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Matthias Aug 2013
Intro:
Start with a hook sharp enough to catch many fish.
Move into a broad outline of topic.
Add some examples to peek the interest.
End with a sentence that captures your thoughts.
(Start the way you feel it should be).

Body:
Flavorful topic sentence to open paragraph one.
State in detail specific examples and definitions.
Follow with a reference or two,
This keeps suspicion off you.
Keep same format for paragraph two and three.
(Continue on the feel that increases how you started).
(Or retrograde and start a new direction).

Conclusion:
Wake the reader back up with thesaurus found words.
State again the reason for your thoughts.
Honing specifically on what you want to say,
Without of course bringing in new info.
End with a memorable sign off.
(End with completing your thoughts).
(Or start a new idea entirely),
(Not leaving enough room for explanation).
Kateasz Apr 12
There was clearly tension between the two of them. It crackled in the air like static electricity and made their hair stand on end. Scarlett’s heart beat so loudly in her ears that she wondered if it had somehow found itself misplaced in her head. Coherent thoughts were but a faraway notion. All that is, was, or ever will be was standing right in front of her. This girl’s lips reminded her of flowers in the summertime breeze. Her eyes took Scarlett’s breath away, the way the skin around them creased and chunks of uneven hair hid them when she smiled. As if her body were acting on its own accord, she brushed those chunks of hair out of the other girl’s eyes. Her fingertips danced over Lia’s cheekbones and a shock jolted through her body. The electricity in the air had found its conductor in the moment when they touched. It coursed through Scarlett’s veins in a way she had never felt before. Her gaze ran up Lia’s face, examining every detail before she finally met her gaze. Then, she knew for sure. She knew that Lia felt the same way; she could see the lightning in her eyes. The moment lasted for an eternity, both of the girls afraid to breathe, afraid that they’d ruin this moment, until Lia finally closed the gap between their lips. If Scarlett hadn’t already been holding her breath, this would have stolen it from her lungs.
Is this a totally out of context paragraph from a story that I never ended up writing? You betcha.
Kara Jean May 2016
I have an urge to write words that make the soul cry
Weep tears of enlightenment
To summarize my life in a paragraph
No more body criticism, snipping my spaghetti straps
Running in a stumbled line away from confinement
Forgetting the word comprise
Reality takes a stand reminding me, who will be the mediocre house wife
Instead of making a dramatic exit, I drink whiskey and the world has plenty
Qweyku Jan 2017
Despair unrequited asked of me;

where do proverbs, poems...
such wisdom's go to die?


do they expire with the ink of thought
penning themselves out of imagination?
or, simply tire of expectation?

tell me
&
i would scourge
that unenlightened grave-site,
guillotine its immoral keeper,
&
decapitate him upon
a writer’s block!

show me
&
i will breach earths bowels
wrenching words from darkness' depths
with the light verse of celebration
&
a calligrapher’s paragraph of praise.

only then should i rest in piece
from wordy passion
scribed with its, novel pleasures

&
when spent, 
upon my epitaph do write;

'she was consumed,
birthing words to life'



© Qwey.ku
Patricia Arches Sep 2013
Choices

This ever blotting simple thing that makes up things

as small as a mouse but also as deadly as sin itself

A simple formula of cause and effect

An effect

A result

A consequence

No pretences

Or fences that guard our decisions

Keeps it safe for being just a choice

For it is no longer just a choice

It is not that simple, see there is a formula to remember

An economic study to this choice where c=e

because

For every cause there is an effect

For every cause there is an effect

For every cause there is an effect

Let it dwell in your mind and affect you

Because that is where it all begins

Let us open up your mind and there we will find that

Alongside that implanted thought are a plethora

Of more thoughts that are placed beside your dreams

Nestled in between your hopes, skilfully intertwined with your visions

There they all lay

Our mind is our drive that takes us down

A road that is long and winding

A highway down to our hands

Which eventually become steered by, picked up with strings ever so delicately like a puppet

Held by that one thought

Your actions are birthed from your thoughts

We see these to be choices

To study these choices would be economics, to understand them would be sympathy

To take a leader who steals from his country

Or a mom who abandons her child to keep herself alive

And view this as sad, as a cry for help?

