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"runner" poems
Gliding deftly along the city street rolling quick and constantly onward to some unknown scene, some backward park in the nighttime smoke curling from these parted lips, moist and inviting calling me somewhere I've never seen. New day, new night new feelings, rage in delight fill me with your hilarious entropy, knock my quarks into the next century, will you please? Now you're smoking the pipe and all at once you are free between you and me, this smoke is thicker and sticks like glue, wispy and dreamy and the world spins and calls Toltec telephone company can't pay me for all those calls collected and rendered obsolete Sun god dead as that silly calendar meme Amaterasu, and Imma tell you these ladies in the picnic table buried alive for boxed lunch and god's brunch Jesus ******* Christ and a indelible roster of good guys, to which we all must strive to live and die behind, never moving forward chasing our tails like a sick dog under the jasmine runner between the decades-old tanbark imported from overseas dead trees dead canine and oh isn't it just divine? You see it, pretty lady. I can see it hiding behind your eyes the things you don't tell the others because you're afraid if they found out, you'd be crucified. Well honey I hate to inform, With KGB efficiency that these love-a-dumbs aint Methuselah, they'll be dead! long before your flood of tears tears me from the land ballistas me across the great expanse to some strange Ararat of the eastern seaboard, or maybe wash me deep along the 80 into the desert sands and tiles on a leaky cell phone screen desperately trying to dial home on low battery, realizing all this was one big deferred dream, baking in the sun and shriveling oh well, back to the grindstone-- all those lies plucked your nose, gotta cut it back to size, 'else your soul it'll outgrow Don't worry honey bee It hasn't happened to me, and We know with calcuable mathematical truth that it'll never happen to you.
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Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 9:50 PM UTC
Roller Derby
Gliding deftly along the city street rolling quick and constantly onward to some unknown scene, some backward park in the nighttime smoke curling from these parted lips, moist and inviting calling me somewhere I've never seen. New day, new night new feelings, rage in delight fill me with your hilarious entropy, knock my quarks into the next century, will you please? Now you're smoking the pipe and all at once you are free between you and me, this smoke is thicker and sticks like glue, wispy and dreamy and the world spins and calls Toltec telephone company can't pay me for all those calls collected and rendered obsolete Sun god dead as that silly calendar meme Amaterasu, and Imma tell you these ladies in the picnic table buried alive for boxed lunch and god's brunch Jesus ******* Christ and a indelible roster of good guys, to which we all must strive to live and die behind, never moving forward chasing our tails like a sick dog under the jasmine runner between the decades-old tanbark imported from overseas dead trees dead canine and oh isn't it just divine? You see it, pretty lady. I can see it hiding behind your eyes the things you don't tell the others because you're afraid if they found out, you'd be crucified. Well honey I hate to inform, With KGB efficiency that these love-a-dumbs aint Methuselah, they'll be dead! long before your flood of tears tears me from the land ballistas me across the great expanse to some strange Ararat of the eastern seaboard, or maybe wash me deep along the 80 into the desert sands and tiles on a leaky cell phone screen desperately trying to dial home on low battery, realizing all this was one big deferred dream, baking in the sun and shriveling oh well, back to the grindstone-- all those lies plucked your nose, gotta cut it back to size, 'else your soul it'll outgrow Don't worry honey bee It hasn't happened to me, and We know with calcuable mathematical truth that it'll never happen to you.
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59
The artichoke of delicate heart ***** in its battle-dress, builds its minimal cupola; keeps stark in its scallop of scales. Around it, demoniac vegetables bristle their thicknesses, devise tendrils and belfries, the bulb's agitations; while under the subsoil the carrot sleeps sound in its rusty mustaches. Runner and filaments bleach in the vineyards, whereon rise the vines. The sedulous cabbage arranges its petticoats; oregano sweetens a world; and the artichoke dulcetly there in a gardenplot, armed for a skirmish, goes proud in its pomegranate burnishes. Till, on a day, each by the other, the artichoke moves to its dream of a market place in the big willow hoppers: a battle formation. Most warlike of defilades- with men in the market stalls, white shirts in the soup-greens, artichoke field marshals, close-order conclaves, commands, detonations, and voices, a crashing of crate staves. And Maria come down with her hamper to make trial of an artichoke: she reflects, she examines, she candles them up to the light like an egg, never flinching; she bargains, she tumbles her prize in a market bag among shoes and a cabbage head, a bottle of vinegar; is back in her kitchen. The artichoke drowns in a *** So you have it: a vegetable, armed, a profession (call it an artichoke) whose end is millennial. We taste of that sweetness, dismembering scale after scale. We eat of a halcyon paste: it is green at the artichoke heart.
