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 Jan 2013 Gnirednaw
Erica Boyd
The hair that fell to my waist
Heavy like a curtain
And blonde
And parted on the side
That covered my bare *******
and got in the way of kissing
And It got stares
And It got petted
Like some fine horse
With some fine mane
A rare prize
And the drunk boy
Sitting next to me
That I didn't notice
Who was twirling it around his ***** finger
And that other man
That I didn't notice
Who became obsessed with It
His ***** fetish
And in the middle of the night
He did Those Things
So one day
I just cut It off
Above my shoulders
And everyone was sad
Why WHY why
Did you cut your hair?
But we still like It

So I just cut it off

Until it was above my ears
And I can see the disappointment
Of Everyone Else
Who doesn't understand
So sad
about It
And I smile.
Blonde hair, blue eyes
Freckled map upon your face
The brightest smile anywhere
They can see it out in space
A goddess so untouchable
Do you even know?
The things you do
When you walk by
Be it fast, or be it slow

A wisp of hair
A tilted head
A neck so long and sleek
A t-shirt with a stretched v-neck
That gives us a slight peek
Hands so slim
So delicate
They would snap
Given the chance
I would give my life
to hold you
Perhaps to even dance

Open up your heart
See if there is room
For someone other than yourself
In that dark and lonely room
Mere mortal men
they pile up
As you just break their hearts
So open up that one of yours
And make room for cupid's dart

Golden hair, just perfect
A diary of your day
Filled out in swirly writing
little hearts along the way
The page is full of what you did
But, it doesn't tell the tales
Of the destructive path you carved among
The audience of males
The ones who do your bidding
Pay your way
Carry torches
The ones who want nothing more
Than to sit with you
on their front porches

Like Taylor Swift
you cut and run
Leaving damage in your wake
They all get hooked
Upon your act
Before it is too late
A siren without water
No rocks to crush their dreams
But, still you leave the burned out hulls
Of these young men in the streams
They fall for that cute smile
And the slightest hint you drop
That you may have room inside you
To let them in, but then you stop
Are you scared or just inhuman
Have you feelings for someone
Other than yourself I mean
Are you happy when you're done
You move on through the world you've made
An ice queen on her throne
Is it fun up in your tower
Are you truly happy all alone

Open up your heart
See if there is room
For someone other than yourself
In that dark and lonely room
Mere mortal men
they pile up
As you just break their hearts
So open up that one of yours
And make room for cupid's dart
I've questions to ask you
Things I need to know
I want to be with you
I don't want you to go

Are these roles we are playing
Or are we as shown
Do I believe what you're saying
Or is the truth still unknown?

Relationships keep changing
Are we lover or friend?
As our life's rearranging
We continue to bend

I've questions to ask you
Things I need to know
I want to be with you
I don't want you to go

Are we stronger together?
Or does one pull the load?
Are you only fair weather?
Because that's how you showed

There is better still waiting
I'm moving on with my life
I'm just too tired for hating
To be your now sometime wife

I've questions to ask you
Things I need to know
I want to be with you
I don't want you to go

The questions aren't needed
For the answers they'll bring
Have all been conceded
And they won't mean a thing

Once you realize your error
And you wake up alone
Of this news I'm the bearer
Don't you dare try and phone!!
For a friend , and is one of the strongest people I know.
Come down,
come down,
come down from your rain cloud.
You're always rainin' on me
babe.

It isn't practical
up there,
what's the use?
And if you're in the sky
where am I,
save, you gotta save it for me now.

Rock me rock me rock me rock me
Rockaway, rock me to Brighton!,
Coney Island dead give away, hey!
I feel like there is more-
there is more and, and I'm not
fully sure,
not from New York.
everybody moves their body fast

they wanna do this city fast,
rock me rock me rock me,
rock me, you know I'm slow.

Get wise, get wise
rest sore eyes
on petals blue.
The waves
and the flat lands are too high now.
He walks through a wood once every month
He takes the same route near The Wishing Pond

He meets with the Collector in a secluded building
Who never fails to purchase every new painting

The man was an artist, the Collector was a fan
His works and his reputation was known throughout the land

The Artist had it all: a nice house, a loving wife,
friends in every town and city, and wealth to last his life

Every month, another painting
Every month, the Collector's money

His life was set, his life was perfect
All he needed as an artist was a self portrait

So this next month's painting would be special
For when he would pass, this will be his memorial

He started on an early morning, standing in front of a mirror
With skill and patience, shading and texture, the first sketch was done

The painting process took a few days
Without sleep or food, for hours in his room he stayed

Near the end of the month, the portrait finally done
Proud and exhausted, the artist exclaimed, "This is a special one."

The next day, he readied his portrait to take
To the Collector, who was expecting to be amazed

With a glance at the picture before he could leave
He noticed many flaws and said, "I want a perfect me"

He sent a letter explaining the delay
To the Collector, disappointed, he lessened the pay

For days, the Artist fixed each flaw
The big ears, the small nose, the feminine jaw

Every day he found a new imperfection
But after months and months of fixing, he achieved satisfaction

He took his self portrait on his once monthly walk
To the Collector's house, pass The Wishing Pond

He tripped on a rock, dropping his portrait
Falling into the pond, his art was ruined

The canvas had sunk, the water grew murky
The paint spread around and clouded before him

The cloudy colors swirled in the water's waves
The Artist, distraught, sat in heartache

A figure rose from the water, the colors had faded
He recognized it immediately as the perfection he painted

His portrait was alive for to not be was imperfect
His creation looked back at him and exclaimed, "I am The Artist"

Throughout the years, the portrait had adopted The Artist's life
With perfect skills, perfect fame, and even the love of his wife

The Collector, impressed by its own work, gave it double the pay
He also terminated his contract, he and the Artist had made

The Artist was left with nothing
His life stolen by his painting

Embodied perfection had taken it all
Living wishful thinking, alive from The Pond

He tasked, and pushed, and berated himself to achieve perfection
He succeeded, but lost everything to his perfect version.
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