How and why?

Oh no! We do not stop at just those two ghastly choices

For this is a study of many

Choices

Of things that have happened to determine what will and to save us from what has been

Let us open up this book

And flip each page to see what decrees and laws

Revolutions and words put down on paper

Have anything to do with where we stand today

For the choices of the past still linger here

Mixed in with the choices of the present

Creating this air that we breathe in and out every single day

We would be infuriated with rage as we scan through the pages of this book of choices

A chapter of injustice

A paragraph of cruelty

A statement of selfishness

A line of adultery

But, wait! Oh, let us stop on this

One

story

For this I do not even understand

See I have studied choices, and put them into many formulas

To see the effects and the causes of each

but this story is different

For it is not just one chapter

One statement

One line

It is the whole story and each is intricately woven within it

In fact, the book is titled for this one story

And to begin it would be to start off with a choice

By a God

To send his son

To die for men

Men whose choices we see throughout the whole book

Men whose choices are vile and selfish and ruthless

Sinful men

*****

And yet a God so Holy and pure still sends down his son in His likeness for these grimy men??

See, if we picture it. It is a white cloth, pure and clean not just dipped but completely submerged in dirt

Now that is not a choice that I would make

But it was made

A man so untainted and holy

Came down

To die for the sinner

Who stole from the helpless woman in the ally

Who murdered an innocent child in the womb

Who told a tiny white lie to his mom and dad and gave himself away to drugs and peer pressure

Who lusted after the world and what seemed good but really was death covered in make up whispering

in the promises lie after lie

To die for the sinner who is you

You

Jesus chose to die for you

On that cross, with his hands bound by nails and his feet the same

And with every last breath, last drop of blood and whip of the chain

he thought of you

and that is a choice that no study, no analyzation could ever make sense of

but it was done

it is done

is what he said for you as his arms were spread out wide

and all your choices

he negated the effects, and ultimately the effect of death

and formulated a solution of eternal life instead

for this one choice

changed all the rest

Now, think, think it through

Every choice you make

and every choice that was made is made brand new, infused with grace

Remember this for when there is a test the formula of cause and effect

Still stand true

but also remember Jesus who did what you had to do

for you may make many more flawed choices without a thought

Therefore go down on bended knees gaze at the cross

where stood the Father’s son

never a doubt that this choice for you was a wrong one

that any effect wouldn’t be worth it

you are worth any effect

you are an effect

of that one choice made on the hills of calvary

look up at the cross when your lewd effects force out the mistakes of your personal choices

then resurface that one choice made 2000 years before

bring it up amongst all the confusion and chaos

study it’s economic worth

hold it dear

smile at it even for

that senseless,

unexplainable,

brilliant,

grand,

intricate,

lovel­y,

merciful,

gracious,

holy,

divine,

choice

is all for you
I thought the end of the paragraph was the end of our adventure
That the pen went dry and our kind words died with it
The problem was I still had so much I wanted to say
So much I wanted to write down, but I didn’t have the strength
I miss your penmanship, you’re vivacious, elegant words
How they gracefully fell upon paper and my heart
For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I wrote too much.. or too little
I know you feel the same, too, I picked up on your subtlety
Though you stopped writing and the chapter ended suddenly
My words contain no fury or hostility towards you
Lonely nights when my pen graced the page
Brought memories of when my hands caressed your rosy cheeks
I’d be a liar if I said my tears didn’t smudge my words
For my heart aches for your tough and longs for your voice
Then one day I stumbled upon a new page
A familiar calligraphy lay fresh on the paper  
In an instant I had hope, our adventure was not over
A new chapter has begun and the story was just starting

-AJT
Egg Mar 2018
What is the point in
Poignancy?

Fragment,
you tell me.
Another one in paragraph three.


What do words matter?

