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#adams
"An abandoned child in the age of innocence"
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Apr 8, 2021
Apr 8, 2021 at 8:03 PM UTC
The age of innocence
When the darkness comes and I unravel, undone, I know only you will get me. When I’m fully consumed and swearing I’m doomed I’m sure you’ll wish you never met me. How can you give a **** if you don’t know who I am and all the stories that are my building blocks. Take the time to cram, assign roles of lion and lamb, but apparently it’s a wolf now in these talks. And the pictures were colour yet all the same they seem black and white, maybe they faded as they sure seem duller, or maybe there’s just not enough light. Everyone pulls away, I sadly know the drill, it’s impossible to stay, or even just stay still. Throwing punches and slanging slurs, tell me is it impossible to draw a line? I gave her a heart but she never gave hers, I’m surprised she even wanted mine. I’m stupid enough to keep my word and foolish enough to keep a promise. Dissecting and analyzing the absurd, intelligence is the mortal enemy to total bliss.
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Aug 16, 2019
Aug 16, 2019 at 2:24 AM UTC
A Love Song For Envy Adams
“I am a warrior, so that my son may be a merchant, so that his son may be a poet.” John Quincy Adams, 6th President of the United States <> a bad weakness, mine, mess with the perfect of others, unsure what to add that will addictive illuminate further, but as homage, a tribute, a salute got to got too, no middle class delayed gratification for me, none, whatsoever, read the words and my own hands choke me as if to pull out, to free the upsurging words in my chest-forming, to uplift me up, from the floor where I am roiling in wonderful wonderment at a prophecy come true my recent family history, about 400 years worth, got it written down someplace, escapees from a Spanish Inquisition, a Roman one before that, meandering Jews who found a respite, a small welcome in a small village in Germany (the irony does not go unnoticed) from villager to merchant, from tiny town to big city folk, we went, warriors if any, kept secret, best unheard, attract no attention, but do what survival doesn’t always politely request here I am child of the proverbial wandering jew, fancy me a poet with, at best, a very small p, one of three children, historians, book writers, scholars and even poet~traders, and so a President’s words, hammer my cells upon an anvil for human skins, the future shape of me foreseen and I think to myself, alone and out loud: This, This! is what makes America great,  welcoming the stranger, even predicting their possible pathway to a peaceful existence, giving their descendant’s generations liberty, liberty to become poets, free, who can stand upright*
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Jun 25, 2019
Jun 25, 2019 at 1:47 PM UTC
“I am a warrior, so that my son may be a merchant, so that his son may be a poet.
“I am a warrior, so that my son may be a merchant, so that his son may be a poet.” John Quincy Adams, 6th President of the United States <> a bad weakness, mine, mess with the perfect of others, unsure what to add that will addictive illuminate further, but as homage, a tribute, a salute got to got too, no middle class delayed gratification for me, none, whatsoever, read the words and my own hands choke me as if to pull out, to free the upsurging words in my chest-forming, to uplift me up, from the floor where I am roiling in wonderful wonderment at a prophecy come true my recent family history, about 400 years worth, got it written down someplace, escapees from a Spanish Inquisition, a Roman one before that, meandering Jews who found a respite, a small welcome in a small village in Germany (the irony does not go unnoticed) from villager to merchant, from tiny town to big city folk, we went, warriors if any, kept secret, best unheard, attract no attention, but do what survival doesn’t always politely request here I am child of the proverbial wandering jew, fancy me a poet with, at best, a very small p, one of three children, historians, book writers, scholars and even poet~traders, and so a President’s words, hammer my cells upon an anvil for human skins, the future shape of me foreseen and I think to myself, alone and out loud: This, This! is what makes America great,  welcoming the stranger, even predicting their possible pathway to a peaceful existence, giving their descendant’s generations liberty, liberty to become poets, free, who can stand upright*
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I'm not a real girl, just a ****** Cis boys don't like me Unless they chase, but I'm no bait. Unless you let me Whip it out and look in your eyes. Unless you stare Back with fire skipping my life. But I'm Not a real girl Just a ****** I'm missing a hole If that's what keeps Me unseen, then Bae, I don't need Your world
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May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 4:24 PM UTC
Closing Chapters: "Adam's Apple"
there’s seventeen that’s normal size and a short one that’s hell with a knife
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Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 9:48 PM UTC
what's he mean by "almost 18"?
