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I no longer needed music to escape
my thoughts because I could recite
all of my favorite songs between
her thighs and she would
sing along.

Lately, my bones have been aching more than usual.
They call them growing pains and although I may not be physically
growing, I can still feel myself changing.
I remember when I was younger
and you used to be my best friend,
you were the super hero and I was your faithful sidekick.
But lately, the only attention I seem to get from you is just the
anger that was meant for my mother.
(That she never deserved.)
Maybe I remind you of her too much.
I remember once in the car you yelled at me.
You said, "Just shut up. You can never be wrong,
can you?
You're just like your ***** of a mother.:
You didn't know it, but I was crying.
And for whatever reason,
I still feel love for you.
You got in my face,
You yelled at me,
You almost hit me.
"Stay out of my ******* life."
I still love you though.
You drink so you don't have to feel and
that's one thing I've learned from you.
Thank you,

and I still love you, even though you want nothing to do with me.
And that smile you give me in the halls-the same smile I've seen everyday since 3rd grade- it fills me with such joy.
because it gives me hope that maybe somedays you still think of me too, and not only do you think of me- but you miss me.
and I can promise you dear, that-holy ****- I miss you.

You know who you are.
and you said to me,
"You are everything I love and miss from home."
Darling, just know that as long as my heart beats and air makes it's way through my lungs, you will always have a home with me.

and I mean it.
I starved for this feeling of surrounding.
A black out poem I made the other day in class.
Her eyes posses a certain beauty that not even the Earth has seen,
and her smile captures the hearts of those that gaze in her direction.
She is unaware of the power she has in such a simple gesture and it drives even the most sane people into craziness.
I am boy.
I am boy who enjoy *****.
I am...***** boy.
We need to get more inspired by the *****. Child of *****. (This is a poem I wrote when I couldn't sleep, please don't take it too seriously.)
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