I have spelled love with Lilacs instead of an “L”
I have drawn the curve of my “O” with the chill of a
Sweeping breeze.
A “V” can only appear as the violet of a
sparkling sky, or I will be unable to read it,
and every “E” will amount to nothing more than
emptiness if the voice it has been given
does not epitomize song.

Comma-splice,
Replace it with a semicolon.


I am trying live freely.
I want to breathe in color,
to inhale an orange Savannah sky
And exhale green which
shows through the translucent dew
of grass.

Unnecessary use of description.
Limit it, Lidiah. Limit it.


My fingers itch with the ferocity of
A vengeful army.
They are waiting to trample pages with
The lead of my pencil, the bayonet
of a Revolutionary-War-era rifle.

The word limit sounds like tragedy.
A single word that can somehow act as
a precursor,
To the death of passion.

Your words have put you in a box.

People always say
“Actions speak louder than words.”
In a way that is true.
But I also know it to be
a tremendous piece of fiction.

Lidiah,
Please watch your run-ons.


Why can our words and our actions
not be the same thing?
Isn’t the act of speaking,
the act of raising your voice,
the act of being heard,
isn’t that an action?

Lidiah,
how many times do I have to remind you?
Clarification throughout.


Why have we decided that our words
Mean nothing more than
stepping stones on the road to action?

When did we decide that our voices
which rise like clarion calls,
forever instilling our promises,
are to be left on silent?

Precious jewels set into rings.

Poison in a water tank.

Lidiah,
what you say is irrelevant
if your MLA bibliography isn’t in
alphabetical order.


Our words are our actions.
They mean the same.
Words are the distinctions of our beliefs
Illustrations of our personas
They are not mosquitos to be slapped away
and forgotten.

Lidiah,
paragraph five is too long.
Stop rambling.
Be concise.


Please tell me,
what is the point of being concise?

Lidiah,
stop rambling.


Why do we let justification
equate to useless rambling?

Lidiah,
you have to detach yourself from the narrative.


Feelings mean more
than a couple of sentences.

More than a good or a bad.

A mad or a sad.

Comma-splice

What about ferocity?

Never end with a preposition.

What about passion?

Replace this with a conjunctive adverb.

What about the discernable strife
that follows even indifference?

What about that?

Lidiah,
what is the point of
Poignancy?


What are we without it?
What does the human soul matter
if we have forsaken the parts of ourselves that
remind us of what a soul is for?

Lidiah,
you will never be heard
if you do not learn to follow the rules
.
Destiny Odeh Sep 2015
Osas, there's a certain darkness in me. I can't explain it, but I don't curse the darkness, because it's where we found each other. After I found you, I stopped searching for rainbows in the far reaches of the sky, you were my sunshine. You cast away my troubles and wrestled my demons.

You always said that being whole is overrated; it's the holes that make us beautiful. You made me feel beautiful. Even though the beautiful moments we once had are slowly fading, turning from vivid to grey. I can still feel your palm, gentle on my blushing cheek, stroking my hair, tucking every curly strand behind my ear. The same ear you'd whisper a bouquet of wonderful words into.

I am not a ******, I am not a viscous erupting volcano, I am not fire. I am the phoenix that rose out of the flames you lit. The same fire you came running into, but while trying to save me, you forgot to save yourself.

You were the erupting volcano. You were vicious and violent. You were a deadly collection of everything vile. You were hot and cold, you were yes and no. Did you even love me at all? I guess I will never really know.

I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. I'm sorry I wrote that last paragraph. I know you loved me dearly. I'm only scraping for a reason to hate you; to cleanse my conscience. I feel so stupid right now. I can't stop crying. I can't stop thinking about that night. The error of my deed still haunts me. The least I can do is to keep writing you back to life, back into my arms.

I got 25 years; I'll be out of here just in time for menopause. I never cared much about having unruly, noisy, silly little babies running riot, leaving a trail of ****, puke and toy cars lying around. But I cared about you. Though the wonderful times we had is becoming a long lost distant memory, I still care about you.

