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 Apr 2017 Jessica Burgess
Hannah
You get so mad
when I'm half in my head,
mostly because I write,
what I really should've said.
Obviously clumsy
Living with it well
Indecisive for sure
Very loud and over excited
Irreplaceable one of a kind
A** bad poet that pays no mind
i love you*
can you not understand
i mean come on i've been
writing all of this poetry
and i've been trying
and then i end up crying
that's ok isn't it?
wrong*
i cry because you are beauty at its finest dear
and you've known it all along.
O.K
please
what am I to do when I
*
want

a salad
but so many
friends and family

want
me to eat a pepperoni roll
and while it's not the healthiest decision for me,
I feel as if the people around me,
won't love me if I don't eat the pepperoni roll
then of course, what is best for me doesn't matter anymore
because even though the salad and its family of veggies
loves me, I

need to feel loved
*even if it is fake by everyone
and by choosing salad I feel guilty
and worst of all unloved..
Yeah this is a true story but using food to represent some things in my life to avoid any conflict. No names have been mentioned, I just had to vent through my writing
Literally just go away
My power is out
I'm cold
Bye
Sorry if you thought it'd be poetic ;)
now these cuts aren't on the wrist
but on the ankles, feet, and heart
i wish that we had a softer dancing place
but when you love someone so much
you're willing to get cut and hurt
to dance on thorns in order to be there, with them
and even though it's painful, love is what we live
and honey let me tell you just how much love I can give.
honestly, I've never experienced something that truly belongs in a fairytale..
until now.
romeo was charming the towns girl couldn't deny
if only juliet wasn't in the picture...
that's the day she decided juliet must die.
juliet had it all
beauty, kindness it continues on
that's why it was recognized sad when she took the fall.
she was in love what was she meant to do?
she was tired of crying every night,
i just wanted to be you.
now juliet has gone, or so the towns folk hear
romeo is hers now
so she hadn't shed a tear.
a poet is a special human being
we share our stories through our pens
our tears, our joy, our fun
we enjoy telling of our dreams
and even wandering through some.

Although some experiences may leave us pretty  weak
we continue on with our strong words
and we carry one another through the
decent storm of letters that's oh so very bleak.
i've traveled
across the raging river of murmurs
and through the quiet woods
it's my journey that is important now
this journey is anything but good
this too quiet room in which i sit
has an awfully awkward tension to it
but then I glance across the deadly sea
and spot the careless boy who's just perfect to me
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