"rumor" poems
kissing you was like swerving into oncoming traffic
i can never tell if i am more haunted by empty picture frames or the ashes of their contents
you taught me that the saying "pick your battles" meant not answering when love was at the door
sometimes when i drink whiskey i swear i can hear your voice in the creases of my bedsheets & i sleep on the floor
i still catch myself running my hands over things you touched the most, looking for the echoes of your fingertips
i practice things i'll never say to you
i remember the day you told me you didn't like poetry, how "everything's already been said" & how "nothing meaningful can be captured without being cliche" you know, i don't miss you like the sun and moon, i do not miss you like tide bent waves crashing on the shoreline, i miss you like a chernobyl swingset misses children
rumor has it that drowning is a lot like coming home, that drinking bleach can **** the butterflies in your stomach
for your love of cigarettes, i would have been an ashtray
this halloween i want to dress up as the you when you loved yourself and show up on your doorstep
i never understood what you meant when you said i was an instrument, back when you would cup your hands around my chest and breathe through the holes in my heart, i still wonder if the sounds i made remind you of wind chimes
i never paid much attention to abandoned buildings until i became one
in my dreams all the flowers smell like your perfume
i am the only person who has ever wished for the same snowflake to fall twice
if i could go back, and rewrite the definition of audacity, it would be how when we lost the bet of love, you said "we never shook on it"
i love you, if the feeling is not mutual, please pretend this was a poem
the only apology i want from you, is to have you repeat the names of children we will never have in your parents living room until they *****
we are the same person if you find yourself up at 4am dry heaving promises, or if you are kept awake by the laughter of those who've abandoned you
nobody ever told you that goodbyes taste like the back of stamps
sometimes i'm convinced that the only reason we hug, is so you can check my back for exit wounds
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 11:08 PM UTC
i always thought
you were thru traffic
that you were just jet lag
background noise
the kiss in the rain
i've never had
but what if you aren't?
what if this
was the thousandth time
i have loved you?
what if this is just a fresh coat of paint?
what if god
keeps a handkerchief
soaked in the day we met
next to his bed?
maybe theres a reason
i reach for no one in bed
the way i would
if someone used to be there
you know, they say
the road behind us
is littered with things
we couldn't hold onto
i wonder how many times
you've slipped through my hands
like hour glass sand
do you know
how much erosion you've caused?
i heard cupid
stopped keeping count
of how many times
we came together
just to come apart again
maybe it was just a rumor
it makes me think
about how many times
i've almost had you
like if all this talk
about history repeating itself
endlessly replaying is true
i wonder how many times
things have happened already
like the time
i tried talking you
into loving me back
back fired
or the time i could have sworn
jesus & lazarus were playing chess
with my heartbeat
but it was only you smiling
how many times
have i tried to tell you
how many times
have you read this poem
how many times
have i tried not to meet you
in my dreams anymore
it's like sleep tries to warn
me of what's happening
before it does but
i keep having this dream
where i tell you bedtime stories
and each one
is a different way you die
and in every one
i can never save you
it's like you're this song
i have on repeat
and every time it starts over
i forget the words
it's like you picked up the book entitled "us"
and the back cover
said you'd leave
so you never bothered reading it
tell me you aren't
going back in that bookstore
just to do it again
or will you tell me tomorrow?
or is this the time
you don't say anything at all?
if this has all happened before
if we call it quits
before we begin
again
from the beginning
i just want to ask you
to be my fire
because i am tired
of these old lives
and i'd like to see them
burn
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC
The line didn't move, though there were not
many people in it. In a half-hearted light
the lone agent dealt patiently, noiselessly, endlessly
with a large dazed family ranging
from twin toddlers in strollers to an old lady
in a bent wheelchair. Their baggage
was all in cardboard boxes. The plane was delayed,
the rumor went through the line. We shrugged,
in our hopeless overcoats. Aviation
had never seemed a very natural idea.
Bored children floated with faces drained of blood.
The girls in the tax-free shops stood frozen
amid promises of a beautiful life abroad.
Louis Armstrong sang in some upper corner,
a trickle of ignored joy.
