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  May 5 𝗠
Francie Lynch
I'm ******* with Robert Frost
And the guy who wrote Paradise Lost.
I ain't happy with Aristotle,
And especially John, the weird Apostle.
Don't mention, please, Shelley or Keats,
Blake, Byron or Wordsworth;
Each and every one you see,
(If you're ready for the truth),
Took their themes from me.
Don't look aghast,
Don't tsk and titter,
Their thievery's left me
Mean and bitter.
Just because they said it first,
Doesn't mean I find it just;
It doesn't give them ownership
Of my themes and authorship.
I write of Roads, Good and Evil,
God and Satan, love and leaving.
I know, I sound like I'm bleating,
But I won't stand for this beating.
Although they're merely dust and bones,
They don't have the right to own
All the great lines I have sown,
Like The best laid plans of mice and men.
(I said that before Robbie Burns).
Let me make this crystal clear;
If I was there, or he were here,
I'd sue the *** of Will Shakespeare.
  May 2 𝗠
Ryan O'Leary
At a cross roads there was
a pointing pencil one side,
opposite, to writers block,
unsure which way to go
I paused until along came
a blind Venetian who told
me which was the best option
so I ended up here at HePo.
  Apr 30 𝗠
i am not ashamed of the parts
you saw of me
you should be ashamed
of what you did with them
they always take pieces of my soul and release them to the world. they were meant just for you.
  Apr 30 𝗠
overthinking is the key
to destruction
and i have demolished cities
  Apr 30 𝗠
creatures made from dirt
molded into an art
die as stardust
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