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A Thomas Hawkins Jul 2011
Its ***** to be deep,
be honest, be true.
It ***** to be me,
and stuck on you.

It ***** not because,
how you made me feel.
It ***** just because,
to me it was real.

It ***** that you lied,
and made me believe,
that you and I could,
together be free.

It ***** not because,
of the man in your life,
or that you sleep apart,
no longer his wife.

It just ***** because,
for the very last time,
I trusted you with,
this heart that was mine.
Follow me on Twitter @athomashawkins
All of the time I hear how Poetry *****
In grandiose all knowing articles,
Fahey shouts it from the big stage
Poetry *****
Like a ***** out in the neighborhood,
Like a vacuum,
Like depression on the state of the human race
Poetry *****
Now they bury her again, and again
Poetry dead with a single ice pick hole
Naked her porcelain, translucent skin
Glowing in the moonlight
Her beautiful naked body covered in blood
A nook crammed up her ***
Poetry *****
In a World of image without substance
Poetry *****
In a World of snake oil businessmen
Poetry *****
I go to coffee shops
And crazy empty bars to hear her
I so rarely find her anymore
Poetry *****
I still host readings in her name
Poetry *****
I read tens of thousands of
Submissions for free
Just so that I can find her
And create something beautiful
Poetry *****
I have traveled from city to city
To see her
& I know where her heart is
I know who my kin are
Poetry *****
Under a generic blanket of PC niceness
With no soul
Poetry *****
As I read & create it
Poetry doesn’t ****
People do
I saw her get up and walk away
From the whole scene
She wakes me up at four thirty in the morning
& ***** the **** out of me
Poetry doesn’t ****
People do