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16.7k
Ode To an Artichoke
Judges please welcome your runner-up for the past 17 years! She has great talents and abilities! but you judge her on what YOU want. YOU want to see a sweet, loving girl. You want one that can juggle 40 different things. A girl that everyone loves to be around, One that will do every little thing you want. I'm sorry judges, but you can only find girl that in the toy aisle.
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Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 7:00 PM UTC
Talent Judges
One must be brave to live through a day. What remains is nothing but the pleasure of longing—very precious. Longing purifies as does flying, strengthens as does an effort, it fashions the soul as work fashions the belly. It is like an athlete, like a runner who will never stop running. And this gives him endurance. Longing is nourishing for the strong. It is like a window on a high tower, through which blows the wind of strength. Longing, Virginity of happiness.
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11k
Virginity
there was a little cheetah he had a dream one day to run in the olympics in a land so far away he boarded on a plane and flew across the sea to a place in russia where the games would be he went to the track a runner he would be running in a marathon a sporty cat was he then the time had come for the cheetahs race he stood in a line and cheetah took his place now the race was on cheetah took it slow took it nice and easy with a steady flow they ran for quite a while the race was very long cheetah had a finish that was so very strong as the finish neared he come to the front then stepped us his speed like being on a hunt he went like a train like the speed of light and flew across the finish line with no one else in sight his mission it was over and his race one won he enjoyed his holiday that gave him so much fun
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Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 5:23 PM UTC
olympic cheetah
THE BABY moon, a canoe, a silver papoose canoe, sails and sails in the Indian west. A ring of silver foxes, a mist of silver foxes, sit and sit around the Indian moon. One yellow star for a runner, and rows of blue stars for more runners, keep a line of watchers. O foxes, baby moon, runners, you are the panel of memory, fire-white writing to-night of the Red Man's dreams. Who squats, legs crossed and arms folded, matching its look against the moon-face, the star-faces, of the West? Who are the Mississippi Valley ghosts, of copper foreheads, riding wiry ponies in the night?-no bridles, love-arms on the pony necks, riding in the night a long old trail? Why do they always come back when the silver foxes sit around the early moon, a silver papoose, in the Indian west?
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6.4k
Early Moon
the first drop of water not ice from the sky signals the season’s change new england so pretty looking angelic drew me in a venus fly trap locked in a prism snow reflecting back to me eerie thoughts shrouded in black no place for a runner where I can escape them locked in by the fireplace tattered ashes mockingly laugh i flee and i run minus eight reads the meter frostbitten returning trapped with my thinking blocked in on all sides the icy walls fold in on me forced to see the reflection looking back at me go away brightness banish your glow i need the shadows where hidden feelings quietly cower another storm coming madness engulfs me searching for pen grasping at paper salvation words spilling out parts of me buried so skillfully long ago finally see light just for a moment the respite’s exquisite then longing for springtime oh god, why can’t it rain? ©2016janetaylor
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May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 11:59 AM UTC
why can't it rain?
all my life I’ve felt never
 good
 enough 
she’s skinnier than me
 she has better skin
 than me she has prettier hair than me 
I’m always second best
 first loser 
 runner up
 second thought 
 this marks the start of my journey
 to self acceptance
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Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 7:54 PM UTC
Untitled
Writing for me is simple.. Lyrically ready to maximize my potential.. I have something to say I don't blow hot air like a inner tube... Tell them liars they need to relax.. I am the type to push it to the max.. Switching gears and lanes until the governor snap .. I cannot be contain.. Like the green hulk fighting the thing I wish you could take a walk through my brain.. You would see different things depending on the time of day... Like dead people, relatives that passed in my memories they live... Times of my youth when I was a kid... I didn't smile much. I was a good kid I didn't wild much... Pops sold crack so I styled much ... Gun shots in Baltimore, my pops  died once... In my mind I question a ****   Like are they always ready to **** Or does life have them Close to the edge.. Of a cliff a jagged hill   And they don't want to die in this dog eat dog world.. So they let blood spill.. I wonder if I was a G would I bang. Red or blue claim a gang.   Be like Larry Hoover... A young shooter... In and out of prison I maneuver Run the block like a ruler... Be part of the the trash like manure Be a coke runner a drug mover.. Corrupting the body of drug users.  .. Would I be known as a survivor Escaping death more than MacGyver Embrace the streets as truth knowing that's it a liar... Nickname my gun human torch cause it fires I wonder cause honestly I don't have a gun This poetry is my weapon.. I am only gangsta through my lyrical aggression Day 1 down...I am up to the challenge. A poem a day ..to test my talent...
