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 Nov 2017 Matt Jursin
i’m typing this
as i’m waiting for you to get back
from the bathroom.
in the starbucks
cozy acoustic music is playing
and your mocha frappucino
half empty
is on the table in front of me.
your lips have touched the lid
and i don’t want to be
that person
but i wonder.
i wonder how it feels
does it know that it’s lucky.
can it tell me its secrets
how does it do that?
get you to open up
and let inside the warmth?
i’m not jealous.
just curious.

you should be back any second now.
you might walk out
back to our cliche little table
and ask me
what i’m doing
what i’m typing so furiously
what i’m so passionate about.
i will want to say you.
i love you
right here right now right time right place
i won’t though

maybe i’ll say
“i forgot to finish this paper
that’s due at 11:59 tonight”
or maybe i’ll say
“i just got an urgent email
about my political science class tomorrow”
or maybe i’ll say
“an old elementary school friend
just sent me a Facebook message
and i need to reply”

or maybe i’ll say
nothing more important than our coffee.”
maybe i’ll just close my laptop
because it’s true.

nothing is more importa
No one wants to see their Daddy with a needle in his arm.
He's supposed to be her hero.
She's supposed to be his good luck charm.
Because of her he's not supposed to want to cause himself harm.
But that's just not how addiction works.
Don't take it so hard.
pill bottle's became his baby.
because baby girl don't **** the pain like the pain killer's do.
yet he still tell's her
"Baby girl, your Daddy loves you."
so that's what love is.
in her pretty head.
so she fell in love with men that loved drugs instead.
they abused drugs
and they abused her.
tell me why hugs feel so much nicer from an abuser.
we don't want to be like our parents.
but thanks to genes and chromosomes,
were our parents to our bones.
once a tiny baby skeleton.
A bun in the oven of my mum.
a tiny being with no voice.
here only by my mothers choice.
she would walk down the baby aisle and  smile.
falling in love with everything she'd find.
She really truly wanted me.
It only took eight years to change her mind.
I no longer recognize the face in the mirror.
My little heart's full of fear.
anticipating the day you no longer want me here.
If Repeating History
is all this life is.
I'd rather be dead than relive how I've lived.
The more poetic you become,
the less they listen like before,
they hear suicide threats as metaphors
the girl who wrote poems and the boy who cried wolf are one in the same.
when will they learn this isn't a game.
I am a child.

I try my best
but it doesn't always work out the way I expected.

I learn from them
I grow.

I imagine.

Adults know everything.

I must be be a child.
Let time and space be captured in a picture, let the beauty of the world be found in one place.

Let me adore the treasure searched for by kings. Let me look at your face and believe paradise exists...
 Feb 2010 Matt Jursin
They say that some things aren't really Rocket Science.Yeah, i agree !. Sometimes they happen to be Shakespeare.
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