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Living life in muted means. You know he's bursting at the seams, suddenly. Pressed too close to a strangers face. Wishing for an open space, nobody. Staring at a fashion window. Seeing what he can't be into, achingly. He doesn't have a thing to say. Praying questions stay away, silently. Sneaking out the exit badly. No-one loves him as madly. Awkward.
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Feb 7, 2011
Feb 7, 2011 at 12:24 PM UTC
Poem 4: Awkward
Living life in muted means. You know he's bursting at the seams, suddenly. Pressed too close to a strangers face. Wishing for an open space, nobody. Staring at a fashion window. Seeing what he can't be into, achingly. He doesn't have a thing to say. Praying questions stay away, silently. Sneaking out the exit badly. No-one loves him as madly. Awkward.
Copyright © 2011, Phil Stewart. All rights reserved.
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Feb 7, 2011
Feb 7, 2011 at 12:24 PM UTC
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