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Is it wrong for me to hate you?
Its so hard not to love you.
Everytime I try to move on with my life..
You just have to go and make things all right.
Just know I don't need you.
Do note how bad I want you.
Because when I'm gone.
Thats the end of our song.

Is it wrong for me to say this?
Why is it so hard to move on?
If I  said none of this.
Would you still play along?
As if we're still in love.
Like we never even stopped.
Maybe I should've stop.
Forget what I said, its dropped.

There is something that we love about us.
Its a shame that we both mask it with ****.
Guess we were never meant to be.
That future will stay a mystery.

I remember how we were.
Just years ago.
The world was our own.
And i held you so high.
Stars in your eyes.
How I fantasized.
Until you ****** it up for us.
So now, I'm gone.
Can't take this pain no more.
So tonight I'll give my loving.
But tomorrow I leave with yours.

Is it wrong for me to say this?
Why is it so hard to move on?
If I had not said any of this.
Would you still play along?
As if we're still in love.
Like we never even stopped.
Maybe I should stop.
Forget what I said, its dropped.

There is something that we love about us.
Its a shame that we both mask it with ****.
Guess we were never meant to be.
That future will stay a mystery.
I feel really good about this one! haven't written in months...enjoy all! Thoughts opinions?!?! Im just hoping no one forgot About me. I fell into a bad state of depression but it inspired me to write through my struggles and aftef waiting so long to write something i finally found enough courage to do just that. Thank you all again.
Tommy Randell Mar 2017
Read again that letter from my father -

You can hear the music in it I'll bet,
Its old style singing from his lonely centre.
He asks for money, brandy on his breath,
He offers time and talks of Ireland’s history and pride,
He offers me the right to share his name.
He asks for comfort in the few years left
And thinks I might care - because he is afraid.

Read again that letter from my father -

Now he wants to have all the things he has not.
It would take some doing, he would need to make account
Of his long abandoned wife and her sons,
Her later death and us being orphaned at nine and twelve,
The school bus bullies from other father-less homes,
And being pounded and being pounded into stone
To be remade in his image, to be an absent father's sons.

Go on, read that letter from my Father -

You tell me what it says about his life,
Of living well-down the glass of his pride.
Can you see one moment of any abstract thought
Or is it the old story of the King with no clothes
Caught ***** with no place to hide?
An **** truth, no matter dressed in gold.

Should it make me sad, that letter from my Father?

It reminds me of an old tree no light can shine through,
With no birds in the branches and no rainfall can *******.
If you threw a stone into its branches you would hear it
Clatter like a bucket of hope down a dry well.
It reminds me of the story of The Foolish Oak
Whose roots withered as its leaves cast off the rain
And who became a dead log just standing there.
He is dead now. In reality we let him back into our lives, my brother & I though we never grew to love him. He inhabited the fringes of our family. He was harmless and every man deserves the right to prove he has changed. BUT, that cruel part of me still hurts and feels anger for a lifetime without a father and for a deserted mother who turned to drink.
Julie Smith Aug 2017
Look what you made me do
I've had to **** myself and you
You called me up out of the blue
But I had to hang up and pass you through

And all because you told me you'd be mine
But it's been quite a year after all this time
And baby, I know we could still be fine
But Darling, first I'll make you wait in line

I'll wait till you beg me to answer your call
Unlike her I can deal with the fall
And the silence that chokes me like a wall
So be ready when I turn up at the ball
Written on Saturday.
Inspired by Taylor Swift's new song "Look what you made me do".
This could be the second to last poem in my Part IV.
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