A lways there u can talk to him s ays he is always there t alks non stop to make you happy i like him to be there when I need someone to talk to n eeds time to think about what you tell him about A mazing person d eserves a good girl a lways nice! m eets your needs as a listener s its there through tough times
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Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 10:14 AM UTC
Austin Adams
It seems as though we all live in separate worlds.. In that case I'm hitchhiking through the galaxy, won't you come with me? Hitchhike through this galaxy with me! We'll see new and old worlds, hear some odd dialects, remember to bring your guide and babel fish and if we are lost we musn't panic! We'd all love to be hitchhiking through the galaxy, so come on! Hitchhike through the galaxy with me!!
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Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 2:38 AM UTC
Hitchhike through the galaxy with me
My body burns to rove far from man-made buildings, prisons for the modern soul. I need to traverse the frontiers white man stole from those who made it their home. I've been down to the Everglades of Florida. Fan boats flew through the estuary lines with roots of mangroves. I've been to the Hoh Rain Forest of Washington where fog descended on the shoreline and married the sulfur smell rising from hot springs. I must experience America's coast to coast beauty. Every spare seconds I spend luxuriating in the sun, thinking of all the places untouched. My list of desires grows as the glaciers of Glacier recede in Montana, beckoning me to the Rocky Mountain Peaks. Old Faithful gushes, surrounded by wolves and grizzlies. Someday I'll cross Yellowstone's expansive mountain ranges. from Idaho to Montana to Wyoming. On the arches of Utah I'll face my fear of heights and find solace at the tops of time-layered sandstone towers. Descending the Grand Canyon I'll study beautiful colors exposed by years of erosion. In winter Death Valley will be braved. The lowest and direst point will exhilarate me with scaled creatures as sand dunes whisper my name with every hot breath. The Badlands of South Dakota will hope I come backpacking through prairies to watch precious bison roam. California Redwood trees and I will stand side by side as friends. Yosemite will call me to her cliffs and I will chase waterfalls and sequoia groves until I've seen it all. I ache to explore the terrain that bears my name, the country I call home.
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Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 1:09 PM UTC
Ansel Adams
My body burns to rove far from man-made buildings, prisons for the modern soul. I need to traverse the frontiers white man stole from those who made it their home. I've been down to the Everglades of Florida. Fan boats flew through the estuary lines with roots of mangroves. I've been to the Hoh Rain Forest of Washington where fog descended on the shoreline and married the sulfur smell rising from hot springs. I must experience America's coast to coast beauty. Every spare seconds I spend luxuriating in the sun, thinking of all the places untouched. My list of desires grows as the glaciers of Glacier recede in Montana, beckoning me to the Rocky Mountain Peaks. Old Faithful gushes, surrounded by wolves and grizzlies. Someday I'll cross Yellowstone's expansive mountain ranges. from Idaho to Montana to Wyoming. On the arches of Utah I'll face my fear of heights and find solace at the tops of time-layered sandstone towers. Descending the Grand Canyon I'll study beautiful colors exposed by years of erosion. In winter Death Valley will be braved. The lowest and direst point will exhilarate me with scaled creatures as sand dunes whisper my name with every hot breath. The Badlands of South Dakota will hope I come backpacking through prairies to watch precious bison roam. California Redwood trees and I will stand side by side as friends. Yosemite will call me to her cliffs and I will chase waterfalls and sequoia groves until I've seen it all. I ache to explore the terrain that bears my name, the country I call home.
Continue reading...
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