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Cathyy May 2016
I guess you're right, I am a true romantic..
I daydream through the night and through the day I plan things
& these songs I write may help you understand things
I'm not one to talk but with you I'd try dancing

So if you want someone there to sing to you whilst you do the dishes
And someone who can take care of all your hopes and wishes
I'm not one to talk oh for you I'd listen
And we could maybe take a late night walk through the city's division

Oh if you need someone there to help you take the weight off
to tell you, "**** you're beautiful without make up"
To hold flashcards for you whenever you need to stay up
in order to get that A grade
just go at your own pace...

If you need someone to do all of that then guess what?
I've always been,
just right here <3
Hey guys! Another super personal poem with personal references but I hope you guys enjoyed reading it!

I'm on Soundcloud as well as youtube! Uploaded a new little mashup if you're interested in hearing the singing voice behind the poet haha:

https://soundcloud.com/sbdragonslayer/t-shirt-cover

Just copy and paste that link :)

Love always,
Cathy
Redshift Sep 2013
i hate those nasty little ***** of advertisement
that i get on facebook
about melting off my belly fat in "JUST DAYS!"
they show skeleton frames
and expect me to believe
that this is
pretty
right
healthy
correct
wanted
they are trying to teach me
like i learned
as a child
say a word,
show a picture
she will learn,
they say
i fear
that they are
right
marriegegirl Jul 2014
Ça a été une semaine de l'absurde jolis traits .mais puis-je vous laisser sur un petit secret ?Nous aurions enregistré un des meilleurs pour la fin.Judy Pak .Loli événements et Matthew Ree sont que quelques-uns des grands noms derrière ce printemps swoonfest .et vous pouvez visiter la galerie complète pour beaucoup.beaucoup plus .Vendredi heureux .mes enfants !xoxo\u003cp\u003ePartager cette superbe galerie ColorsSeasonsSpringSettingsGardenStylesRomantic de Lauren de Loli événements .Bien que brève .printemps à New York est toujours rajeunissant et passionnant .Tout semble plus lumineux .plus heureux et tout plein de vie .Ce tournage a capturé exactement cela avec une parfaite dose de glamour et de fantaisie .Les beaux motifs des jardins d'Old Westbury était une évidence comme toile de fond .Tout y est luxuriante .réfléchi et tout simplement magnifique .Notre objectif en tant que fournisseurs de mariage de luxe était de capturer une certaine beauté grave tout en s'amusant et profiter du moment .Il est si facile de se laisser prendre et d'oublier de faire une pause et de prendre dans votre environnement .Cette séance est consacrée à créer un peu d' esprit d'aventure et un besoin de juste prendre une profonde respiration lente .

Photographie : Judy Pak | Photographie : Matthew Ree | Floral Design : Tashi et Bobo | Robe : Jenny Packham | gâteau : Ana Parzych | Coiffeur : Seonghee Park | Bridal Boutique : Gabriella New York | Location de robe : petite robe empruntée |postiches : Emily Riggs | Maquillage : Seunghyn robes demoiselles d honneur Seo de KAKABOKA | Props / table : Caverne de coquelicots et Posies | Styling / Set de table design: Loli Evénements | mariage Lieu: Old Westbury Gardens

cadeaux COURS

Dernière chance pour entrer mariage Styles Modcloth Fonds ContestHoneymoon de Registre annuel rêve SweepstakesA collier pavé de diamants disque JoyWilliams - Sonoma de voyageurs " Les jeux de Clay PotTWO de détente à DEUX SMPers chanceux de Duffield Lanea ensemble de flashcards de Apprendre à parler de mariage

Ne manquez pas les remises de cette semaine .

PostableSquarespaceAbbey Malcolm typographique + DesignZola

Pour nos épouses Australie .Ne pas oublier de s'inscrire pour gagner une séance d'engagement à la plage sud de Curl Curl de Poli Mariages

Pour nos épouses Californie .Réductions de Jonathan jeunes Mariages et Dr Diaz .

