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Late night texts
Sleepy eyes
Small smiles
Butterflies

Stolen moments
Held inside
Beating heart
Stupefied

~

Left alone
Tear filled eyes
Chapped lips
Scarred thighs

Empty promises
Cast aside
Broken heart
Terrified

~j.l.
there's a reason why its called a crush
A quick wipe of her face
Evidence of the stream
Now gone
A deep breath and a few sniffles
Clearing herself up before going back
To Them
Have to remain strong for them
Put the veil over her tiredness
Camouflage her hurt
The distress and heartaches are abundant
Yet for them
It is of no issue
She’d continue to show face
Give her very last breath
All for them
Their happiness, smiles
The very sound of their laughter
Yea...that’s all that matters to her
All that makes sense in her world
All that ever would
So
.
.
.
Deep breath, few sniffles
Clear face
The little loves of her life awaits
An ode of sorts to moms. You have one of the hardest occupations known to man.
The picture is clear
but the essence breaks me
to admire the concept
yet the idea hates me

To feel appealing
but lack the origins
or the praise from within
to accept the
beauty within the ugliness

They say pictures are worth
a million words
but sometimes, the art
can’t get over the curbs
fearing what lies
on the other side of life

To most, it may seem pointless
but to certain eyes
it’s a work of expression
afraid of indulging in its
own blessing   - Pencasso
Ugly girls don’t get hurt,

Too strong
and rough
with hardened
edges likes
Shells &
Barnacles

They're
always stuck
between pages or
interests too strong for
people like flowers
what would happen if i left
running through the night
the wind whistles forgotten tunes
soft feet falls upon grassy meadows
moonlit shadows dance with me

running running running

past fades
i am nothing but a memory
they shed a tear but i am
free
I solve problems
To get my blood flowing
I play like a happy child
When I'm on an obstacle course

Getting ever more complex
And solving it even more gratifying
I make a mud castle
And kick it down, when I'm bored
The ground caves way as it lets me in.
Almost as if I was meant to be here in tangles of grass.
With the bugs
With the sun beaming down on my taught skin of age.
My ribs itch my skin
And my eyes watch clouds and stars until they dissolve with the beauty of it all.
The trees sing, and I listen with shriveled ears until I no longer listen.
I sink, and sink, and sink,
And then, can I finally sleep in peace.
Once when I was drunk
I held my hand to a flame
And it didn’t hurt
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