Outside, in an unintelligible darkness
that stretched to include the rubies of strip malls,
winged behemoths prowled looking for the gates
where they could bury their koala-bear noses
and **** our dimming dynamos dry.
Boys in floppy sweatshirts and backward hats
slapped their feet ostentatiously
while security attendants giggled
and the voice of a misplaced angel melodiously
parroted FAA regulations. Women in saris
and kimonos dragged, as their penance, behind them
toddlers clutching Occidental teddy bears,
and chair legs screeched in the food court
while ill-paid wraiths mopped circles of night
into the motionless floor.
10.3k
sometimes i wonder if god keeps a record
of all the times i have been left,
all the times i have been unable to leave.
i wonder if he thinks to himself,
"when will she learn?"
as if he feels my heartache too.
i picture god with a furrowed brow,
hunched over a typewriter,
beginning me again and again,
a mountain of crumpled paper at his feet.
but somehow -
he always ends up at the same point in the story
where i am all ****** palms
and half-hearted hallelujahs
propped up on bruised knees.
spitting up blood & teeth at his feet screaming,
"IS THAT ALL YOU'VE GOT?"
but he doesn't answer.
and i catch myself wondering if the silence
is his way of punishing me for making a deity out of you.
after all, the bible says he is a jealous god.
i could've sworn there was a verse somewhere
that said you weren't allowed to love anyone other than me.
but now that i think about it,
i probably took it out of context.
if i could add a parable to those already existing,
it would be how your chest
felt like church under my head,
and how i thought to myself,
"this is how it would be if he loved me back."
or how you fled my bedroom like a crime scene.
i am still bleeding.
i won't tell you how many times
i cracked my heart in half
trying to be what you wanted.
how my lips on your skin felt judas.
now i am waiting for god to begin me once more,
hoping he'll leave you out of the plot this time
because i don't think i could stand to lose you again.
see, rumor has it he knew you'd leave
and has been trying to make it up to me
since before we'd even met.
my song is one of repentance.
the wood finish from abandoned pews
rotting under my fingernails.
i made sacrifices you didn't ask for.
i have never known
whether my inability to abandon people
is more a strength or a weakness
but so far everyone i've ever loved
has turned into an exit wound,
and myself into a flickering no vacancy sign.
- m.f.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 6:04 PM UTC
I tend to,
Give my all without expectations of receiving something of equal worth
So I end up in bed accompanied by my emptiness
Feeling worth less than the word less
Because I wear my emotions on my face and I can’t seem to separate the
Pain from the passion.
I guess it’s my fault that this happened.
I guess it’s my fault, and since I’m not one to make allegations
I have no patience
I end up accepting less than I deserve, and I’ve always heard
That I can be whatever I want to be, and it’s up to me to turn my daydreams
Into realities, but in reality, the concept of reality is all new to me
I have a problem. I tend to,
Give my all without expectations to, receive something of equal worth
What am I worth?
I’m not sure but my…soul contains the universe
And beauty is in the hush of the trees
Misconceived mix match of half-baked beliefs
But I’m not one to make allegations, I have no patience
Recycled existence of inspiration
I’ve always heard…never judge a book by its cover
So if I’m judged for doing me
That’s another brand new cavity across the meaning of the word humanity
That’s another false rumor spread
Another he said she said text read
Another person’s confidence dead.
But I can solve the California water crisis with the tears that I have not shed.
I wear my emotions on my face, but do not be confused by the lack of emotion that I show.
See, whenever you’re invited to a funeral, we all know that you’re supposed to go, but we do not cry for the ones we do not know
What are you worth?
You are a slave to your mind and can’t see what is, for what it is for.
Helloo, this is the 21st century and we don’t need chains to make slaves out of people anymore.
If you’re lost, insecure, and feeling worthless, give yourself a worth test.
They’ll call you dramatic, but I’ll call you my living protest.
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC
My cat child
brings order where there was none.
Let's not talk about the walnut shell of my womb,
empty birthplace of dust.
Let's talk about my cat child, proud with powers, handy with struts.
Now, listen--
I have forgotten all about you.
I've heard that I was in love once, but who knows?
Show me the evidence; I'll yawn elaborately, and my cat child will agree
that such stuff is dull in the extreme.