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Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 4:14 AM UTC
Day 1: No Gangsta
Writing for me is simple.. Lyrically ready to maximize my potential.. I have something to say I don't blow hot air like a inner tube... Tell them liars they need to relax.. I am the type to push it to the max.. Switching gears and lanes until the governor snap .. I cannot be contain.. Like the green hulk fighting the thing I wish you could take a walk through my brain.. You would see different things depending on the time of day... Like dead people, relatives that passed in my memories they live... Times of my youth when I was a kid... I didn't smile much. I was a good kid I didn't wild much... Pops sold crack so I styled much ... Gun shots in Baltimore, my pops  died once... In my mind I question a ****   Like are they always ready to **** Or does life have them Close to the edge.. Of a cliff a jagged hill   And they don't want to die in this dog eat dog world.. So they let blood spill.. I wonder if I was a G would I bang. Red or blue claim a gang.   Be like Larry Hoover... A young shooter... In and out of prison I maneuver Run the block like a ruler... Be part of the the trash like manure Be a coke runner a drug mover.. Corrupting the body of drug users.  .. Would I be known as a survivor Escaping death more than MacGyver Embrace the streets as truth knowing that's it a liar... Nickname my gun human torch cause it fires I wonder cause honestly I don't have a gun This poetry is my weapon.. I am only gangsta through my lyrical aggression Day 1 down...I am up to the challenge. A poem a day ..to test my talent...
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40
Alice was walking At the back of her yard when she spotted a gnome well....standing guard she knew she was gnomeless she had a ball and a stone but there in her garden was a short, stocky gnome he knew that she saw him he tried not to blink he stopped all his breathing this'll fool her i think she walked down the garden stopped ten feet away looking close at this person who was dressed in green gray she thought, this is crazy a gnome in my yard it was then that he moved and he held out his card she looked at the writing it did her no good it was written in gnomish and only gnomes understood the stare off continued and then she asked loud who are you, you gnome you standing so proud he said, i am biffles at your service i am in the back of your garden here in East Ham she said, why my garden what is special to you about my dear roses and my runner beans too he said, that a meeting of the higher up gnomes was being held there that night there were elves and some pixies and some twenty odd sprite they were there all around her though they couldn't be seen watching her closely in ten shades of green well, biffles ...young sir what is your job while here you aren't at the meetings what do you do my dear i am sargeant at arms when we're here or at home i guess you could call me (wait for it) yep...i'm a guardin' gnome
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Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 7:21 PM UTC
Gnome in my yard
When the tale of the kite wraps itself around your neck, And yet continues to fly, freely You should now know that freedom to one comes at a cost to the other. But you must wonder, as Jupiter and Zeus watch this storm, that leaves nothing more than dust in their eyes; It's funny how kites are a symbol of freedom when they are actually tied to a glass-coated cotton string. The same cotton, that another boy who looks directly into your eyes could have worn. It's funny how when one side of the coin is painted in platinum and the other side struggles to know whether it's still a coin with value as it is being corroded. Yes, they were one coin. Once. The tulip blooms fade before the foliage dies, every flower that dies is not reborn But on the land it does, is. When the flower is no more, the green stem still remains. But did the flower die from the wasp that stung its nectar and perhaps even the pollen or did it die from the feet that stepped upon because they were inside the duststorm that disallows them to look at the ground. Do all flowers that die are reborn? How many flowers can one wasp even sting? How many times can you stomp over one flower until it has no petals but only your footprints? As you wonder, The tail of the kite has been detached from its throne, You look, as you wonder, if this is freedom or that was. And another Hassan chases it yet again.