Pour nos Brides.Discounts Canada de Blush \u0026Gray.Renata De Thomasis et Christine Arnold Photographie

Pour nos épouses Midwest .Réduction du restylage Locations de cru et La Belle Fleur événements

Pour nos Nouvelle-Angleterre Brides .Un rabais de Aster B. Fleurs

Pour notre Sud-Ouest Brides.Make sûr de confirmer Royal Occasion Chateau Cocomar nuptiale Open House ( Ce week-end ! )

Pour notre Tri-State brides.Don 't oublier de s'inscrire pour gagner Photographie + vidéographie Collection de NST Photos et réductions du New Museum .Femina photo + design.NY Sourire spécialistes et HowAboutWe pour les couples PLUS ne manquez pas Gabriella Newhiver échantillon Vente York !

Et bien sûr .heureux gagnant

http://modedomicile.com

de cette semaine .
Félicitations Alexis qui a gagné 100 Day Challenge paquet d'or de mariée corpsEmily Riggs est un membre de notre Look Book .Pour plus d'informations sur la façon dont robe de mariée 2014 les membres sont choisis .cliquez ici .Gabriella New York Bridal Salon .Loli événements et Judy Pak Photographie sont membres de notre Little Black Book .Découvrez comment les membres sont choisis en visitant notre page de FAQ .Gabriella New York Salo nuptiale ... Afficher les événements PORTEFEUILLE loli voir le portfolio Judy Pak Photographie voir le
MCWA Nov 2010
My math teacher was Mr. *****,
whose math classes were so silly.
He would spin us in a chair,
and throw our flashcards in the air!
Third Eye Candy Jan 2013
at the cafe on ruby toes and sugar pinch, we consent and reap the valdez of our perpetual cud.
we sip from octagonal spoons. there, we suture the fiend to the deed and the rail
to the runaway train. how else would you explain your dashing about
in the chum of our castanet. we cast our nets in the epibenthic  fumes of our unusual loveliness
and sweat the little things that vanish from the canon our interesting.
hup to it. vie for the offshore drill.
suppose you grow a dead thing and keep it astonished with flashcards
and nobody says a thing ?
k Nov 2013
*
You are **** hits
that leave me breathless
spinning in colors
while we lay in your bed,
you are a slap to my face
with stinging red remnants
flashing across my cheek,
you are a borrowed 
orange
toothbrush leaving
 icy breath
on my tongue,
you are walks around
 this
****** neighborhood pointing
 out
the secret beauty in me.
you are hips wiggling
to blasting music
on early mornings,
and kisses
giggling across my
cheeks, nose, lips.

You are the library
with your thin rimmed glasses
and stupid latin flashcards,
you are scraped knees
and fresh tears because
you would never help me
walk down the stairs,
you are ****** ***
drunkenly challenging me
to go shot for shot
at 3 in the morning.
you are shaking fingers

angry, jealous, afraid.

You are soft snores and

bitten lips, thrown phones
and ugly screamed names.
a shattered window, an unopened
jar of peanut butter.
you are brand new
gray sheets, bodies drenched
in laughter and sweat,
an old flannel shirt,
a broken chair.
you are the things you're
afraid to tell me, the things
I see in your eyes.
you are honest in
the lies that you tell me and sweet
with your terribly harsh words.
you are a mess, a
completely 
confusing, competitive
game.



And oh,
how I love
to
play.
Megan Kellerman Nov 2011
Could you know enough to know that
      you don't know anything about
      any one particular thing at any
      given time?
Enough to feel your mind first mildly
      groping for some association about the
      topic at hand, then scratching in panic
      at its own gray walls for a segue into
      something more familiar?
A subject change.
There sits in Spring a mournful child wishing
      for winter and the necessity of layers,
      the easy task of coercing his mother
      into hugs because without them, he says,
      he'll surely freeze to death, a phantom son,
      a display case of old human progeny
      from the time before love was outlawed
      and before the babies were made with
      chemicals, when they were made at all.
Those future children will die with no
      souls, no prospect of ghosthood, no
      morals and no literary merit.
They will flinch from fiction and pound poetry
      into the ground with steel-toed boots, spit
      on the remains, pretend to dream with their
      government-issued flashcards, scenes
      from movies projected on billboards in silence,
      ears ringing in the quiet but for the
      occasional puttering along of a society so
      advanced, it doesn't know what to do with itself.
SøułSurvivør Jun 2017
Three children brought
Onto earth
Three children did
He rear
Three children made
From His own genes
From stardust we appeared.

