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Desperation, Feeling butterflies that flutter.
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God has given us a silver platter of sugar, Of the sweetest things you’ve ever tasted.
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Speak to ones you have silenced for so long, Raise your heads,
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How can one deny the truth of a flame?
How it ignites through a baby's breath,
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Is it possible for a soul to be tattooed?
Over and over sliced and stabbed into skin?
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I am a fool for writing this message
On the back of another, but does it matter?
by Mrs. Mautino
27 lines, 5 comments,
on Mar 11 8:07 PM 2008
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I was so afraid,
I admit it.
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Oh! What a day to be saved!
Upon these cracked cement streets of Little Italy
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A poem about humans and the distance that seperates them.
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Purple blushed the sky
the roll of thunder,
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No, this is not a poem. It is a short story. So if you are either too lazy or just don't give a damn, then stop reading now. Otherwise, continue reading. I wrote this because my AP mother told me it would be a good idea to ge
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I rememeber when / t.v.s had no colors / and they only had gray, black, and white dots. / I remember when / food was dull / and every bite was missing spices. / I remember when / records had a mis
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~We are the leftovers of sad / Attempts for sons~ / ~Our abusive mothers forced / Woman's work on our shoulders / As they sipped red wine~ / ~Yet we were patrons of th
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You break the bones of our boys, only one shall see the light of day...
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How can you just leave me here? How can you just disappear?
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Escape from them all that's the first idea on my mind
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I looked at the sky. And I couldn't believe my sight.
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I didn't do those things for the reasons that you think i did...
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Hey Roo, how's the planning going for this?
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Tripped over some weeds br
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A weird inspiration from a song.
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My FIRST haiku so be honest!
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They call me the Blue Girl. No, not the book The Blue Girl by Charles de Lint. And no, not the ghost that haunts Gettysburg College. I'm just the Blue Girl to m
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If I could open my eyes...
and feel the cement under my feet...
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Trapped inside these dull pages...
staring up at eyes, wrinkled
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As you walk...
Down that corridoor...
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It hits the filthy window,
nearly breaking the glass,
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Flaming more than hell's gates,
she carries the sky on her wings,
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I watch her look outside the kitchen window,
ignoring the dirty dish water.
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