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Waverly
Poems
Mar 2012
Untitled
I have headaches.
Maybe I drink too much,
and my family thinks
I'm an alcoholic;
put too much sauce in the venom
and it becomes
a pasta of destruction.
How little
we value
each other's hearts,
when they lie
in oak fingers,
so old
and
so known
that it's hard for us
to know
their beginning.
When compassion
lies dormant
like the dogwood
with no lavender,
it is easy to forget
that we are human.
Because I love you,
and I should have more pride,
I should never say that,
it is unbecoming.
But it is easier to say,
than I have forgotten you,
that you are broken
and twisted inside of me.
Written by
Waverly
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