From the foundation
Of our lives
He sent us to school
Possessed of his intelligence
And HE was NOT a fool

Great aptitude for reading
This is how he taught
The books my father gave me
Produced much
Higher thought

We went to places
far & wide
Hawaii was like heaven!
We went to Montreal
For Expo '67

Various religions
We were to understand
We went to see the kivas
In the native lands

We went to search
For arrowheads
We looked for
various traces
Of native habitation
Appreciating other races

He tried to teach me math
Using the flashcards
But I was into writing
So he let me be a bard

He loved the
arts & sciences
He loved agriculture
He grew up
deprived of it
So he taught us culture

We took the piano
He helped me
make a start
Writing my own music
He encouraged my art!

I'll read him this poem
We will then discuss
How he has the  
GREATEST legacy

For my dad has *US!
Happy Father's Day!

And to all the single moms out there... you're a FATHER TOO!
AE Aug 2023
In hopes that this reaches you when you need it most

A message soaked in echoes, reminders, and hope
Lathered with the perfume of nostalgia
Floats back and forth between my mind and heart
Out from the arteries, back through the veins
Shaped and reshaped into paper trains
Thought bubbles and mind maps
All muddled into flashcards
Something in there might say: I have dreams for you
And maybe if in some way
You can decipher all this mess
You'll find the speech bubble, bullet point, and quiz question
written just for you that says in someway:
1 believe, and believe, and go on believing
Everyday
In you.
Cameron u suk
When you get a hundred, you make me want to hit myself with a tractor truck
I don't even know why I keep tryin'
Flashcards is all I keep buyin'
You never smile
Kinda remind me of Kyle
Got a headache
Obviously my life was a mistake.
wichitarick May 2016
Do we use the glossary when searching the back pages of our lives  follow the indexes when something perplexes
Motions making sounds ,representing actions & reactions ,lessons forming curiosity ,constantly seeking answers
Surrounding ourselves with sounds ,breaking into syllables ,basics as a beginning then hopefully turning us into detectives
Now lessons become narratives not always with a heart moving title ,but open feelings harder to bridle, days forming chapters

As new breaths begin in a nursery, mysteries are awaiting within the walls & halls ,nooks & books of  depositories
From embryo to a first cleansing ,protection is constant ,warmth of blankets envelop similar to bindings encasing the fruits comprised on papyrus.
Opening the world through the first window ,light ,sky, flowing forms taken in with a healthy grin,integral parts of out future stories
The main doors as a cover  ,silence is golden while the words are screaming ,what is first? a daily rag ,twirling of the mighty globe?
facts or fiction now lay  fractured

Fondly absorbing phonics ,tasting the clicks or ticks & annunciations  still samples for future refining
Labeled as language or merely absorbed as sound forming ,trying to become an individual expression
Flashcards as roots into an inner corridor, signals separated with commas dots or dashes ,awaiting future defining
Roads or paths laid out like aisles, alphabetized such as street names shelves as floors of buildings ,books as unopened doors to a new lesson

A long life search no longer monotonous as a Dewey decimal offered ,but click or a flick ,automated corrections leaving many clueless
Even building faith often based within bindings ,factors of fame or items for blame made best by those who clearly see the text
Holidays as often as book of the month ,b.m.i. becomes t.m.i. , forever offering lessons in hindsight ,many offerings to amuse
A mind akin to a vault taking in all offerings  by default ,endless it seems for storage capacity ,Librarians or doctors can off a new zest.R.C.
Anais Vionet May 12
During finals week, I’d spent days on various reports and papers, scribbling in the margins of notes and books, checking facts, revising flashcards and prepping with friends.
I’ve an unshakable faith in plodding persistence.
We were tested and sent packing.

Today, I’m in Geneva, with Peter (my bf). He works for CERN. I’m on vacation - but he has to work sigh. Peter apartments with a roommate, so, oh-****, we had to make alternate arrangements.
We’re ensconced at the fabulous Hotel de la Paix. It’s my treat, I’ve been dorm-roomed for months, and Vive la différence!

The hallways are hushed here, as if moss-covered - noises fade quickly after use. The purposeful quiet feels physical, like a cotton covered fairytale hug after noisy dorm life - where doors slam and people yell at 3am.

Freshly cut flowers accent with color, and infuse the suite with scents that calm and relax like subconscious aromatherapy. This is the land of chocolate, and little treats are stashed everywhere to surprise and delight.

