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J M Surgent Mar 2014
$135 in my bank account,
too many poems to write,
and not enough beer to get me through the night.
J M Surgent Mar 2014
I’m unemployed
And old enough to realize
That’s just not cool,
While kids around me
Friends of friends of parent's kids,
Are working their way
Into small names at big companies,
And it’s my job to clap for them,
To make them feel success
At selling out young,
While I give in all I have
All I’ve ever wanted
To live a dream
Worth chasing pennies for
Because I love the way
They click when they fall into
My piggy bank.
J M Surgent Mar 2014
The young man sat in the bed in the corner on the floor, one hand holding a book bought from the racks at the grocery store, the other resting on the head of the young woman sleeping next to him. As his eyes scanned the pages, his hand stroked her hair, and occasionally she would awake from her slumber, smile, and mumble a few incomprehensible words of midnight wisdom. As he read the book, he barely noticed, too entranced in the plot lines unfolding before him in a world he paid a whole $2.99 to enter.

As the dead of night became darker outside, and the cold chill of 3 a.m. danced in through the open window, the young man put down his book, instead turning his gaze to the young woman next to him. His eyes followed the curves of her body, starting at her violin lips, slowly moving down and admiring the sensual outcropping of her naked hips beneath his blanket. As she lay deep in sleep, he put his hand onto her face, feeling the warmth of her skin and the arch of a subconscious smile. He moved his hand back up to her hair, stroking the straightened dyed black strands and feeling their softness between his fingers. As he looked at her, he wondered what she could be dreaming about, and wished so badly he was with her in that landscape.

“You are mine, and I am yours,” he told to her earlier that night in a lover’s embrace. She just stared at him with welcoming green eyes that smiled. At this moment, he missed those green eyes, and leaned in to kiss her gently on the cheek.

“You are mine, and I am yours,” he repeated, though this time barely a whisper. Still, her small lips formed a porcelain smile and his heart raced at the idea that she was now dreaming of him, and only him.
Maybe not quite a poem, but I wanted to share nonetheless.
J M Surgent Feb 2014
Falling in love is cheaper
Than talking to you,
So that's what I think I'm going to do.
That's what I'm going to do.
J M Surgent Feb 2014
I don’t care what you said before,
You’ve got nothing to be sorry for
But I still hate you anyway,
I’d rather rip your tongue out
Than hear it pronounce my name
J M Surgent Feb 2014
Snow falls,
Outside, around my feet
As I smoke a cigarette;
But now, I can’t sleep
As I try to,
To the sound of heavy machinery,
Clearing the streets.
J M Surgent Feb 2014
Beginning of summer, end of high school;

Windows down, driving too fast in warm weather with a girl you love to a song you'll learn to love just as much:

Can I ever feel free again?
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