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Why can't I fail?
End up in Paris or jail

Why must I live in a classroom
with a degree to which I only use a broom?

Why is it so hard to believe
that someone would wish to travel and see what they could achieve?

I wish to grow and explore
because somehow I always fathomed there was more.

So I'm sorry, Momma, if it's not what you wanted
but if I don't do this I'll always be haunted.

I want to grow out my mane
and live my life free from his chain

With shot of whiskey here or there
and a complexion I keep complet-el-y bare.

I can't wait to see what I'll see
and discover just who I will be.
My Little Bird*
Oh, how I always hated that nickname.

I'm no bird.

my song not sweet;
my eyes not kind;
my bones not weak;
nor my neck so quick to break.

I don't belong in your pocket
or cupped softly in your hands.
I will not sit nicely atop your finger
nor will I perch kindly on your shoulder.

Although,
if you truly wanted, Dear, I suppose I could be your bird
but nothing like the sherbert-colored lovebird you're thinking of.

No --
I'll be your magpie,
your raven,
your vulture,
or worse.

I'll peck those baby-blue peepers from their scarlet-red pits.
i have you say
on a day quite like today
that your favorite couples you see
are not you and me

i belive that we mesh together
just like the bird and the feather
and we shall fly
just as high

i can see you now, sitting there
your hand carresing your hair
and day after day it amazes me
the beauty that i do see

your beauty runs deep
through and past your body and out with your every peep
it coarses through your complex mind
and gives me awe that i have found such a wonderful find

i want to hear you say
that your favorites are you and i
we do mesh together
and i am as high as a blazed bird
and as you sit ther i wish your hands were mine
just so that i be closer to the beauty that is you
your beauty runs though you into me making me better, stronger
and together we are a wonderful find
im not in the mood to write
im not in the mood to read
im just to tired
to tell wrong from right

tired of *******
tired of lies
tired of playing the game
and im done with it
My heart is full of emotions,
not all of them so bad.
Joy, love, remorse;
and hate I never knew I had.

Everything you put me through,
I put it in the past.
Every wrong that you now deny,
the pain comes back so fast.

I hate how you ignore them;
those scars you left on me.
Maybe it's easy for the invisible,
but what of the scars that you can see?

I will not pretend to love you
like my siblings do.
I will not cower in your presence,
I AM NOT AFRAID OF YOU!

Not dislike and not disgust.
I now recognize this state.
Of all the gifts you gave me,
I'll gladly return the hate.
I used to not believe
in love at first sight;
then it happened to me
Once upon the other night.


I came to purchase a
dish rack for my dorm
and was just on my way
to check out and leave the store


when accross a short space
appeared my ideal,
possessing every grace.
"Please be mine." was my appeal.


Fireworks of color
filled my focused sight.
This love of mine was full,
yet it made my heart so light.


Walking quickly forward,
I hoped this love's
life would not be short.
It, I would possess!


Then we were face to face
I felt a caress
and full of lovesick haste,
swore that together we would be best.


I and that for which I pined
had come to that time:
It's just four, ninety-nine!
And so the scarf was mine.
You never realize it until its too late. No matter what situation you're in, no matter the obstacle or chance, being too late is a human necessity. If every person knew what they wanted when they wanted it, the world would be perfect. The world would be boring. I'm not here to talk about how the human race is walking towards its doom, I'm not here to talk about how badly we've ruined things, or even about the meaning of life. I'm here to make sure that people like me learn to realize opportunity before it becomes the path less traveled.

I love her. To this day, to this minute, to this second, I can believe that love was real. I can have a feeling of freedom just thinking of her, I can close my eyes and smile, I can feel the same butterflies. That is rare. Sometimes, I can feel her next to me, leaning against me, lightly kissing my neck and telling me things will be ok. But with her, things weren't ok. They were magical.

Like I said, we're always too late. I feel the magic, every second I think about her. I pick her favorite flowers and I sing her favorite songs. I keep her with me everywhere I go, even though she isn't there. I write her songs I hope she hears. I know I'll see her soon, but it seems so far away. Life is so short, it'll go by before you know it. Jesus, how many times Ive heard that. But sometimes, you want it to end faster, and other times you try to live to make them proud. But what would they rather?

The ones we've lost, I mean. What would they rather? The brother or sister who passed young, the lover or friend who cut their life short, the parent who left their children behind too early. Would they want us to live our lives to the fullest, dedicating countless achievements and awards to them, or would they want us to give up and come see them now? Who are we to know whats in the afterlife? There could be a whole separate world after death in this one. Who's to say when we go there, that wed meet the one we loved so much in this world? What about heaven? We hold the highest hopes in seeing the ones we've lost after we die, but what if it isn't like that at all? What if we are being mislead by hope?

That's all we really have in the end, though, isn't it? Hope. Hope that things will be ok when it all comes down to it; hope that no matter what, in the end everything will be ok. Our little wish for the gold at the end of the rainbow is all we have. Despite all the pain and all the fear, that there is glorious happiness to make up for what we faced here. I choose to hope. I figure death can't be the end of things. So even if I die, it's not like everyone thinks it is. Whatever happens after this life, I think Ill be ok. And I think I'll be happier, and that's all that really matters anymore.
Last night I drank a bottle of wine
broke down and cried
about everything
that's not going right
in my life.

Worst of all is how alone I feel
every waking moment
every breath
every second I'm alive.
Don't mind me.
I saw death today.
It stared at me from a face; a face not so different from my own.
A young man, a living soul, a mother’s son.
I loved him; I prayed death would not be so cruel, but there he lay.
I am not Death’s master. Death has no fear of me.
Only one has power over death, God, and I am not he.
Death came quickly, why it chose him I cannot say.
I could not save him. I could do nothing.
So I left him there… but never forgetting.
I still remember to this day.
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