I’m a cryophile - from the Greek "kryos" (cold) and "philos" (lover) - I like my environment cold. In the dead of New Haven winter, when it’s 20°f, I sleep with my dorm room windows open and I seldom use more than a sheet for cover. When Peter would sleepover, he’d try and close the windows, “GEE-zus,” he’d say.
“Don’t be a big baby,” I’d suggested, generously cracking them back open again, “I’ll keep you warm.”

That being said, have you ever slept under freshly starch-pressed egyptian-cotton sheets?’
The cotton is orchid petal light and soft - the starch-pressing means the top sheet stands-off your skin, only barely resting on you, as needed - like an angel's kiss.
At college, I handle the menial chores of daily existence, like laundry service, and there are no freshly pressed sheets.

Hmm.. ok, something poetic-ish

Our experiences are stacked,
laid and layered like bricks.
We’re making something
but the form isn’t clear.
Is it solid and cohesive
- will it last - who knows?


I’d been Facetimimg with Lisa (she’ll join us next Friday), while Peter looked through some work papers. Since he isn’t on vacation, he wants to finish something before we leave for Paris tomorrow, where we’ll meet my parents for mothers-day.

As I came into the bedroom, Peter, propped up on the bed, said, “You ladies were talking for a while.” And still not looking up from his papers, he added, “How’s Lisa?”

I thought I’d made a firm decision - but now I was afraid.  
Still, after a moment - I just blurted it out, saying, “I told her I love you.”
I’d said it in a rush - my pounding heart sounded like thunder.

He looked up. “You did?” He asked, radiating an irritating amount of pleasure.
As I’d said it, I felt a relief that turned into a wave of anxiety verging on nausea.
He still had an open mouthed expression of success and pure joy, so I said, “Shut up.”

“Say it again,” he asked, laying down his papers and taking off his reading glasses, “what you said to her.”
For some reason, I felt a sudden hopelessness. “Not now,” I said, turning away.

“Why,” he asked, I could hear the smile in his voice of insistence.
“Because.. reasons.” I explained, then I went into the bathroom and turned on the water.
“Tell me!” He pleaded from the other room.
I felt flushed, and didn’t want to talk, so I squeezed-out too much toothpaste and started to brush my teeth.
“I can’t heah muuf,” I said, purposefully inaudible through a mouth full of suds.
“Anais,” he called, but I closed the bathroom door and leaned back against it.
I suddenly wanted to go home.. or back in time.

Later, I’d calmed down. Was my declaration really a secret - or common knowledge available to the most casual observer?
We’d had dinner room-serviced (Nordic-fusion cuisine from the Fiskebar) but I still felt a little off and moody. We were settled on an uncomfortable, Ikea-like, off-white couch and we’d queued-up ‘Parks and Rec,’ when I had a terrible thought.

“You must think I’m easy,” I voiced it, looking down, my hair hiding my face from him, “the way school ends and I just flee into our arms.”
“You.. EASY?” He said with a chuckle, “NNNOO,” he added snarkily.

I turned on him sharply, tucking my hair back behind my ears for verbal combat. “I feel like I’m being very vulnerable with you and you’re just laughing,” I pronounced.

“ALL right,” he said softly, as he turned and wrapped his arms gently around me, “don’t get yourself all wound-up - or I won’t get a chance to say ‘I love you,’ back.”
.
.
songs for this:
Good Life by Sammy Rae & The Friends
​​Swingin Party by The Replacements
Redwood Tree by Jamie Drake
All My Girls Like To Fight by Hope Tala
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge: Cohesive: sticks together to form something closely united.
wichitarick May 2021
Deja Vu Repeat

Locked in time renew a familiar view hitting replay of the same old rhyme

Not a dream as many might say it seems, or illusion and delusion or sinister scheme

Stopped in motion, fraction from a vision, not locked out similar to stuck in, lost in a ruse easy to confuse often crosses a fine mental center line

Full range from stored images, reflections of recollections left spinning in a round room made of mirrors, each a different theme

Grand or simple thoughts trapped abruptly unwrapped, even seen as sinister by a minister that wants us to repent, demons or angels, neither is divine

Old time feeling came again just to leave me reeling, Comes and goes how or when nobody knows, future thoughts cannot be foreseen

With a wink in a blink images stepping forward never a warning, moment of mayhem to fast to be a coward, another journey stuck in time

Mental pictures like flashcards with similar frames, same game on repeat with a new theme

Not a clue of when it might end, like an email stuck on send, never planned or something grand, thoughts brought forward from the back of our mind