Dead fish, on the other hand, become more riveting every minute.
You would not have understood my cat child.
At least, that's my foggy instinct about it.
You would have objected to the damage, the **** and the fleas.
The rumor is, cats were royal once,
and I need the reflected glory and the chance to sleep during the day.
Right now, my cat child is away.
She is hungry for mice, songbirds, or someone's leg.
Me, I don't eat anymore, can't recall why I ever did--
I remember nothing, value nothing, aspire to nothing.
But once,
The feel of my mouth closing gently over the curve of your soft lower lip
seemed such an urgent thing,
like warm waves for mermaids,
a place I would do anything to get to.
Yes once,
the sight of your dark hair sent warm honey over my heart,
my belly,
my ***
and everywhere, my love, from my skin to the stars.
Now, though,
I have forgotten all that.
What were we talking about? I have no idea.
Now there is only the glare of afternoon
and the magnificence of my cat child who has given me nine lives--
none of them worth a ****
all as dead in the mouth as a finch with a broken neck.
Sep 6, 2025
Sep 6, 2025 at 10:59 PM UTC
I guess I just expected
Something else
It happens every year,
I get excited
Hopeful
Giddy
That maybe
This year will be
Different.
Maybe I'll find an awesome friend
Who does my nails
And answers calls at two am
Like Nicole did
Before she moved to California
Or she could be like Kayla
Who would be silly with me in
Drama class
And use chocolate sauce for blood
In our Black and White movie
Before her dad died in combat
And she went to bury him in
Some foreign country
Where cell phones
Don't count
Or a boyfriend like Louis
That I could see a future with
Sitting listening to Relient K
In a college dorm
With a million years to spare
Before he left for London
But the girl in front of me
In English
Pops her gum for the boy
In the next desk
And could poke my eye out
With her fake straightened hair.
The girl in my drama class
Cakes on her mask and
Participates in pageant after pageant
And calls her anorexia
A diet
And I heard the rumor
That the boy I thought was cute
In chemistry
Was caught ********* his
Girlfriend
Under her desk in
Español Dos.
I didn't think my standards were too high to meet.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 10:26 PM UTC
I ran up six flights of stairs
to my small furnished room
opened the window
and began throwing out
those things most important in life.
First to go, Truth, squealing like a fink:
"Don't! I'll tell awful things about you!"
"Oh yeah? Well, I've nothing to hide ... OUT!"
Then went God, glowering & whimpering in amazement:
"It's not my fault! I'm not the cause of it all!"
"OUT!"
Then Love, cooing bribes: "You'll never know impotency!
All the girls on Vogue covers, all yours!"
I pushed her fat *** out and screamed:
"You always end up a ******
I picked up Faith, Hope, Charity
all three clinging together:
"Without us you'll surely die!"
"With you I'm going nuts! Goodbye!"
Then Beauty ... ah, Beauty—
As I led her to the window
I told her: "You I loved best in life
... but you're a killer; Beauty kills!"
Not really meaning to drop her
I immediately ran downstairs
getting there just in time to catch her
"You saved me!" she cried
I put her down and told her: "Move on."
Went back up those six flights
went to the money
there was no money to throw out.
The only thing left in the room was Death
hiding beneath the kitchen sink:
"I'm not real!" It cried
"I'm just a rumor spread by life ... "
Laughing I threw it out, kitchen sink and all
and suddenly realized Humor
was all that was left—
All I could do with Humor was to say:
"Out the window with the window!"
