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it's 8:19 pm on a friday night
and i'm inside wondering about everything not human
i wonder if butterflies have social calendars
and if any of them are ever left out by their counterparts
or if blades of grass have issues with their parents
and if their father tells them they better straighten up
or else they'll be cut to bits by the lawn mower
or perhaps if the moon has anxiety
over all the little things it illuminates
during the dark hours of the night
maybe the tide feels uneasy
washing away shattered dreams
and long forgotten kisses
that have been shared upon its shores
i wonder if bumblebees really care about anything
other than collecting pollen
or if all they really want
is to come home and let their wings rest
for maybe just a minute
maybe birds care for more than just their children
and finding food and shelter for the day
i wonder if they ever have disputed with each other
or ever look down upon us humans
and wonder why we're leading lives
we don't want to lead
you see i wonder if everything on this earth
that's not a human being
wonders about us
about why we care so much
and perhaps why we care too little
i wonder if they notice the pain that emanates from our hearts
i wonder if they can feel the slow drag in our step
i wonder if they know
that we would rather be anything
other than ourselves
i wonder
"Your voice projects so well,
yet you constantly project through it
your ****** up subconscious."
I heard someone say this on the phone in town today.
I thought it was a bit poetic. A bit sadistic, too, but hey.
I think it's at least equally true for the speaker
as it is supposed to have been for the listener.
Puts his pen to paper
For one last goodbye
Will try his best to say it all
In this his final write

He'll address it to his loved ones
And those that know him well
In hopes they'll take it all with ease
Though there's no way to really tell

He's written about the ups and down
The ins and outs of life
So what is on this lonely page
Should come as no surprise

He's always felt so out of place
Even in this poets world
At one time was his saving grace
That no writings now can cure

So he puts his pen to paper
His beginning and his end
Never doing him any favors
Both as enemy and friend

All he can think to write
Is I've simply had enough
As his very last line for the very last time
Is written out in poets blood
And a woman who held a babe against her ***** said, "Speak to us of
Children."

And he said:

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts.

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit,
not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you
with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;

For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that
is stable.
Words so beautiful
can only come
from a beautiful mind.
OD
Hey little sister.  I know you're too young to understand what I've done. They probably told you I died in my sleep, protecting you from the whole story. They'll tell you when youre older. I know you miss me. You still think of me sometimes when my favorite song comes on the radio. But dont cry for me ojeda. I love you
Hi mom. You know what really happened. You knew I was in pain for a long time but you never thought it would go this far.  I know you still cry too late at night when no one can hear. I know you never stopped hurting. But dont cry for me mother I love you.
And daddy, I'll be home again soon. We'll be together. You can smile again dad. I love you.
To all those I loved, to those who loved me. There was no "Sydney" left to save. She died long before I did.
Dear nanny. You're broken hearted just like I was, I know. Your first grandaughter is gone. You're slowly fading. Your smile is gone. But dont cry for my grandmother, I love you.
Hey Pa. You can't believe I'd do this. I was such a happy child. Smiling, always playing. What happened? But dont cry for me grandfather, I love you
To all those I loved, to those who loved me. There was no "Sydney" left to save. She died long before I did.
And friends, stop your crying. You know I hate it when you're sad. I'm still here, you just cant see me. I still hug you, I still laugh at your jokes. Dont cry for me my friends, I love you. To all those I loved, to those who loved me. There was no "Sydney" left to save. She died long before I did. To all those I loved, to those who loved me. There was no "Sydney" left to save. She died long before I did.
 Aug 2013 Skye Applebome
DG
Rage
 Aug 2013 Skye Applebome
DG
Screamed into the air
Punched a wall
Threw a chair
Broke a window
Almost grabbed the knife
Then cried my eyes out
Happened a few weeks ago. My hand still hurts
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