Fast or painfully slow, icy cold or warm glow, similar paths along a straight row, high fall from a white wall, patterns and colors flash over then repeat, another view from a familiar scene

This incident another increment, fraction segmented placed on hold, splice of a memory, stuck on forward then reverse, just time that we did not rehearse

Explanations seem futile unless they have truly done this before, splice of a memory, stuck on forward then reverse, just time that we did not rehearse, Similar segment or unknown fragment, another glimpse we survive

Deja Vu is coming through will see it all again, when I have seen it all before why begin a familiar spin with an unknown end, take it all in as temporary rental on mental hygiene R.C.
Might help finding a definition of deja vu,not as common as the term, is a constant part of my own mind but took most of my life to know not everyone did this, it varies widely so even harder to explain or understand,also the term "jamais vu" which I didn't include because I see both as one feeling, I don't try to over analyze this but can leave some people feeling like they have some mental condition, Thanks for reading ,appreciate your comments. "Peace Takes Practice" Rick
Ojaswee Das Apr 2020
The black blues looking back at us
As we try to enumerate what actually is 300 billion in number
Stargazing you - beams a little brighter
Especially when you extend your arms to show me what you out-pass
The stars. The night sky. The moon. The universe.
Theres this unexplainable spell you cast

We’re intoxicated. Can’t tell if its the whisky or just the night
We’re isolated. The rest of the world is tucked in behind closed curtains.
And your mere sight, is the brightest thing tonight
Are we in love? I cant tell

You’ve always known your way around things.
You know the constellations.
You know that if you flip your hair one more time,I’d die in admiration.
You know how to tease between conversations.
You know this isn’t just infatuation.

You know your way. Like I know mine around your hair.
Your accolades melt my barricades
Your smile is my gatorade
Your laugh a grenade
And me, is what you've attained

You’re a bomb. And I am your ****
You’re singing to me. Your voice lets me travel through time
A cascade of memories flashcards
You’re an enchanter. Big time

We float through the night.
Arms extended for each other to lay upon.
Head on shoulder and eyes on eyes. Fingers intertwined.
We kiss each other one last time before the dawn breaks.
Its about time we leave.  

Will I see you again? I dont know
but one thing I do know
I'll always have you on my lips
At least your name if not your kiss.
wichitarick Feb 2018
PRESENTING ITSELF

What will it be that makes itself clear ,exposed by removing it's veneer

Constantly flowing mind seeking ways to grow, hoping for something new to find

Much is on display calling us in many ways,visions are quick for what may appear

Drawing us in to begin our next whim,varies widely a frown or a grin,many ways something can be aligned

Constant concern,pick or choose, left for us to discern,finding true focus still unclear

Malignant mind set on unwind ,flashing fancy ideas like flashcards,so fast they become entwined

Past motioning into present, moments creating their own moods,what chord will finally adhere

Flailing about with mind's eye looking on, they stay neutral outside while the steady illustrious stream flows in our mind

Letting on with a glimpse or even a gasp,caught a true thought instead of it slipping by holding on tight can we be sincere.

Rapid conclusions almost like rabid confusion,adding weight on an already heavy brain  flow ,newest synapses still unclear

So another moment in life ,set free or held back, what will be the part we grasp holding on long enough to be kept inside. R.C.
A few thoughts on  a "floaty" mind. or that rapid rise and fall of thoughts of an insomniac trying to force sleep and not lose a thought. . Maybe hold on to a thought for today,Thanks for reading I appreciate your thoughts. Rick
I did, I went to my spot, going against my plan.
I can also say that I don’t regret it in the less.
I can do what I want, as it's my daily routine.
I make the rules, so I can add new ones as well.
I also made sure to set my alarm for 5:30pm.
I’m watching WWE Money In The Bank tonight.
I’m gonna be watching it with my dad.
I almost forgot to do this entry, actually.
I got caught up in studying my Japanese cards.
I made FlashCards for all the Hiragana words.
I’m going set by set, that’s how my brain works.
I got the first half of the first set of cards done.
I mean, I think I do, and that’s really good!
I’m learning because WWE Asuka is Japanese.
I wanna know what she says, so I’m learning.
I’m a huge fan, as my dad could tell you.
I'm wearing her socks in case she’s on MITB!
I can say that today is going very well, also.
I still love the daily routine, and will keep it.
I’m gonna get back to my Japanese now.
I’ll talk to you again tomorrow afternoon, bye!
I’m really enjoying this a lot!
Barton D Smock Feb 2017
(iv)

flashcards for women in labor. predictions for memory. sheep.

the hidden breads of snow.

