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#rachel
Do you remember me? You asked me about my dream Things are not what they seem What did it mean? Can I be friendly to you Something I couldn’t do Can’t stop thinking about you There’s something about you Your smile would get me through Just let me stand next to you Cuddling up to me A feeling I couldn’t beat Why are you in my mind? Why can’t I unwind? Can’t stop thinking about you There’s just something about you I just miss it all Bang my head against the wall I just miss it all Stumbling through the halls I just miss it all Rachel… I can’t sleep Memories repeat Feel so very weak Memories repeat Memories repeat Memories… Can’t stop thinking about you Can’t make it without you There’s something about you, There’s just something about you
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Jul 13, 2022
Jul 13, 2022 at 3:00 AM UTC
Rambling Rachel
Rachel Ray was amazing to the tot that watched while grandparents talked to the parent that brought me along Sat hands in lap on the living room floor slowly arching back as each meal passed We never made any recipe though I'd thought a lot about it and often wanted to
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Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 7:41 AM UTC
30 Minute Poems
Yesterday It's my 1st year sitting in the wheelchair after I've survived in a car accident, I am sitting at the front door looking at people passing by, The trees are shaking while I'm in this windy situation, Feeling like the world is fading so slow like the moon, As I am stuck in this wheelchair, But my hair is still black. But it all seem like i'm getting older sitting down there in the wheelchair. My life is standing in one place, I feel like I'm lost in a space like an astronaut, For things are moving so slow, Everything I touch start to fall. I am stuck in this wheelchair with a lost of despair, My legs are not moving and I feel like a patient that is waiting for death to slip through the I.C.U room. For I am drowning in the pool of depression and every one is happy and breathing, While I'm suffocating inside the glass of cold water. People treat me like a useless piece of paper, Because I am sitting in this chair of perseverance for healing will be the best success. No one take me serious. By Lewis DaLyricist
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Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 8:43 AM UTC
Yesterday
I asked for the moon, He gave me the sun. I wanted a kiss, and I tasted the galaxies in her lips. I asked her for love, and she gave me her heart.
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Jul 29, 2016
Jul 29, 2016 at 3:14 AM UTC
Rachel
I'd rather have bad days with you, Than good days without you.
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Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 10:20 PM UTC
4:20
We'll turn this world upside down. We'll dance with the stars and sing with the moon. We'll jump from galaxy to galaxy with the world looking up and watching us
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Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 5:05 AM UTC
Take My Hand
The night sky above us was splattered with stars. Millions of them. Galaxies and constellations right before our eyes. The universe was dancing and rejoicing To a cadence that could not be heard, but only felt.
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Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 2:17 PM UTC
Galaxies
I was given, at my first birthday party, a gift sublime, a lovely, lush garden I played among its fonts and flowers, traded baseball cards with Atlas and Athena, rolled in high grass with iridescent dragons Then one fine day through leaflets high, I spied a fat juicy fig, haloed by Summer sun The tree was poison, I knew, its sweet fruit most likely bad as well, but in my arrogance I climbed the trunk, got tangled in its branches I lost control, lost something never truly held, and fell, through viney snarls and vicious thorns Fell farther than I ever rose, to putrid death, moldered slime beneath the canopy of verdant paradise on gentle hillside above I crawled about in mud and earthen warrens Slowly, year by year, learned to walk again But arrogant I remained—had not my lesson learned, and so I doubled-down, made mockery of this chance for redemption All the sweet virgins did I **** and teach our children sin, in crystalline waters I did shat on mulched fields, amber and green, with cigarette butts and baggies blowing listless on Autumn winds When Winter finally came, as winters must, to **** off weakened souls, and make the garden ready for new attendants, I did not learn, I did not take the blame... It's Him, I cried, I have not power to do this! But then my youngest daughter sobbed She watched, sadly, out clouded, grimy windows and, looking up at my limpid, sullen eyes crawled into my arms one last, lonely time to face what I could not... Behold, the Silent Spring
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Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 11:16 AM UTC
Original Sin
I was given, at my first birthday party, a gift sublime, a lovely, lush garden I played among its fonts and flowers, traded baseball cards with Atlas and Athena, rolled in high grass with iridescent dragons Then one fine day through leaflets high, I spied a fat juicy fig, haloed by Summer sun The tree was poison, I knew, its sweet fruit most likely bad as well, but in my arrogance I climbed the trunk, got tangled in its branches I lost control, lost something never truly held, and fell, through viney snarls and vicious thorns Fell farther than I ever rose, to putrid death, moldered slime beneath the canopy of verdant paradise on gentle hillside above I crawled about in mud and earthen warrens Slowly, year by year, learned to walk again But arrogant I remained—had not my lesson learned, and so I doubled-down, made mockery of this chance for redemption All the sweet virgins did I **** and teach our children sin, in crystalline waters I did shat on mulched fields, amber and green, with cigarette butts and baggies blowing listless on Autumn winds When Winter finally came, as winters must, to **** off weakened souls, and make the garden ready for new attendants, I did not learn, I did not take the blame... It's Him, I cried, I have not power to do this! But then my youngest daughter sobbed She watched, sadly, out clouded, grimy windows and, looking up at my limpid, sullen eyes crawled into my arms one last, lonely time to face what I could not... Behold, the Silent Spring
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She held it all of the feathers; all of the hell that ever mattered. The curse thee accused the allegations of a child abused. Sry, cold, nightmares of the very old. In a pen, in embrace all of the fear all of the hate. "Right, with me!" "Write, with me!" Every new dream, write with me using the dragons flame. Red, blue, green, the very chartruse color of fame.  No swords, no hard words, no martyers do we stir.   And mask all of the dead, with the life of every word. Left unsaid,  He alleged that I had proved luster to remove his head.   And the mask stays as a true love of words wonderful words we shared in stead of our lovers bed.
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May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 7:58 PM UTC
Untitled Wish