We were of the same form, you and I. Passionately understanding each other's darkness. You knew how fragile my heart and mind was, yet you broke both. I was crazy in love with you, you took away the love and left me plain crazy.

I have lost myself. Maybe if I dig deeper, I'd discover an avalanche of emotions still buried in me. Sandwiched between my ice-cold heart and the poisonous blood coursing through my veins. The same veins I want to expose to the spirits in the wind, and as my blood pours on this cold concrete like leaves on a forest floor - I would be at peace. I hope to find peace in death, for death is not a pit but a ladder; an ascension to another realm. And in that realm I hope to find you, to explain to you why I did it - Why I pushed you off the balcony.

I couldn't look you in the face anymore. You disgusted me! I saw you with her at the office party. Yes, I saw you! Even though you claimed she seduced you. I still saw you! I can't get that horrid image out of my head. It was in that moment I knew I couldn't live another day hearing you tell me another lie.

I got a blade today, from a lady in the shower. After I let her touch me in all the right places, still it felt so wrong. You have no idea how hard it is to find even the simplest sharp object in here. Body cavity searches, routine cell shakedowns, constant reminders that I have and I am nothing. At least she was gentle; Aunty Julianna was never gentle whenever she touched me in the bathroom stall.

Nothing, and no one, can make me whole again. I feel bitter, sad and shattered. Even mirrors no longer lie to me. I see myself for what I am now - a monster.

"I have to do this, this is the only way." I calmly reassure myself, while clutching the jagged blade, slowly pressing it against my deathly pale skin.

"Calm down Adesuwa, don't slit your wrist just yet." A voice echoed from the corner of my dark cell. Your voice. But still I didn’t believe.

"Is that you Osas?" I whispered. "Have you come to forgive me or have you come for retribution?"

"Here's your lunch." said the prison guard, before spotting the blade and sounding the alarm. I was on my belly before I could say a word, my arm bent behind me, my fingers pried open, my ladder gone.

Another day. I guess I’ll die another day.
Jay Apr 2017
Love was not shaped like a heart but a question mark
Too many wonders, Too many questions
I knew love was open-minded, love was optimistic
I knew love inside and out
But love remained a question mark, unsure of the love, love found with me.

Love changed
Love silently became an exclamation point
Love had clouded thoughts, twisted feelings
Love felt happiness, sadness, madness
But beneath all of those, love gave out silent cries - I have never heard.

Love, then again, changed
Love took on a shape of a comma
Love became afraid of ending the sentence, ending us
Love made us complex, made us complicated
Love had a lot of pauses in between the non-stop wishing and non-stop desires
Love hated itself

Love wanted to change
And he did
Love finally became a period
Because commas were suffocating and periods end suffocation
But love, love did not just end the sentence, nor the paragraph, nor the story
Love ended us

But here I am, standing in front of Love again
Staring at the Love who's oh so different again
Love was not just one dot but three
Love became an ellipsis
Love wished for more of our story
Love hopes to continue us
Love started wondering about the possibility of having us again
Love wanted us again
Love is slowly turning back into a question mark again.
A school requirement that brings satisfaction only to me who wants to have a good grade in her philosophy class.
JaxSpade Oct 2018
The black little letters
Fall off the black block of a word grater
Inbetween the holes
Are the slices of the ink splattered
They pile on a plates platter
And a story forms the matter
Food for a face fatter
A paragraph buffet scattered
Have a seat and flll with laughter
It's a recipe for actors
Each scene a new chapter
Stirring in the plots factors
Little black letters
Walk across a books chedder
And you'll remember not to forget her
All her words rendered
Cooking in warmths splendor
Each page read was a new ember
Igniting the next pages paper
Fire in an authors blender
A purree of black letters
Drinks a tall glass of readers
Mouth breathers fill theaters
And spend millions to see her
Little black letters
Falling of the scripts
And entering gutters
They drain into alphabet ocean
And wait for a new arranged stoich
He dont know it but these
Words will find their way into the poet
And on this page I show it
I close my eyes in prayer
I hear the wind whipping about
It is a winter day  in the South
I imagine snowy wastes about
I would meet if I went out but
They are real because there is
No one here or there I know
Is is cold aloneness that I am
The Season's Spirit seems to
Say: Ha thought you could get
Away.  See its not so easy even
In the deep South I will have my.
Say.  Was it Twain or Frost who
Said: My coldest Winter was one
Summer I spent in San Francisco
It is an appointment in Samara ;
 the
Spring of hope-the winter of despair