(v)

history is not a person. these are the kids it tried to name.

(vi)

elevator country. the hangings of nothing pregnant. baby knows a shadow that knows a shadow can tell a map what to do. can get a small library to carry books on men eating men in the right bathroom. baby is here for trying to stay. its tongue came out that way, stuck to its nose. a moral choice on behalf of its mother whose water we drank blind.

(vii)

I was having trouble remembering my dreams so I began to see someone who wasn’t. my demeanor was approachable, he said, but cerebral. he said we were in unfamiliar territory. he asked me if I’d mind looking at some pictures he’d forgotten to draw. jokes of the trade, he said. the first few dreams I think were his and were probably so by design. the two scarecrows, witch-hunt and crucifixion, came soon enough but were paired wrongly as husband and wife. their little klutz.

(viii)

I thought it was a movie about dancing and you thought it was a movie about the devil. our feet were warm. remember the alarm? worlds to which none were added.
Sam May 2020
You get used to it: twisting the rod to the blinds,
every morning and every evening, as soon as the dark hits.
You get used to it: laying your laptop across your lap, across milk crates,
flashcards precariously balanced atop, legs folded beneath you.
You get used to it: drinking tea to stall the incoming hunger,
washing everything - doorknobs to dishes - with bleach and hot water.
You get used to it: studying in dim daylight until your eyes fail you,
flickering the wifi off just as quickly as you turn it on,
saving electricity to the last.

You shiver through every bucket shower you take, wish for shorter hair.
You toss and turn; sleep against the wall;
lose the fight against the ever-deflating mattress.
You have burns from hot water on your hands; the smell
of cigarette smoke, woven
throughout every piece of clothing.
These are things that are harder to get used to.

Your cousin takes you out into his city
takes you sightseeing amidst closed buildings, empty streets.
he points out the theater, the library;
the hat shop, record store, night club.
This is where I used to live, he tells you,
gesturing around the sprawling downtown.
It wasn't so nice, then --
and he paints you a picture of gunshots flying, the country's crime capital
and he paints you a picture of affordable buildings and affable people
(the minorities and the poor and the low end of the middle class
every person keeping their head down, body posture careful)
and he paints you a picture of people playing frisbee next to train tracks
of anyone and everyone joining in, just trying to get by.
(you understand, in a way you didn't, before, the way people spit out gentrification like a curse -- like the plague of injustice that it is.)

Your cousin wears a well-worn hoodie,
t-shirt and bleach-splattered cargo pants,
dressed for comfort
And you wear your warmest hoodie,
bleach-covered shirt with jeans,
dressed for practicality
And your aunt wears makeup, a sweater,
carefully selected slacks, blouse,
dressed for appearances.

And your aunt has a shower, a dishwasher and a drier,
And working things: four burners, an oven, a sink.
Your cousin has bookcases of records and CDs,
And functioning things: a microwave, half a sink, a single working burner.

And the train does not
blast past your aunt's house at all hours of the day, the same way
the cobwebs do not
cover unsuspecting areas within your aunt's cupboard, the same way
all manners of bugs do not
jump out of various cartons of food, the same way
the sound of gunshots never
ring out in the dark.

And your aunt and uncle live
in a suburban community,
secluded, a drive up a hill,
trees and mountains surrounding,
where it is safe to wander the neighborhood.

And your cousin lives in a ghetto, and you smile
when the children one house over
run chasing after each other, giggling
to each other in another language, and you smile
at the fresh green in the air,
from the trees all around the property as you
pin the clothes, hang them to dry, and you stay
firmly, safely, within the property lines,
carefully out of any lines of sight.

And there is something odd about this:
Your Aunt's house radiates sunlight and cleanliness,
yet you have never felt so subtly claustrophobic as you do there:
You Cousin's house, for all its faults, feels like a strange brand of freedom.
Justin S Wampler Dec 2020
The cabinets are all closed,
But I still don't know
Where the dishes go.

Sneaky little memories.

Anxiety and coughing.

Staying up late
To *******.

Flashcards.

Whiskey.

Life rolls on I suppose.

— The End —