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Seanathon Apr 10
I used to write here
Craft in these corners
Scoff at these walls
Scratch at the stars, like a lottery ticket, when the world was young
When my own structures were seemingly falling apart
How I laboured without toil
Spinning spun without thread
How tired was I, as a peice of myself, with leaps and bounds from cloud to cloud
When I was no older than the dirt beneath
How the tired me, trod this distant ground into my own history
Until it was more familiar and resound
In memory, as it is now
JayceeJellies Feb 2015

Is all that I can think!

Quit stomping!
You're creating unwanted anxiety.
Why are you walking so harshly!?
Are you, maybe, angry?
I don't want to know.
Felicia C Jan 2015
I'm not good at closing doors quietly.
So much so that my father made a sign to remind me.
It says:  

Quiet Please!

in blue magic marker.
It's not that he's trying to stifle me, he's just sleeping.

My mother told me that she had to realign the door frames after I moved out, as they had grown used to my proclivity for slamming.
November 2014

— The End —