It was Twain
Title of John O'Hara's Book and Preface fable
**Dickens opening paragraph Tale of Two Cities
:
D A W N Nov 2017
my shoulders are lonely with love and serendipity that control me; i want somebody to hold me but its useless nevertheless the truth is people leave me clueless with the things i do with. and i loved you endless like a paragraph that didnt have a sentence because it didnt have to make sense as long as it was endless; i thought it was perfect. did you shatter when i threw you into the latter. when you said everyone didnt matter except me, did you mean it. and thats not all. you told me sticks and stones wont break my bones, as long as youre there im not alone. you told me my eyes were a reverie leaving you wanting for more. keep in mind i walked to your downpour without a cover. how you told me youll love me like no other-how you used to smother all the love numbers when i thought you werent like the others. you told me actions speak louder than words. how your words cursed me and curtsied everytime you hurt me, stirred me
and i still loved you
endlessly
and if i could
i would take every breath of me
just to prove to you
that i loved you unconditionally
despite the consecutive times youve
tried to  hurt me
UNFINISHED POEM WRITTEN IN 2016  N I JUST FINISHED THIS 3 YEARS LATER I-
IS THIS EVEN A POEM
Brandon Conway Sep 2018
Behind these eyes, insanity
a slow permeation of a voice
screaming truths and half truths

I just don’t want to listen
so I flood the head
just to drown the haunting

but it is ******* immortal
every night I send an eagle
to gnaw on the larynx

every morning it’s there to greet
disguised as a fictional friend
                  fiend. I meant fiend.

it’s kudzu it’s ******* kudzu
every day is a mid spring day
even in winters delicate palms

I spend the nights soaking in a bath
last night I let the water ******* tongue
soon it will feast on my lungs

I can go out like Plath
except my poems are bad
and my novel is only a paragraph

I will not
     let the inner
          demons win.
SC Kelley Aug 2018
Love is like a book in many ways,
And you are the author.

There is a beginning which can be shaped in many ways.

A middle or present which is carried out based on the first chapter.

But whether or not there is an end is up to you.

If you write the rest of the book good enough,
Then the rest of it never has to stop.

If it's the perfect story,
It can be written in volumes.

Each letter spun together,
With the heartstrings of a desperate lover.

Every word written in care with tears,
From her heartbroken cheeks.

Every paragraph dripping,
With the eternal hope for the future.

Despite the low point of some chapters,
There will always be a turn of events for the better.

This creates a story that can go on for thousands of lifetimes,
Like that of the love, he holds in the highest esteem for her.

Love is like a book that never ends,
Only if it is true and pure.

~S.C. Kelley
For My Love
sushii Dec 2018
i do not know
what to write,

so i fill the empty spaces of my sentence
with the teardrops from the previous paragraph.

i do not know
what to say,

so i repeat the verse
i started yesterday.

i do not know
what my direction is,

so i write the stanza
winding into nothingness like a bookcase.

i do not remember
how i write my poems,

so i draw from feelings
felt long ago.

i do not remember
how to read,

so i recall a passage from a chapter book
i have yet to finish.

i do not know
if this has a rhythm or an order,

but i know i will find it soon.

