some days i wonder what they would feel like, not physically, if i were to let the hair on my legs grow. andgrowandgrowandgrowandgrow. what feelings would come of this. what reaction. i says, i says, says i to the american man inside my head "not all legs are shaved. we must live in different worlds."
- Last seen on Aug 27 7:17 PM. Member since May 16, 2003.
- I'm a lapisLazuli dream poet for 324 comments.
- I am a woman (United States)
- When I'm not writing, I'm a crazy.
- Visit my homepage at www.allpoetry.com/almostthesea
- I have 324 comments, 3 poems
My Poetry
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7 lines, 6 comments, November 24, 2003. In Other
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17 lines, 8 comments, September 6, 2003. In Other
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11 lines, 14 comments, July 30, 2003. In Other
Guest Book
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Cristos on May 20, 2004i was just reading what you left on my page with this alias a while back, and had to come back here...i feel like you sell warm blankets and i'm always cold...and i'm looking into the back rooms, and seeing air conditioners being sold for dimes....i wish i could be a real person...with some kind of credibility to why i'm here, but i guess that's how i relate...too much guessing on my part...
i think i decided to rant....lightly...
sometimes i hear voices, and celular phones,
but laughter is the most popular one.
i know i'm making this up, but i believe i'm getting worse.
always peace
chris
Edited on Jul 08, 1:31 because 'it's a totally new message'. -
Cristos on May 19, 2004butts
cinnamon, brown sugar
and tobacco swirls
color my insides
protect my lining like peptobismol
but like warm coffee laced
in hundred proof poison
i'm gaggin on my everything, ok.
marcy's playground is the bomb.
peace
Chris -
btlore on May 12, 2004Edide,
That tapping on your shoulder?...that's me. Just thought I'd reach out and touch you first for a change.
Good Luck with the "warm milk" thing. Never worked for me but then, I'm not really from here, am I?
Rick (btlore) -
Cristos on May 11, 2004I tried to draw the sky
but it fell apart in
translation...
the winds carried words gone wry,
to daily bugles round the nation.
when the weather man declares,
his tax returns in torrents
the same winds come back
to shush down all his warnings.