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 5:33 AM UTC
She was stunning, gorgeous
Everywhere she went she turned heads
The boys whistled, the girls muttered their jealousy
They poked and prodded her until she was reduced to nothing more than a hopeless nobody
She stopped trying, she stopped looking for the compliments and the easy smiles that seemed to spring up when she came around
She didn't know what had turned the opinions of so many,
Maybe it was a nasty rumor made by a popular girl
It could have been anything really
But all that tearing down allowed her to build back up
She realized that she didn't need the makeup and the dresses and the fancy shoes to be beautiful
What really mattered was her heart, her soul
And so she found beauty inside
Her new found shining grace shone from deep beneath her skin
And although there was still muttering when she walked in the room,
She had learned to push it all aside
And see the true beauty of the world around her
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 12:51 AM UTC
No more than a rumor
Or a legend spoken in whispers
Mischievous folklore
Foretold around campfires
About a man
Skin black, birthed under an Eclipse
Who stalks the dark forces
Casting his might over them
Fending off the evil
Which festers across the land
Bleeding gold ink
That soils the crop and livestock
Wherever life thrives
Evil musters its footprints
But wherever it may be
He is there
Baffling their kin
Striking like thunder
Swift and silent
Like the humming katana
Making clean kills
And fading back into thin air
Being seen as a ghost
When more is known of him
For he is flesh
Great in heart
And vibrant in sight
As the father of judgment
Carrying out his given cases
That are closed by his steel hands
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
father offers, no, we are bodies trapped in people.
he was known to be monstrous when inside a vandalized church.
if gay, he’d ask
does anyone ask
if you
were born?
yesterday, she was identified by her dentist.
she was recalled as a hunger pain.
man is a rumor
started by god.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 1:34 PM UTC
...and she wears black-belt of solid
endurance, around her soul.
Because, she was born in pain city;
She's never perturbed by their
pettiness and rumor mongering attitude.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 4:38 PM UTC
At spawn of first light
Darkness embarks into the recesses of hibernation
And so begins the blinding incline,
the inevitable blonde coiled wreaths frustration is on the rise
forces a discharge so multiple and emanate,
the skyward black shrinks back
from panoptic reaches,
into a delinquent weakened rumor
When this daily task of ridding the black ends a victor
The climb continues upward in a high sky setting
Consequential over the mornings painstaking labors
Wiping from his brow,
in a waving motion
To release mists over global hydration
By welcoming this morning dew,
the earth is one more day new
and can take great relief in this rebirth
Assuring all parched famine will gain resolve
taking in their absolve
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 12:15 PM UTC
1338
What tenements of clover
Are fitting for the bee,
What edifices azure
For butterflies and me—
What residences nimble
Arise and evanesce
Without a rhythmic rumor
Or an assaulting guess.
4.1k
Déjame ser tu espejo... te supliqué aquel día.
Recuerdo que tu mano se estremeció en la mía.
Yo, que envidio tu espejo, quiero saber qué sientes 1
al copiar en la alcoba tu cuerpo adolescente...
(detrás de los almendros, casi del fondo 2
del mar surgió la luna, con su espejo redondo...)
Te vi de pie en la sombra. Junto al lecho vacío
se oyó un rumor de sedas, como el rumor de un río.
Y yo, como el espejo de aquella alcoba oscura,
yo, allí, solo contigo, reflejé tu hermosura.
Fue un instante, en la sombra. No sé bien todavía,
si eras tú, si fue un sueño o una flor que se abría.
Muchacha de la noche de un día diferente:
yo no envidio tu espejo, ya sé que nada siente. 3
Ya sé que te duplica sin comprender siquiera
que eres mujer hermosa como la primavera; 4
pues, si lo comprendiera, saltaría en pedazos,
por el ansia imposible de tenderte los brazos.
4.1k
Sterling eyes close the falling red ward
Big Brother has seen it all
He tells me: *there is danger
Terror past the massive, all-protecting Atlantic*
Don’t stray there, the mouth
of stumbling heads say,
They want to take away
Our safety, our ways, our Freedom
Mr. Elected reassures
*Nothing will harm you
Not with me going there
I don’t want you going there*
He speaks like my mom
Warning me of the illicits
I am too vulnerable to experience
It’s death I’ll go to- I’ve been told
Sleepless red monocular
Enlightening the air to a passive blue
It’s opacity beneath and above
Ascending again
Mama and Baba say it’s time to go home
I confront the arid peninsula of Qatar
Lungs accustomed, vitality not frozen
Precariously perceiving the harmful
Sentiments of years past in Jordan,
I wonder why
my kin would ban this place
Rumor on dirt pavement in a draft, ears picking up
*The Atlantic is not to be crossed,
A lack of morals, malintentions
lay beyond the scape.*
Extravagant grenade above,
Falling to the horizon
And no detonation, collapsing behind a curved veil
Skyward lay the remnants
Of heat, frozen in time
The lips in a box on this shoreside
Warn *the zephyrs from the ornery
Reaches towards our home
Be on guard of the deceitful
star at night that rains red*
Tomorrow may not be there
My blood brothers of Lebanon say,
But I wait, field of vision
aligned to the east
Aural stumbles translate, articulating
My brethren begin their search of food
And in too many moments unnoticed,
Black on bottom, red on the low, blue slowly suffocating the obscurity above
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 9:27 PM UTC
Oh, somewhere we been lied upon.