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Aug 16, 2021
Aug 16, 2021 at 3:16 PM UTC
The kite runner
It was terror in its physicality. Raining the horrifying needles of death. Breaking away at peace and calm, eating away at life.Plaguing the living by burning away at sanity. Enslaving the innocent like zombies. Will someone make a sacrifice for the world?
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Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 6:30 PM UTC
The Maze Runner: WICKED
Dear Ice Cream Why do you always trick me I buy and eat you But you tempt me, and I eat all of you Then I have none left But I want ice cream so much I also want to be a runner I want to be a swimmer I want to be an athlete. But I continue to eat you Again And again And again. What the heck. I can be an athlete and still eat you I shall be an ice cream eating Race winning champion Thanks to you. -Connor G.
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Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 2:31 PM UTC
Dear Ice Cream
i've spent my entire lifetime running running away running in circles running myself into the ground it isn't fun, anymore my feet have gotten heavy i remember that night you drove **** near 100 miles so we could go to the park and play lava-monster i didn't know the rules you were patient there in the decaying fall air with your news-boy cap pulled down over my eyes and my arms stretched out into the darkness searching for you i felt right for the first time in my life i felt fine i haven't feld good, since i wish i knew then what i know now that i may likely never see you again that you were leaving that you're a runner too i guess it is true you get what you give my feet have become granite stones not meant to be resurrected from the earth my globe's nothing but a paper-weight, now the atlas is never cracked because i can't find you on a map and your arms are the one place that i long to be silly, really the way the head and the heart are incapable of speaking to each other honestly now and then the wind rests for just a moment and through the dry wyoming air i catch your scent trail like a glimpse of heat-lightning in the far horizon but just like you it's gone in an off-set heartbeat the tumble weeds sing your name as they slink across the plains stirring my insomnia into a craze that can only be calmed by night-sky air i search for your face in the shadows of the moon as my calls to you rise with my steam-heated breath and disappear into the stars i wonder if you lay awake all night swearing that the constellations are all begining to align with the sole purpose of pointing you towards me
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Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 9:51 PM UTC
arrhythmic astronomy.
i've spent my entire lifetime running running away running in circles running myself into the ground it isn't fun, anymore my feet have gotten heavy i remember that night you drove **** near 100 miles so we could go to the park and play lava-monster i didn't know the rules you were patient there in the decaying fall air with your news-boy cap pulled down over my eyes and my arms stretched out into the darkness searching for you i felt right for the first time in my life i felt fine i haven't feld good, since i wish i knew then what i know now that i may likely never see you again that you were leaving that you're a runner too i guess it is true you get what you give my feet have become granite stones not meant to be resurrected from the earth my globe's nothing but a paper-weight, now the atlas is never cracked because i can't find you on a map and your arms are the one place that i long to be silly, really the way the head and the heart are incapable of speaking to each other honestly now and then the wind rests for just a moment and through the dry wyoming air i catch your scent trail like a glimpse of heat-lightning in the far horizon but just like you it's gone in an off-set heartbeat the tumble weeds sing your name as they slink across the plains stirring my insomnia into a craze that can only be calmed by night-sky air i search for your face in the shadows of the moon as my calls to you rise with my steam-heated breath and disappear into the stars i wonder if you lay awake all night swearing that the constellations are all begining to align with the sole purpose of pointing you towards me
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48
Taking control of life that is meant to be mine a life full of happiness and joy but caught in the middle of a raging war. Years of fighting has taken its toll as I sit and watch my life fight with every tool and nail, a glimmer of hope surfaces a little bundle of joy kicking and screaming ready to take its place. For too many years, I watched as life tossed me here and there, up and down. It is all a game, I told myself one minute I would seem to be a winner, and the next finish as the runner-up. But a life without a reason now has a meaning a battle without a plan now has a purpose, to live and fight another day.
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Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 2:24 AM UTC
Fight
A tale of adventure, A tale of strife.  A tale of wisdom, a tale of life.  In the streets of afghan, a quick learner Enchanted by the kite runner.  A tale of loss, a tale of gain. A tale of horror, a tale of pain.  With strife and hurt, all bestowed.  And, the mountains echoed.  As sorrow seeps, Mariam weeps A tale of hurt,  Out to blurt.  With arrows, bombs, axe and guns Burnt with a thousand splendid suns.
