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Traci Sims Apr 2020
God, where's the duct tape?
Our leader just won't shut up.
His lies burn my ears.
Traci Sims Mar 2020
A poet is,
before anything else,
a sage who knows nothing
and knows
he or she knows nothing.

Stravinsky once said
Music is powerless to express anything.
Poetry expresses
that powerlessness, too.

All Art,
or at least,
that which intoxicates you,
is like that.

It's all optional, so it's all negotiable.

That is where
true wisdom
and poetry
reside.

(Walter Tomaszewski; Tuesday, 27 June 2017)
Walter is a friend of mine. He is obsessed with all things Tardis.
Traci Sims Mar 2020
I am tired of wiping
Word dribble from the corners of your mouth
And your continuous pushing of similes and metaphors around your bowl
Only to occasionally stop and throw entire ribbons of iambic pentameter against the wall
Exhausts me
I am raising a baby monster poet
Traci Sims Mar 2020
*******.
Why whisper when a word can be shouted?
*******.
Traci Sims Mar 2020
anger swells but does not surge the dam has held this long and I feel imprisoned by language I cannot pull myself  free of
the thickets of nationality my feet squelch in the black ooze of star-spangled imperialism rockets burst in the backyard of my head the anthem worthless if I cannot take a knee for the fallen and the voiceless...
Traci Sims Mar 2020
And so you see...
I built my wall,
Not because I disliked you,
But because I could not allow you
To know more of my truth,
My dreams, my fears, and what makes me
Lie awake on a rainy night.
I cannot trust you to carefully
Hold my heart,
Or pull me back before I walk off that cliff...
Again.
And so,
I built my wall,
Brick by brick,
Tear by tear,
Until...you disappeared.
Traci Sims Mar 2020
Some people refuse to die
Even though they're given every opportunity
How many times have you staked him now?
And still.. his will is sure

Sometimes I think you might be a child of the ******
But you're  probably just a ****** child
The longer I know you, the more I hate your dad...
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