poetry will come back to me
on the next crescent moon.
Traveler Jun 7
I am but a poem
My body made of rhymes
I have been written
One too many times
Beauty I often read
Love I wish to know
You, you are an explanation point!
You let your feelings show...
But as you can clearly see
I'm a simple paragraph
Easily as I was written
I am doomed to pass...
Yet it's all been written before
After all
I am a poem
Nothing more!
Traveler Tim
should we simulate a state of emergency
when frankly the fractures you’ve experienced are not even fatal
while our dynamite maker was just a teenager
her slow motion wink took me right out of my seat
I blinked and before I knew what had happened
I was beside myself lying face down in a puddle of ink
it might be silly but it reminds me of a story
about two little children who were fast asleep
and then their stuffed animals came alive and started talking
how come i can begin almost anything
but I start to drift away before I even finish the first paragraph
Jim Davis Jun 10
Scrounging local garage sales... near ten years past... I had found a flat, welded iron, rusty seahorse... 3 feet high... with a good seahorse shape and poise... edges welded and cut... after the haggle... twenty-five dollars..... perfectly added to my estate... covered rust in gold sheen... mounted upon a tree... to greet all comers... with a seahorse kiss!    
     Seller said it was made by the same artist... of the turtle lady statue... to be found in Corpus Christi!  Asked if I had seen it... my reply... No, but I liked the seahorse piece! He expounded... the artist... only had one leg... but was a surfer... well known for this trait... in Corpus Christi!  
     After I had mounted the seahorse... upon its tree...I did an internet search... looking for anything about the one-legged surfer artist of Corpus Christi!  Found... nothing!  
     End of May, 2019... visiting my sister, Donna... we were wandering Corpus Christi!  She guided us to the surf museum... not knowing the story... of the one-legged surfer artist... creator of my mounted seahorse!  
     Girl at the front desk... Kayla... real nice and friendly... told her about the seahorse and questioned her... she didn’t know... she never heard of a surfer with one leg or the turtle lady statue!  Looking at us just a bit strangely... one legged surfer???
      Anyhow... Donna and I... started our stroll through the small museum!  Along the right side... stood a long row of surfboards... I’ve never surfed... but I was imagining trying it with just one leg!  
     Anyhow... I didn’t really stop to read or look in any detail at any of the exhibits until I reached the back... there was a glass case... which had a piece of simple letter paper...  8.5x11... taped to the front of the glass cabinet!  I started in reading the last paragraph...

“Welch, 53, and his wife, Chelsea Louise, 23, died September 15, 2001, when their car plunged off the edge of South Padre Island’s Queen Isabella Causeway, which partially collapsed after a string of barges crashed into the bridge’s support pilings!

Thought to myself... Wow... Who is this guy???  I jumped up to the middle paragraph...

     “Welch lost one of his lower legs in an auto accident in the 1970s, but he kept surfing with a prosthesis.  He wore a peg-like prosthesis at first, then got one with a foot.  He won the prosthesis division of the United States Surfing Championships on South Padre Island in 1998.”

     In the glass case was a welded metal sculpture of a beach scene... with waves, palm trees, and all!  The piece did have some resemblance in style to my seahorse sculpture!  Also, there was a picture on top of the case of Harpoon Barry... striking a muscular, no shirt pose... in his tattoo shop... his torso covered in tattoos!  
     It is said... he was on the verge of suicide after losing his leg. In one interview with the San Antonio Express News in 1992 he said;  "I may not make it to heaven, but you can be sure I made no deals with the devil to get where I'm at now, "  Looking down at his false leg stretched out in front of him, Welch said quietly: "It is a real empty feeling when you put one of these on for the first time, especially if you are an adult on your own. And your mama'a not there and your daddy's not there, and the people in the hospital tell you, 'This is the best it's going to get.  I made my first leg myself, out of Hi-C cans. I couldn't wait for my leg to get finished. I wanted to walk. I guess I got the idea from the Tin Woodsman in 'The Wizard of Oz.' That leg actually worked pretty well!”
    
     I had found my one-legged surfer artist!  I walked towards Donna... who was already half-way leaving the museum...  I hollered to her... she just had to come see this ... “I think I found the one-legged surfer!”  She had recently had partial knee replacement... and was hobbling!  She said if I was fooling her... she better not walk back all that way for nothing!! She came back to the glass case... we read through the letter in it’s entirety!  
     Then we went... and told Kayla at the front desk... she again looked at us again a bit strange... but then reluctantly left her post to go with us to take a look... she was then astounded!  Said she never knew about the one-leg... although she had worked at the museum for several years!  Said there were also a couple metal sculptures... at the front of the museum... she thought were also done... by Harpoon Barry!  We took pictures of those also!  

