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Jason Cirkovic Oct 2015
This game is hard
It makes men's hair go gray
And gives women crows feet
That follow them into their thoughts
Staying up late at night
Victims of the game called life

No not the board game
The one that cost you one life
Death plays with the coin
As you step on Legos
Pay taxes
Or even, a Colinoscopy

We become all victims
Of living by the rules
By people
Who have played this game before.
33 pecent of life is sorted to sleep
18 percent for prison,
I mean school and work.
The stuff that people told you to do.

The idea that my life
Was a puzzle
With missing pieces
Sacred me.
But of course
That was before I meet you
You skipped over the mess
I made in the living room
Called my mind.
All of the domino's feel out of place
And the houses of cards
I made fell a part.

When you came to me
You held out your controller
As you asked
If I could be your player 2,
And now my living room is tidy
You could even see the floor!
Now I knew what people ment
When they said
It all falls into place.
The domino effect looks cooler
When it involves you.

As you asked
If I could be your player 2,
I realized that this puzzle
Doesn't look too difficult anymore
Now that I can work it out with you
Your eyes stop me in my tracks
Prettier than any finished puzzle,
I felt complete
When I looked at you.

As you asked
If I could be your player 2,
I looked the numbers again
And realized that 33 pecent
Doesn't sound so bad
If I slept with you
And love, work will never feel like prison.
As long as I know
You will be there when I return.

As you asked
If I could be your player 2,
I felt like death
Gave me a sack of coins
Because the adventures
I'd go on with you,  
Never felt so right
Through valley's and cayons
Through mountains and trees
When I saw your smile
I knew that you would never leave me.

As you asked
If I could be your player 2,
The only thing I could ever say is
Of course.
Taylor Evans Apr 2013
I am from band-aids
    From scraped knees and Neosporin.
I am from the gravel
    That seperated my feet from the hard ground.
    (Covered with the color of gray,
    But felt red hot under the sun's rays)
I am from the backyard,
    From the lilac bush,
    Whose roots are still buried deep
    in the earth.

I am from the Hundred Acre Woods,
    From Pooh Bear and Christopher Robin.
I am from knock-knock jokes,
    And non-stop giggles,
    From water colors, markers, and cayons.
I am from Cherios
    With sugar,
    And early fall mornings.

I am from my grandmother's embrace,
    With watered down coffee
    And the Sunday newspaper.
I am from my mother's eyes,
    Who's deep brown pigment matches mine.

At 6512 Orbit Way, you will find a house,
a home. A capsule of memories,
Laughs and giggles,
moments of peace and heated debates.
I am from that capsule.
Where I'm from is woven into
every thread and fiber that is me.
Written in 2009 as a high school freshman assignment. Using the structure of the well know "where I'm from" peom. Who by? I cant remember. Sorry
Glow Dec 2017
Sometimes a quiet word
Rings louder than the loudest scream
Echoes deep into the cayons of the heart
Shakes the fortress of the mind
And stirs the ocean that is the soul

— The End —