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Seanathon Jan 31
Every morning when I hide my untie
Turn on a podcast out the door
And stumble through the cold
In my secretly Italian coat
I leave with coffee
Hot poured with opinions over sleep
And my inner child switches on the N64
Pours hinself some chocolate milk
And gloats
Holding his eternal freedom over me
Kids will be kids. Even your inner child. #skipwork

Favorite game?
How can I use my phone less? Should I?

I use it to reach out to my daughter...
I call my mama every day...

I tell my sister, I will call her
       And set an alarm to do it...
             Oh well...

I can just fly to the opposite coast...
      And hug her little one...
And be a perfect auntie... for one week...

Oh! that's so cheating!
     Ok, I'm cheating....
            But I'm good at it!

Do you know why?
     Because when I see your little one...
        I see you... and I love her so much!

And I'm sorry I wasn't a good sister...
I wanted to...
I planned on being fair, and caring, and supportive...
     When I was 9...
        But when I was 10....
I got jealous...
I didn't even know that I was...

But you know what?
I still ironed your little blankets...
And went to get donated milk for you...
        In the snow!..
           For like 20 min walk through the snow...
Because you needed milk to grow...

            ... and because I love you <3
Tori Schall Nov 2019
A little bit of sugar
a tiny pinch of salt
A couple of spoonfuls of cinnamon.
I single chocolate drop
throw it in some flour
and add a cup of milk
That is how you bake something
I hope that it did help.

Now mix the ingredients, until they blend so well
and you'll have a mixture
that looks as delicious as it smells.
Then put it in the oven
set it to bake
take it out when the timer dings
and you'll have yourself a cake.
Mikey Kania Nov 2019
i swear by revenge baby
i swear by my mother's death:
it's over now

i know what he did to

i know about your story
i know about your worries

i am going to be with

i am going to stay close
will never leave you
like boomerangs
you get me?

he'll never be hurting
you again

we'll be leading a
white bread life in order to

but never be gone  
never gone

i know what he did to

you and me
female and female
male and female
male and male

are going to eliminate him
his head will bust and his giblets will splatter
against the wall

and i swear baby
because i love you so much baby

this paint will be our

**** louis vuitton what
we need is


feel me?
let's do it
be wit me
i'm never going to leave you i
swear by revenge
swear by the death of my mother

don't you assume i
haven't been suffering

been drinking gallons of milk against
ain't only *****
believe me

don't you assume i
haven't been suffering

it's our time.

get me?
Alice Oct 2019
Oh, I went to eat yesterday
And I didn't thought about you.
I went to my kitchen,
I opened my fridge,
And oh, I rembered you.
I found a milk, a curdled milk,
Oh, I remembered a silly bilk.
Because, the taste of this milk was like the taste of your liquid.
Oh, what's the heck man,
Oh, it doesn't matter now.
Connor finished the milk
A "poem" every day.

(yes it's another musical quote don't @ me)
Antares Aug 2019
milk hair, milk clothes
a world painted in thick hues of the very same cream
the whirr of a printing press on blank paper
The flutters of fragile wings are perhaps all but enough to bring a child to hasty tears.

A mirror bought to
of echoing frailty,
a chord at its highest piercing note.

The crescendo before dusk.

pair of hands encased in its own
Who                                                          ­  
polite and light on the tongue,
                                                         ­                   a vain blind
                                                                ­           no less
Barred fingers in cells of clickety clackety letters and fonts of paintbrushes or the odd twitch.
It prays.
                                         Soundless noise.
                                                          ­      not a pin-drop
                                                                ­       not the screeches of bosses

And when the paper is stacked high on coffee refrains and static routine.
It screams.
The mirror.                                      

Cell             blown to bits
Custody               broken

Mirror tattered
refunded at a bitter price.    

Blank as snow and crisp as winter.
Gone like snow the very next morning.
But ever so physically there.
I have no clue
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