In the letter we also read...

     “Welch had numerous tattoos and body piercings.  He wore a tiny 14 carrot gold harpoon through one ******.  That is how he got his nick name according to a friend, Scott Gangel.”  

     "I am a unique, self-made sensation!” he said matter-of-factly... in the interview with the Express News!  

..... It's been 18 years since eight people died when South Padre Island's Queen Isabella Memorial Causeway collapsed... sending 11 people into the water below... four days after the 9/11 attacks!  A string of tow barges had struck the supporting pilings!  A section of the roadway had collapsed...

     I promised Kayla... I would donate my seahorse piece to the museum upon my death!  I only hope my death... is as grand as Harpoon Barry’s plunge into the Gulf of Mexico with his young wife!  Wonder what they were doing during the plunge... what was Barry doing... yelling Yippee Ki Yay... or Surf’s up... Dude!!!... maybe???  
    
Surfed waves on one leg
Young wife... crazy life... grand death
Harpooned by Barry

©  2019 Jim Davis
I doubt I could ever match his life!  !  Though...  someday... I might get a tattoo... or two... or a harpoon piercing... perhaps in a ******! Also... still looking for the turtle lady statue!
Kateasz Apr 16
I text the boy I can't get over.
I tell him
"You have felt more right to me than anyone else."
I tell him
"I'm sorry for loving you too hard."
"Would you love me, please?"
He says
"You're just here wanting me to turn around. I'm not going to do that."
"I don't want anything with you. You should know that by now."
"I only wanted your body."
I tell him that I'm sorry.
He never tells me that it's okay.
So I text the boy that I keep on making bad choices with
I tell him
"I wish I could be enough."
I send him photos with tears streaming down my face.
"I wish that I could be worthy of love."
I try to show him a little bit of the broken inside of me
A part of me is hoping he'll love it
As much as he loves the other parts of my body.
He says
"I think you're **** af. I'd have no problem ******* on your face."
And another part of me breaks
But at least I'm fuckable.
I just force a smile.
I tell him thank you.
He says
"I'm going to go to bed, but first can you make me ***? Send me a paragraph."
I tell him
"I have no words left in me tonight."
And it's true.
So I text the boy who I thought might make me believe that it's okay
I ask him
"What's wrong with me?"
"Why don't people see me?"
"Why can't I be enough?"
He says
"There's nothing wrong with you."
"I think you're hot."
"I'd love to ******* and more."
I say
"No."
But he has closed his mind
"I'll take your mind off of this."
I say
"No."
He says
"I don't have a girlfriend anymore."
I stop replying.
I sit on the floor
And hug my knees to my chest
While tears silently flow down my cheeks
My lungs don't have the energy to breathe anymore.
I have a conversation in myself
The only one who will listen.
Ryan O'Leary Jan 8
Golden Valleys, Growing Naturally

                        <>

This is a Logo in Ireland, Dairygold™
is the company.

I would safely say, that there is hardly
an acre in rural Ireland devoid of some
form of artificial fertilisers, pesticides,
herbicides or fungicides.

(Ireland is riddled with consumer cancer)

If the Logo was written as follows,
a comma between Growing & Naturally
plus an exclamation mark ! which should
really be a question mark ? (in the absence
of the comma between Valleys & Growing)
                            i.e.
Golden Valleys, Growing, Naturally! or ?

               Then it might pass.

Let's see if we can force them to change
it and by doing so, it will highlight the
fraudulent practice of duping consumers
with blatant grammatical omissions and
the wordplay illusion by clever marketers.

(Well, perhaps not as clever as they thought)

ps.

I spent all morning, wondering should they
be a comma in the last paragraph, in the
afternoon, I removed it.  Oscar Wilde.
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