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#arent
Roses aren't always red Violets are not blue Only in my head may I hold you. - Jay M July 2nd, 2020
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Jul 2, 2020
Jul 2, 2020 at 11:27 PM UTC
Roses Aren't Always Red
"48% nerd 27% band geek 15% broseph 6% grandpa 4% lesbian" "That's some odd stuff man. I usually just look up 'Blondes."
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Jun 1, 2020
Jun 1, 2020 at 1:18 PM UTC
Just Needed To Scratch An Itch
Ready for a new life A whole school Of three hundred smiles Hopefully, the autumn breeze Will take me where I need to be My blacked out eyes Will yours meet mine On the very first day Or will the current Rip me away I want to be grounded I need to be strong But something's eating Up my insides Telling me I've been gone For far too long I can't make up For the wasted days Rotting away Behind reinforced glass Wishing that today Might be my last
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Aug 13, 2019
Aug 13, 2019 at 6:53 PM UTC
Freedom (Of A Sort)
You know, Maybe, It’s just me but I guess I just find it Funny That people say it’s girls who have loose lips When the boys at this table have mouths Like open caves With stalagmite teeth Bats come flying out I guess, Maybe, It’s just my magic trick, The way I become invisible When the boys Sit down for dinner And they open up their backpacks And their gym bags And pull out butcher knives That shine like brand new quarters In the cafeteria fluorescents I’m not sure, But maybe The churning of my stomach Is a sign That there’s sharks In these waters I feel my wet socks in my wet shoes as I jiggle my knee And watch the boys With their knives Start chopping up girls on the plastic top table They cut slices off of Julia and Megan And Kara and lob them across the table to their friends Just Like the men at Pike Place Fish Market Fling whole salmon Into each other’s gloved hands I saw them do it When I went to Seattle once. I feel water climbing up my legs. I see a shark fin. Did I blush red? Maybe, When the boy next to me catches Katie’s legs In his calloused hands And laughs a laugh that sounds like An out of tune violin They’re all laughing now, Like car horns and fire alarms Laughing about Katie’s legs And Kara’s *** And Megan’s hips And Julia’s **** It’s the ugliest orchestra I’ve ever heard And perhaps, Maybe, I’m the only one who’s noticed, But we’re not in the cafeteria anymore We’re right there In that room In that bed In that moment With JuliaMeganKaraKatie And I don’t want to be there. And I know, For sure, No maybes, That If JuliaMeganKaraKatie knew We were all here too In her room In her bed In her That she’d cry enough saltwater To flood the whole earth And wash it clean. We leave the table Bones on the floor Shark boys clean their teeth with toothpicks My clothes are soaked All the way up to my neck. -I never go in the ocean, I’ve seen the sharks when they frenzy.
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Dec 20, 2018
Dec 20, 2018 at 11:34 AM UTC
BAIT
You know, Maybe, It’s just me but I guess I just find it Funny That people say it’s girls who have loose lips When the boys at this table have mouths Like open caves With stalagmite teeth Bats come flying out I guess, Maybe, It’s just my magic trick, The way I become invisible When the boys Sit down for dinner And they open up their backpacks And their gym bags And pull out butcher knives That shine like brand new quarters In the cafeteria fluorescents I’m not sure, But maybe The churning of my stomach Is a sign That there’s sharks In these waters I feel my wet socks in my wet shoes as I jiggle my knee And watch the boys With their knives Start chopping up girls on the plastic top table They cut slices off of Julia and Megan And Kara and lob them across the table to their friends Just Like the men at Pike Place Fish Market Fling whole salmon Into each other’s gloved hands I saw them do it When I went to Seattle once. I feel water climbing up my legs. I see a shark fin. Did I blush red? Maybe, When the boy next to me catches Katie’s legs In his calloused hands And laughs a laugh that sounds like An out of tune violin They’re all laughing now, Like car horns and fire alarms Laughing about Katie’s legs And Kara’s *** And Megan’s hips And Julia’s **** It’s the ugliest orchestra I’ve ever heard And perhaps, Maybe, I’m the only one who’s noticed, But we’re not in the cafeteria anymore We’re right there In that room In that bed In that moment With JuliaMeganKaraKatie And I don’t want to be there. And I know, For sure, No maybes, That If JuliaMeganKaraKatie knew We were all here too In her room In her bed In her That she’d cry enough saltwater To flood the whole earth And wash it clean. We leave the table Bones on the floor Shark boys clean their teeth with toothpicks My clothes are soaked All the way up to my neck. -I never go in the ocean, I’ve seen the sharks when they frenzy.
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It may seem like you are lonely, but you aren't.
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Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 11:44 AM UTC
You Aren't Lonely (10w)
I never loved you You held my hand, called me baby almost made me feel and do things but I never loved you I never said I loved you too despite you saying it over and over you gave me a home, presents.... you. it didn't make me love you. But you were mean, didn't fear God, or trust me cared less for what I wanted or preferred. so I couldn't love you. Yet, I feel mean, for not loving you.
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Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 4:50 AM UTC
Never.
