human
I am alive
And I have feelings

Time is valuable
And I refuse to waste mine
I’m so done with today right now. I’m going to bed.
When I say irritated, I mean it prickles my skin.

When I say sore, I mean it stays red and puffy.

When I say annoyed, I mean it furrows my brow.

When I say displeased, I mean my mind is tangled.

When I say provoked, I mean I long to strike out.

When I say I’m angered, I mean it fires my heart.

When I say enraged, I mean it curdles my soul.
Thinking, expanding, feelings
She cannot grasp her shifting landscape,
With its muted morning lyrics
from both Robin and Cardinal.

What has dimmed today’s sunrise?
Her steps are shorter, her walk slower,
both signs she disregards
of her approaching twilight age.

She rests on her favorite bench
by the garden gate.
She finds no handle on the rusted bolt.

No entrance for her inspiring plod
among her realm of light and sound.

Sitting, she gathers courage,
new strength to
climb over the weathered fence.
Undaunted, she reaches
her limit. Her muscles feel lacking.

Accompanied by her mystic shadow self,
her playful muse mirrors what she feels: incapability.
Aging, capability
home is a cage
slide out the window
find a different way
run with the wolves
chase the child

it won't always be like this
ceramic heart
cosmic bruise
lovesick in a hotel wildfire

chemistry begins with
orbiting the moon
he calls her a river

swallowing down mistakes
she cares a little less about everything now

blood on the mattress
young blood

breaks in the sun
mean pure dark is yet to come
--nightly things

as long as she gets by
despite the crushing weight of gravity
she will take swan feathers
and wedding days to bed

but never take the blame
Dear love,

In this moment,
our steps feel familiar,
like we’ve danced here before.

Words feel familiar,
like we’ve sung them before.

The air feels familiar,
like we’ve breathed it before.

My dearest,
your lips feel familiar,
like we’ve kissed before,
in another time,
another life.

Tell me, love,
do you feel it too?
Or am I alone
in this déjà vu?
Déjà vu — a mesmerizing whisper of familiarity....
:)
This is one lonely road,
A gray place with no fond memories.

Yet still, a place I know very well,
The broken stones have stories to tell.

This is one dreary path,
A broken face with no kindness left.

Yet, this is where the good men are buried,
When they fade from light and die.
Rochester has many lonely roads, I've walked too many to count.
keeping the waggling serpent
firmly caged behind a fortress of enamel.
one man hides his baldhead with a natty comb over
its how he also deals with the rest of humankind
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