Fiction imagine, as facts by someone.
Yes, rumors circulating around loud and free.
Then , they want confirmation.
While not seeking total truth.
We the innocent required to submit our own self defense proof.
Lies and rumor, without confirmation has ruin many things.
Many reputation, may relationships.
Many of various things.
Given a lot of us horrible and terrifying names.
Lies and rumors, without confirmation.
It's a shame.
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 12:21 PM UTC
Trump STILL can't stand the thought
That Clinton won the popular vote.
In efforts to cause a major distraction,
He's keeping the voting fraud rumor afloat.
Clinton received two point eight
Million more votes than he--
Votes from voters physically present
Or votes from those voting absentee.
He says that he has evidence
Of widespread fraud. We can surmise
That he has his "alternative facts"--
A handy euphemism for lies.
It's a preposterous, baseless claim,
A mere BELIEF that he maintains,
Another false conspiracy theory,
An insult to people who use their brains.
Voting fraud is an issue
That Trump loves to keep in his sights.
For him it's a very useful excuse
To go after voting rights.
If there was so much voting fraud,
The chances of which are very slim,
Does Trump ever wonder how many
Fraudulent votes went to him?
The more he whines, the more he harps--
He's even driving Republicans mad!--
The more he loses the smattering
Of credibility that he once had.
- by Bob B (1-24-17)
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 8:48 AM UTC
Late last night I saw something fall from the sky,
I happened to be in the kitchen making tuna on rye.
As I looked out my window it landed in my yard.
It crushed the pink flamingos, the wife took it hard.
I stood there at the window taking in the sight,
Bright lights flashing red, blue, and white.
Then suddenly a door slid open, I was seized by fright.
But my wife had gone out the door, in her hand a kitchen knife.
As the little green man stepped out, he was looking fine,
In a tye dye tee shirt, waving his hands in a peace sign,
Looking like he had come straight from the sixties,
I think he was expecting to find some hippies.
Thinking this guy might be peaceful, I tackled my wife,
As she dropped the knife, I yelled, "He might be nice".
The little green man then pulled out a bic and gave it a flick,
As he held two finger to his lips, I realized his vice.
As I had given that up long ago, I had nothing to share.
But the little guys face showed such despair,
I went into the house and got the beer from the fridge,
And grabbed the Nacho Doritos for this astorial kid.
We sat on the lawn chairs out under the sky,
drinking the beer, eating tuna on rye.
I asked where he was from, he just pointed up.
When we finished our beers, I said good luck.
Back to the spaceship the little man went,
his steps were unsteady, I think he was spent.
He got in the spaceship and closed the door.
As I waved goodby, the spaceship took off with a roar.
I heard on the news later that night,
That something had crashed in a field, lips were tight.
But I heard a rumor, that someone was found alive.
I guess I should have told him not to drink and fly.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 3:40 PM UTC
A wild child, a free spirit
Her laughter is contagious
Once you hear it
The happiest girl you'll ever meet
But watch out, she only wears socks, so don't step on her feet!!!
She lives life on the edge
To live it up is her pledge
She's so vivacious
& some may think she lives much too dangerous
People's opinions don't affect her days
She continues to live her carefree ways
Although she seems to be vanishing from our sight
Something just isn't right
Her frame is gauntly & frail
Less then 100lbs now on her scale
Don't you dare ask her if she's sick
Or mention her arms being thin like a stick
She'll deny anything & say she's fine
Even though in the bathroom, a few minutes ago, she did a line
She still seems the same
Rumor is, drugs are to blame
But what is strange
Nothing is different except her weight change
So the truth really is unclear
But they'll always think the worst fear
No matter what is fake or true
People will always have an opinion about you
So continue doing whatever it is you like
All those haters can go take a hike
Looks can be deceiving
& the wrong message people can be receiving
Just keep your head held high so you wont fall flat
Because it is what it is & that is that!!