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Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 1:53 AM UTC
Khaled Hosseini
It seems I can only run so fast From these demons intent on chasing me. Only these demons have human faces, And they do stupid human things My screams do not deter them My cries go unnoticed And I'm not a strong runner.
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May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 1:12 AM UTC
Demons
Swirling a frosty straw Stuck up like a victory flag in winter ground With my lips wrapped around it I stare into this empty canvas of a vanilla malt And project my cartoonish headaches into it to devour it Oh those Scooby Doo monsters Shadows that lurk to cut my Tom & Jerry humor Only to formulate semblances of evil A Mojo JoJo caricature I then project into my milkshake His smirk haunts the smile of Tweety Bird In my Hanna-Barbara mindfield Colorful spirals of animated joys Let me know slurp Elmer Fudd shotgun That was mugging my creativity And robbed me of my motive Let me taste the refreshing winds That flow through the deserts of Road Runner Taking laps around my heart With its true intentions in a love letter I will never get Soon slurped and eaten to take away the thoughts And now I hope I can drink another To rip out the rest of the pain that in my heart
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Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 4:49 PM UTC
Cartoon Headache Milkshake
I'm a sock monkey I am a sock monkey A sock monkey clown I am a sock monkey I am a sock monkey I'm taking over your town I got a lot of ideas A lot of sock monkey ideas I sock monkey I am a sock monkey I am a sock monkey Gonna go to college I am a sock monkey I am a sock monkey Gonna go to college Gonna go to college Gonna get an education Get an education Gonna take over your sock monkey town    I got a lot of ideas I am a sock monkey I'm gonna rule    I got a lot of ideas I am a sock monkey I'm gonna rule I'm gonna rule    I'm gonna drive drunk sock monkey I'm gonna drive drunk sock monkey I'm gonna **** I'm gonna ****    I'm gonna blame it on the walker baby I'm gonna blame it on the runner He shouldn't have been in front of me That's what I'll tell the judge    Let's rent a limo sock monkey Let's celebrate now, sock monkey Maybe make a date    I am a sock monkey Give me all of your five dollars I am a sock monkey    I am a sock monkey I live in L. A. I am a sock monkey
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Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 11:16 AM UTC
L. A. Teens
“Top of the Morning to ‘Yuh, Guv’nuh.” Oh, to be father of a Cockney flower girl, To be Eliza Doolittle’s Dear old Dad, Alfred P. of that surname. Oh, to be a cockney dustman, On this fine day, Another fine day in Northern New Mexico, as I Sell my daughter to ‘Enery Iggins, or Some equivalent Princeton poofter. I am Rhett Butler, Daring blockade-runner, Persona –non-grata For any decent Family—including my own, Charleston Carolina. In time, I crave Social acceptance for Bonnie Blue—my ill fated Would-be equestrian offspring; I surrender my daughter to the Upper Class.
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May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 1:40 PM UTC
"My Fair Tara Lady"
life is a marathon it isn't easy it isn't graceful it isn't pretty times will come which are so dark even the sunniest of days feels cold evil men sow their sins from the shadows and it stops you in your tracks like hitting a runner's wall breathless stinging lungs scream out against the lack of oxygen like silent voices mourning a waking nightmare but even from under the umbra we might find something worth redeeming a helping hand offering us some much needed hydration or friendly words of encouragement from strangers life is a marathon and we can't allow the runner's wall to stop us from moving forward for the sakes of our brothers and sisters who didn't get their fair chance to cross the finish line
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Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 4:22 PM UTC
Marathon
A llama mama who is ever so special A swimmer glides through the water with so much grace Artistically inclines, genius by birth; slacker by choice Music.Lit.Bio.Lovely girl whom I very much admire Strong girl who makes use of every opportunity Another swimmer with heart and face so lovely An elephant - the light o' every lil' chat Candy- words so wise; heart so warm Another brave girl; lots in common; in every way beautiful Eloquent speaker And A Violinist Another swimmer with such a laugh! Our dear walking dictionary; never fails to put a smile on my face Runner and fighter ALL THE WAY Vettypoop aka my spirit animal Smiling dolphin Laughing cheerful pop **** Artyfarty girl with so much poise and grace Artyfarty and a swimmer? Ooh la la Cute and sweet and everything else with a tinge of the kpop Disciplinarian and nice 1Der with a twinned soul A cutie pie with a such a heart Strange girl this one is but I love the way she talks and writes. Strange laughter and