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#51
What if I showed you all the poems I wrote Would you taste the asphalt I felt As I sat and scribed Would you see the graffiti The street signs, city life Would it mean anything
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Dec 22, 2019
Dec 22, 2019 at 12:29 AM UTC
51 Days
Fifty-one lines exactly, Counted on my arm, As always. Kind of ironic, Since I was clean. For fifty-fucking-one days.
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Sep 26, 2019
Sep 26, 2019 at 7:10 AM UTC
Title.
And I'm here again, Standing alone in the hallway. Is my company not enough for you? Are my laughs not pure enough for you? Am I worthless to you when I'm alone? Do I not fulfill your expectations? Can you please tell me what's going on? I'll feel alone with a reason.
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May 6, 2019
May 6, 2019 at 2:15 AM UTC
Note 51: Alone
*The government has it's secrets And so do I We all are deep and in depth creatures Capable of living both very public And yet very private lives And yet every once and awhile in time I'm astounded by what is that I find In my own life That I've been trying and far more confident In the standards which I set for myself And now that I'm there without sense of self I no longer wish nor want to comply*
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Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 1:58 PM UTC
My 51
i'm so ******* tired of writing about you miserere mei deus i'm sick of all these ******* dreams secundum magnam misericordiam tuam i'm fed up with the sleepless nights et secundum multitudinem the daylight hauntings miserationum tuarum the midnight ******* tears dele iniquitatem meam i hate that flutter in my gut that i only feel when i think of you miserere mei deus i hate that my heart rises in my throat only when i hear you laugh secundum magnam misericordiam tuam i hate that i love you et secundum multitudinem i hate that i love you miserationum tuarum i hate that i love you dele iniquitatem meam
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May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 2:02 AM UTC
love, sick