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 4:37 PM UTC
*The world is silent
my mind turns vilolent
there is so much noise
that it can't be quiet!*
*As the rhythum of words
began humming inside my ear
saying different things
that arent clear.*
*Was that a rumor?
water engulfs inside my ears
It's that a gossip I ponder?
Oh no,
Not another rumor!*
Oh, dear...
*All those words clogged inside
I said nothing ,but nod
Those words filled up my ear
and its hard for me to hear...
except these rumors.*
This I fear.
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 10:19 PM UTC
1576
The Spirit lasts—but in what mode—
Below, the Body speaks,
But as the Spirit furnishes—
Apart, it never talks—
The Music in the Violin
Does not emerge alone
But Arm in Arm with Touch, yet Touch
Alone—is not a Tune—
The Spirit lurks within the Flesh
Like Tides within the Sea
That make the Water live, estranged
What would the Either be?
Does that know—now—or does it cease—
That which to this is done,
Resuming at a mutual date
With every future one?
Instinct pursues the Adamant,
Exacting this Reply—
Adversity if it may be, or
Wild Prosperity,
The Rumor’s Gate was shut so tight
Before my Mind was sown,
Not even a Prognostic’s Push
Could make a Dent thereon—
3.1k
Listen to the rumor mill.
And watch that rumor spread.
Notice that within that rumor mill.
How things gets mislead?
Instantly they run with the news.
And try to make it truth.
And when you advise the word spreader.
That unless the person spoke in personally.
The rumor should stay quiet.
But you always find some to buy it.
He said, she said seems to stand true.
Unless that rumor is specifically about you.
Then when confronted.
You know the story.
I'm only going by what so and so said?
Don't get mad at me.
These are the people that runs when they should have remained silent.
Now, no one knows how the rumor started.
Cause they were the ones that took the lie a little higher.
At the office.
At school.
At church.
And they should know better.
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 6:11 AM UTC
They'll find me hanging upside-down.
Ankles bruised by the ropes
From which you strung me up for field dressing.
Lacerations where you’d cut my throat,
Bled me dry, spilt my guts,
And broke past my ribs, to uproot my heart.
Can they carbon date the remains of my reputation?
Trace the ****** back to your mouth?
Will they know the cause of death to be the
Malignant rumors you couldn’t help but spew?
Your false words: the final nail in my coffin.
Do you regret ever letting them past your lips?
Slowly, my reputation crippled by the aggressive
Cancer that was your embellished utterance.
And it didn’t bother you in the slightest.
You marveled at the sight of my struggle.
And amazing how these things seem to spread.
One caustic, contagious, breath from you was all it took.
Though the slanderous virus wouldn't make it 'til morning;
Addicts to their fix; gossips, crave your empty words.
Like ******* the rush is intense but brief.
Interest fleeting, they move on.
Off to the next peddler.
For all these inconveniences, I thank you.
Thank you for lifting the masks that curtained your distorted self.
How blind I must have been not to see it outright.
Another leech, feeding on slighted words.
And to think; all it costed you to buy in
Was me...
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 8:10 AM UTC
It has been a couple of weeks
since the rigor of being McGregor
boiled down to nothing,
and Mayweather
had an Irma of punches
ricochet off of him.
I recollect this seemingly regular
pre-big-match rumor,
that the game was arranged.
These verdicters
pronounced a loss for Conor.
If so, Mc. man there
took way too many hits for the money.
Now that McGregor is left for dead,
and verily, Floyd
may or may not have added
a few more Lamborghinis
from the Billion bucks prize !!!
Many fortunes have changed.
I've fallen deep down
into this cemetery
where my thoughts lay dead,
and from the abyss sprout up a paradox
that stands for all fortunes:
We all fish in the same waters;
if one stirs a ripple,
driving the fishes away,
another is gifted a school without much labor.
Sep 15, 2017
Sep 15, 2017 at 8:58 PM UTC