It’s April, and I have everyone fooled, that my passion is gone, the fire has cooled that my eyes don’t expand, when see you around that my thoughts stay intact when you’re there. that my mouth says its words not for you anymore, and my heart as gone back to its beat from before. that I’m angry at you, but i don’t know for what that I’m more independent, and happier, but- the new “him” in my poems doesn’t shatter my ground I’ve forgotten the meaning of how to astound- of how to surprise, or be fearful of loss of the things that are mine and the things that you toss but everything's fine and you’re nothing divine and it’s april, and I am a fool
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May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 1:12 PM UTC
April's Fool
I ******* miss you. There. I said it. I hope you're happy to know, if you came back, I'd pick things right up where you left it.
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Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 7:41 AM UTC
I Still Love You;
YOU ARE: melodrama. sunsets on mountains and poetic weekends. “if you write about me, i will blush when you read it.” playing my guitar. playing with my hair. playing with me. “do you want to get something to eat?” “are you tired?” “let me in." holding me down, in the best possible way. approved by my mom. poetic texts and the reason i’ve been clutching my phone. too good to me. YOU ARE NOT: what you appear to be, you are so much more. what i expected. disappointing. sure about where this is going, neither am i. a manic decision, although you may seem like it now. alone. mine. mine. mine.
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Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 1:45 PM UTC
you are/you are not
A dash of dust Unwilling to settle Coats the pink insides Of my lungs As the butterflies In my stomach Scream, They want to get out and I don't know how to let them out anymore Because I threw away the key Thinking it was tarnished and needed polishing But really the only thing That could polish a rusty key Is to keep it in the door, The door I so foolish locked And slammed shut Without so much as saying goodbye. And now here I sit, Dazed and confused By the flash of my fingers No longer taunted by inhibitions, Trying to scream the butterflies cries, For their wings so same Are cutting me up on the inside Like no butterflies before.
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Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 10:34 PM UTC
The Butterflies Inside of Me Have Something To Say
I'm the anarchist judging all those hypocrites You're the hypocrite judging all those anarchists There is a thin line between guys like you and I We share a...Similar scene, though Filled with...Sin-ful Misfits. Clean cut suits, or ripped jeans Baby, it doesn't matter to me... No time to flatter, its time for the crime Of justifiable homicide.
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May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 6:39 PM UTC
Anarchy
I wonder if Teachers ever realize That some of The students sitting In their class Have serious Mental  Illnesses And are collapsing Under pressure they Put on them.
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Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 4:58 PM UTC
Teachers
The stars don't shine as bright When you aren't around My mind thinks to much When you aren't around My heart aches more When you aren't around Worst of all The stars don't shine as bright When you aren't around I wish I could be Who I think you need She just isn't me I can leave If you don't go with me Everything hurts When you aren't around Everything is worse When you aren't around The stars don't shine as bright When you aren't around
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Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 9:47 PM UTC
When you aren't around
Poppies blossom like open cuts. Ripe and red, they fill the air With a cloying sweetness So potent anyone downwind Must shut their eyes and breathe Through open mouths. Tasting The breath of flowers, they grow Nauseous and afraid. The fields sway in the hot breeze Until they resemble an ocean aflame - It is here, among these poppies, I have Found the blood of the Earth. It is moist and toxic, an acid eating away the soles Of all that wade through it. How many gaunt, pale bundles of bone Rest below these soft, red petals? No one dares to count. People do not fear such Lovely things - if they’ve only seen Pictures. How nice it must be To know nothing of poppies But their color, their shape. They seem almost beautiful - But you know better. You have stood waist deep in the Malignant fields, breathing the air That slowed your limbs - Turning your arms and legs into pendulums Swaying to the beat of the buds That encircle them - Until you knelt, weighed down, Nearly submerged by saccharine terrors, And cried, hoping the water leaking from your heart Would put out the fires you find yourself embracing. After all, during the darker hours Any light is better than no light at all (Or so something whispers in your tired ear). You know the horror of poppies - But still you have yet to plunge Past the black eyes of those red beasts - For when the wind blows clean, cold Air to you what do you do? You raise your arms and let yourself Feel as though you can fly - And one day…one day You will look down And see yourself above A ground free of poppies.
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Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 3:48 AM UTC
Poppies
Poppies blossom like open cuts. Ripe and red, they fill the air With a cloying sweetness So potent anyone downwind Must shut their eyes and breathe Through open mouths. Tasting The breath of flowers, they grow Nauseous and afraid. The fields sway in the hot breeze Until they resemble an ocean aflame - It is here, among these poppies, I have Found the blood of the Earth. It is moist and toxic, an acid eating away the soles Of all that wade through it. How many gaunt, pale bundles of bone Rest below these soft, red petals? No one dares to count. People do not fear such Lovely things - if they’ve only seen Pictures. How nice it must be To know nothing of poppies But their color, their shape. They seem almost beautiful - But you know better. You have stood waist deep in the Malignant fields, breathing the air That slowed your limbs - Turning your arms and legs into pendulums Swaying to the beat of the buds That encircle them - Until you knelt, weighed down, Nearly submerged by saccharine terrors, And cried, hoping the water leaking from your heart Would put out the fires you find yourself embracing. After all, during the darker hours Any light is better than no light at all (Or so something whispers in your tired ear). You know the horror of poppies - But still you have yet to plunge Past the black eyes of those red beasts - For when the wind blows clean, cold Air to you what do you do? You raise your arms and let yourself Feel as though you can fly - And one day…one day You will look down And see yourself above A ground free of poppies.
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