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brycicalPoems
I bleed letters, breathe words-- lived in utero with a pen. Creative gypsies & outcasts are brethren. I will die for their plaid sky brushstrokes &/or verbal slip-bang poetry. That's my religion. Self-doubt is my sin. I have a habit of overstaying my welcome, another is coming on a little strong. Communication is my mantra, my philosophy is intelectual stimulation. Putting up with **** is second nature. Spit in my face. Call me names. Don't give me that promotion. I'll survive-- probably even laugh about it later... But... take advantage of me-- or those I hold close-- if I even see a glint of the knife you're going to put in my back I promise-- I promise the pain you will feel leaves a scar much worse than whatever could happen to me.
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Feb 1, 2012
Feb 1, 2012 at 1:38 PM UTC
Heart of a Taurus
I bleed letters, breathe words-- lived in utero with a pen. Creative gypsies & outcasts are brethren. I will die for their plaid sky brushstrokes &/or verbal slip-bang poetry. That's my religion. Self-doubt is my sin. I have a habit of overstaying my welcome, another is coming on a little strong. Communication is my mantra, my philosophy is intelectual stimulation. Putting up with **** is second nature. Spit in my face. Call me names. Don't give me that promotion. I'll survive-- probably even laugh about it later... But... take advantage of me-- or those I hold close-- if I even see a glint of the knife you're going to put in my back I promise-- I promise the pain you will feel leaves a scar much worse than whatever could happen to me.
brycical
Written by
brycical
Feb 1, 2012
Feb 1, 2012 at 1:38 PM UTC
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