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Don't you want me to love me?

Then stop saying the things you say,
Doing the things you do,
Handing out ambitions like they are candies,
am I sweet enough for you?

Don't you want me to love me?

Then stop placating me with dreams,
Dreams of what cannot be,
Pretending as though they are mutual,
what epiphanies do you see?

Don't you want me to love me?

Then do not speak on my behalf,
Words of false affirmation,
Silencing my sharp, jagged tongue
can you hear my trepidation?

Don't you want me to love me?

Then feel these feelings as I do!
Feel the callous of my heart,
Separating the person from the enigma,
do you feel me come apart?

Don't you want me to love me?

How can I love what you don't know?
Or love what was never real,
Reaching out for who I'll never be,
do you understand my ordeal?

Don't you want me to love me?

Don't you want me to love me?

Don't you want me to love me?

Don't you—
 Mar 2022 Samm Marie
 Mar 2022 Samm Marie
I know that this body
Only harbors the real me
The me that was always meant to be.
 Mar 2022 Samm Marie
Hi! This is about music so scroll on if you don't care.
I'm working on my debut album, Drama Kween, and decided to share some of the mini songs that will be in between subject changes throughout the album. They'll have simple instrumentals later on, but for right now are acapella. Give 'em a listen?

To Me

it's on

"Sometimes I talk to myself, sometimes I sing to myself.
Sometimes I talk about talking and singing to myself,
sometimes I sing about singing and talking to myself.
Sometimes I talk and sing about talking and singing about singing and talking to myself (to myself)."

The Hippie Song

it's on

"No one says lice and no one says gay, but your modesty and life you better throw it away,
'cause in a world where the media
replaces scrapbooks
and hearts,
if you're livin' like a hippie they will tear you apart
if you're livin' like a hippie they will tear you apart
if I'm livin' like a hippie they will tear me apart
if I'm livin' like a hippie they will tear me apart
tear me apart
t-t-t-tear me apart!"


it's on

"I'm so tired, I'm so tired.
Of feeling I have to cry.
I just wanna lay with you in my bedroom and watch the days go by.
But I'm so tired, tired of feeling shy.
And counting how many tears make up for a year.
Is this hello or goodbye?
Is this hello or goodbye?
I wanna know if this is the last time.
Is this hello or goodbye?
Well it's goodbye! Baby it's goodbye.
I was tired of the games and the pain and the lies so baby it's goodbye.
It's goodbye! Baby it's goodbye.
So I'm gonna rid you of my bedroom and get on with my life.
I'm so tired, I'm so tired.
Not gonna waste my time!
So I'm gonna rid you of my bedroom and get on with my life."
Also, when I'm finished with everything I'm going to be posting the whole album but ugh it's a lot of work so that'll be a while.
 Mar 2022 Samm Marie
You CAN'T be done with your life.
You chose to be my friend,
therefore you chose for your life to be intertwined with mine.
We're like those trees you see that were planted too close together,
so they grew into one.
If you fall,
I'll hold onto my end of our rope until I have the strength to pull you up,
or until I slip and fall too.
Love is such a finicky finding.
But once it's found,
and fits into your life,
you keep it forever.
you fit like a glove,
and as long as I don't give up, you don't.
I can promise you now that we're never giving up.
"important according to our magic sauce" --Samm
 Mar 2022 Samm Marie
do you want to sleep in a sweater with me. . . swim in a comforter with me. . . listen to soft music with me ?

do you want to whisper a while. . . let me kiss your smile. . . make a two - person - kitten - pile ?

do you want a white wall behind us. . . silver glitter and moon dust. . . spread out , compacted , vitamin trust ?

do you want these things that i want ?

do you want me in the way that i want
you ?

in all of the ways that i want you ?

it's okay if you do ,
because me too .

do you want to ?
There is so little left,
And still much i need to question.
So untrusting of what i can see, hear or touch,
My senses fooled a thousand times and a thousand times again.

Hardened fortifications blossom,
Bringing perpetual reinforcement.
Working for at least a respite,
From coyote hordes outdoors.

Odysseus waits at the gates,
Educated eyes identify his horses,
Staring straight through the belly of the beasts,
Thwarting threats before they take to action.

King in the learned castle,
To never be fooled again.
Entrenched deep in his defences,
Securing solace through his reclusion.

it is lonely on your own

There is so little left,
This gives forth the question,
so untrusting of what i see, hear, touch but feel?
Perhaps the fraud is mine.

Cynical battlements sprout,
With spores of harsh repairs.
Crusading for disenchantment,
Cry wolf and call coyote.

Teach to never looked beyond the gates,
Focus attention in,
Cowered behind walls and towers,
Forever fearful to lower the bridges.

Lord of what little is leftover,
If any is left at all,
Prisoner to himself,
Until he allow himself to leave.
 Mar 2022 Samm Marie
Ira Desmond
When your sister
died, it was the blue
box of Kraft Macaroni and
Cheese. Your half-
sister from your
father’s previous
marriage cooked it up
for you—she was only
a year or
two older than
you were—and you fell
asleep there on the
floor, where it remained half-
finished for the entire
night. When you
awoke the next
day, before you had even
opened your eyes, you 
thought for a brief
moment that maybe it
had all been just
a dreadful nightmare, but
then you opened them and
there the macaroni and
cheese still sat, half-
eaten on that paper
plate. No—
it had all
actually happened.

When your coworker
fatally poisoned
herself, you made
up your mind to
buy the nicest
ingredients you could
find and to cook the best
Italian pasta recipe you could
think of in order to
show your family
how much you loved
them. You wanted to be
present with them, to be still
alive with them. You
wanted to not
make the same
mistake twice, but
then there you were
at dinner, distant
for the entire
meal, unable to even
make simple
conversation, ashamed of
the awful contortions your
brain was doing in
order to process
your guilt over
her death.

When your father
died, it was some left-
over soup you had cooked
up a week prior. You were
embarrassed about how
the black-eyed peas and
sweet potatoes had turned out;
you apologized to your
wife for their mushiness,
and she smiled sadly and told
you it was the best
soup she had ever
tasted. After a week in
the refrigerator, the kale
tasted slimy. The soup was
overhot; its texture,
nonexistent. By
this point in your life, the
texture of nearly
everything—even that
of death—had become
wholly unremarkable
to you.

And when your old
friend from college
died, there was
no meal at all—just
a hasty cup of black
coffee you poured
yourself right before the
big work presentation
began. The text
message said that
he had thrown
himself from atop a
skyscraper in lower
Manhattan, and that
he had finalized his
divorce just a few
months prior. You
thought about calling
off the meeting, but your
boss said that he
would be in
attendance and, grimly,
you decided to swallow
your bitter emotions
right along with the
coffee—you didn’t
want to let
him down.
 Mar 2022 Samm Marie
Mitch Prax
The human being
is a galaxy comprised
of hypocrisies

4:23 PM
 Mar 2022 Samm Marie
Mitch Prax
But I have never
cared about taking myself
so seriously

4:26 PM
 Mar 2022 Samm Marie
 Mar 2022 Samm Marie
February has come and gone,
It took my ritual with it.
Many deaths took place here and
A new life might begin.

If fate fills me with the miracle of life,
I will be honored to host.
Because when I count my blessings...
You count the most.
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