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A poet in love
Is a match soaked
In gasoline.

-r0
follow my writing!

it will kick you in the diaphragm.
Today I reached for my phone.
Haven't spoke to man who made it possible for my existance on earth in a while.
I have been missing his calls...over and over.
I was scared.
I have been scared...for his Love for me to show.
See, I know he does cherrish me, but since I moved from his house...its been different.
He doesnt ask if I have had dinner, or if I am ready for bed, or to make him his favourite breakfast.
He doesn't come to my room and wake me up in that funny tone "My soldier, wake up"...
Honestly, I Miss that.
My life has not been the same since I moved out.
I have learnt to fend for me and totally rely on me.
This weekend was hard for me.
I got sick, and too broke for life.
I know dad is there, but I don't want to burden him.
So this morning while he whispered a prayer for me, I felt it...from deep inside me.
I called him and when I told him my struggles...
He replied...
Nashipai, You have a FATHER...I AM YOUR FATHER...COME HOME, I AM HERE COME HOME TO YOUR FATHER.

I have a million sweet words,
but these ones just flushed tears from my ever strong ducts.
I Am Loved.*
I am my father's daughter.
When its all wrong, or all right...I will go home.
Home to My Father.
The only man I know.

©The Unspoken
I Love You Papa. I will come home. Home to you.
I can fake my identity and try to look happy,
but its all just a cover.
Take a swig from the flask and remove the last mask
only to find another.

There was once a time when I knew myself,
but now I'm not so sure.
All semblance of self-worth lay eroding in the dirt,
and its all thanks to her.

It's not really her fault, I'm truly to blame.
I grew selfish out of fear.
Afraid of being alone, I couldn't let her go
and now she's nowhere near.
A quick freestyle that I did.
Poet, be not afraid.
There are far worse things than
Bad poetry.

Keep writing; like a child keeps
Drawing with the purest of
Disregards to likeness.

The more stones you turn, the more
Gems you produce.

The more ink you rain,
The more gracious your written
Children grow.

All flexing builds muscle.

Rough bricks form castles.

Even Dalì carved canvases to shreds
And started anew
Not caring too much.
Not caring

Too much
To keep painting.
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