even stranger words you say Motherly touches My lovely leader, with such a beautiful core Craycray, stay craycray bubu Smiler and such a high toned shriek You my bestie; my listening ear Ordinary Me Meangirl99 at first sight, lovelygirl99 at the second KimChi such a hard-worker Another hard worker with a positive glow A dancer on a note of sarcasm Heart of gold; Mind of snow Naughty naughty so this is my class of 36 every girl a wonderful light and this 36 beautiful souls make up the beautiful beautiful class of 203 With varying teachers and varying situations, we have stood by each other With much faith I have in all of you Let's soar to the skies Pull each other to soar and soar and soar to heights never known never reached. I know we are going to make 2013 our year 203's year to amaze people like never before. Prove every teacher we are the awesomest class on earth. Trust me. We will. Every strength and weakness binded together; 203 is going to ROCK THE HOUSE TONIGHT! :)
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Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 10:01 AM UTC
A class of 36
A llama mama who is ever so special A swimmer glides through the water with so much grace Artistically inclines, genius by birth; slacker by choice Music.Lit.Bio.Lovely girl whom I very much admire Strong girl who makes use of every opportunity Another swimmer with heart and face so lovely An elephant - the light o' every lil' chat Candy- words so wise; heart so warm Another brave girl; lots in common; in every way beautiful Eloquent speaker And A Violinist Another swimmer with such a laugh! Our dear walking dictionary; never fails to put a smile on my face Runner and fighter ALL THE WAY Vettypoop aka my spirit animal Smiling dolphin Laughing cheerful pop **** Artyfarty girl with so much poise and grace Artyfarty and a swimmer? Ooh la la Cute and sweet and everything else with a tinge of the kpop Disciplinarian and nice 1Der with a twinned soul A cutie pie with a such a heart Strange girl this one is but I love the way she talks and writes. Strange laughter and even stranger words you say Motherly touches My lovely leader, with such a beautiful core Craycray, stay craycray bubu Smiler and such a high toned shriek You my bestie; my listening ear Ordinary Me Meangirl99 at first sight, lovelygirl99 at the second KimChi such a hard-worker Another hard worker with a positive glow A dancer on a note of sarcasm Heart of gold; Mind of snow Naughty naughty so this is my class of 36 every girl a wonderful light and this 36 beautiful souls make up the beautiful beautiful class of 203 With varying teachers and varying situations, we have stood by each other With much faith I have in all of you Let's soar to the skies Pull each other to soar and soar and soar to heights never known never reached. I know we are going to make 2013 our year 203's year to amaze people like never before. Prove every teacher we are the awesomest class on earth. Trust me. We will. Every strength and weakness binded together; 203 is going to ROCK THE HOUSE TONIGHT! :)
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65
Everyone has his or her sport. I run. I run like there’s No tomorrow. You can call me A cross-country runner. Literally. I’m quite gifted At running—from East coast To West—away from my Problems.
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Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 6:11 PM UTC
Cross-Country Runner
I am the quill that marks The water-walled history Of the sea as it may - A swan, be it, or a black-backed Gull. I am the pariah who Failed to posit his load on A hill that hung low, like a Sunless moon, but who can still hark the dark Rumbling of repetition. I am the Quixote who took On the wind who made the mill Sob like a bronze leaf in grief, Seared by the passage of A sluggish summer. I am the pariah, the Quixote, and the historian Of the rainbow runner. ©LazharBouazzi, August 5, 2017
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Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 11:32 AM UTC
The Bard
Heart of mine you ache ****** truth-teller be silent. As I lie here alone with my spirit flailing wildly normalcy and whatshouldbe hold a pillow and smother its breath. **** opressors they are everywhere they're in marriage and picketfence but some cellular drive made me leave you for them. I want you so physically and cry out in pain as my heart begs and pleads for the one that it loves. I need you you know me my mirrortwin, completely Never have I been so naked as I am beneath your gaze I look into a liquid reflection that adores me, ether, bone. I have simple words only now they squeeze out of me bloodied bullets I wince as I extract them my gutless runner's high of a promise of security wears off now and I notice and I notice and I notice the pistol lying comfortably in my own hand. Oh! my love! I feel I'm dying. You were beauty...... On the wind now the warm, bitter wind you are gone.
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Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 6:08 PM UTC
The Frailty Of The Cherry Blossom