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YieShawn Scutt
Georgia    I'm 17 and I believe that it's never to early to strive for your dreams.
CookieCutterStars MilkyNights
Down the Rabbit Hole    oh here I go- I hope none of these are too terrible-- I should be adding more old ones soon (the title of old ones …
Some should use caution. Not all roads of life's highway are well lit.

Poems

Michael Parish Oct 2013
No more komakazee crows
No more angry nehibors and
Their apple guns.
No more slow winks.
No more toilet bowls
And no more ham.
No more wet hair after a shower.
No more drooling on my face.

Remember that **** dog.
Remember you and him kissed like eskimos.
Remember sleeping in my train tunnel.
I wish I still played with trains.
I wish I still played euphonium.
I wish we never lost our house.

My old friend, is it time for me to go away.
You were the last.
The last pet mom ever will own.
She told us no more animals.
She cried tonite,
She said im so sorry soxy.

A longntime ago
A longtime 6 hours in school felt.
A long strected out cat
Waited for us on the steps.
I rubbed my face in his glossy chest.
I rubbed my third grade nose up and down
His body hoping for a play bite.
His tongue licked my ears three times,
Three times until he took a bite.
My hands resembled the bird,
The bird he never killed.
He turned me into a contortinist.
He made  my leggs cramp.
He made my matress his middle ground.
His middle my yoga sleep.

After showers he hunted my head.
He layed on my face.
He licked my dripping buzz cutt.
He licked the milk off of my first mustache.
He ruined the left over ham.
He made my favorite sandwhich
A challenge.
He could smell me open the can and mix the
Mayonase with pickles.
He left me a dead mouse on my train tracks.
He had white drops of paint on his paws.  
White furry paint,
Mom told us he had sox on his feet,
He was born with the name we gave him
Sox not socks,
Not the socks you get tired of wearing.
Not the socks you get mixed up durrning laundry.
Our sox kept us on our toes.
Our sox.
The **** cat
That really owned our house.
Hell always be sox,
The **** cat,
The **** voice my brother made up.
The **** drool I let rub against my face
Will never go away.  

Ill kiss him like an eskimo.
Ill biuld him a eskimo fire
And hope he chooses to
rub noses with My dog J.C again
I hope he goes gently into the nite (Dylan Thomas).
marïama  Nov 2013
finding myself
marïama Nov 2013
sometimes I feel kind of low
alone..
something in my mind
I need to take back control
they can't comprehend
or even come close to understanding me
maybe if i was boring they would love me
maybe if i was simple in the mind everything would be fine
everything redefined
in the heart and soul of a mastermind
body shaped like a muse for fine art
don't fall apart
sometimes I feel kind of low
alone..
in this battle for the freedom of my soul
maybe I shouldve let go long ago
maybe I shouldve give in
swallowed the bottle
cutt a little deeper
felt the rush of pain
for those who don't understand
for those who don't relate
and for those who think I'm crazy
there's a fine line between genius and insanity.
I have erased this line.