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She couldn't undo that glance, the connection, the inconceivable joy like a crystalline wave and then the deep loss, a yawning chasm in her
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The tender green leaves, the first ones of spring, curled in much the same way as a two sleeping lovers in the first rays of morning. Miela
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Why is it always that thoughts i can't put into words at any other time i can perfectly verbalize in the witching hour, when my house is as
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Last night, or was it afternoon, I sat on my roof and stared over at a tree loosing its leaves in yellow fire glory. Early this summer, when i spent nights reve
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I am a newly shorn lamb,
my warm obscuring wool gone, revealing
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This bed once held sublime notes as it rocked my body to sleep, filled my mind with secret memories. Now all i can feel is shame or sadness or disgust in the pi
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Winter frost will kill our whip
-thin ideas even with the warmth
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I saw the love of my life once in a colorful and crowded indoor market in Oaxaca City, Mexico, when I was sixteen. He had a knapsack slung over his shoulder and
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i don't know how to help her as she lies on my roof and asks for vodka with a black and mild dangling out of her mouth. The peach and gray sky doesn't cue any w
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what was it that made you decide i wasn't worth it? was it the group, was it my looks blonde-red hair not shiny enough green eyes not sparkling enough for you,
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coalition of the willing, my baby
went into hours of anesthesized nightmares
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I know who I am, vaguely,
but I'm lost in the mad noise of the train
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lucidity escapes me, but my favorite shoes are at home
and somehow that's what I'm repeating to myself-I miss my friends and
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Nothing remained
after the mad urge to clean
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I make friends with the bass players,
or at least my arms do, around their waists,
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I walk barefoot at night
on a concrete sidewalk,
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A glance is all
loving eyes meet those i posses and
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There was a wall
A physical manifestation of isolation
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I stare through my window
On the other side of the fake glass
-
-
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(I)'m bottled up inside this
(S)chool crushes my creative soul with bland flouresence and stale
-
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I feel the ground moving
under the wheels
-
so many reasons not to be myself,
ready-made with examples all around
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I want uncertainty and not just stagnant acceptance of
high school society and values as all that will ever be.
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Displaced.
My soul is in little boxes
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There is chaos./That way lies madness/and the best minds of
my generation/will not be destroyed
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peace, love, human connections/are not lost
in this partisan biased slanted stereotyped world
-
washes away the last
and final vestiges
-
-
I know the secret
the one that keeps the wise men wondering
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stomach rumbling feels
masochistically good
-
when you're in a car listening to
music in your headphones
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An ironic word for
the culmination of either
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