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Bells.Ring deafeningly.With means of girls and boys.Underneath the original singing.Like bells we were once new and brass.Then reality kicks you in the ass.The metal rusts as you walk from class to class.Subtly the tone turning into sass.As bells
Texas don.g.nutt.59.poem.whos love what love whys love is it love hows love whens love i love the way i am whos love is it whos love it is why could love really be whos love she got she get whos love she gives she has she wants whos love im with w
Amongst all the safe havens brooding with yoylur presence could be one of those wondrous places.
Try as you might, pen to paper, you may never be a heliotrope. Right now, there are too many aphids on your wilting lupine stalk.
My lips are not soft, freshOr new.They are dry and rough,Scarred from self-infliction.
How to get away with a run on sentence instead of sentenced to running errands, Or, how to run away and get on with life at the same time, laughing and loathing
You may be dressed in a most elegant shade, But I know it is merely a facade because I behold intelligence in your eyes.
Dear who loves me, Why so far away? Where I can’t see love smiling a mile away, in the rain Love, dancing to the mute words on the page no body sees.
My dearest sweet, I long for thine hand's touch, And are the days so distant hence and such To not permit my hold upon thy form, But I, with force will bring this curse reform. I shall remind thee of the beauty kept
I was raised to think my body a temple, treat my body as blessing. Taught by elders that I am testament to truth,told no man should lie on me or with me. I was convinced to believe I am light Luminous and far too bright for glare to be handledTrai
What if you could fly, soar in the sky with the birds flying by? What if you have to leave your family behind to maybe never see again? What if you have to walk
While I was growing up, my mum used to say Be a good boy you'll go to school and come out with a good grade, and I did that, It worked for me.
people are our teachers , some close , some distant. moments are our grades , life the school , and our choices the timing to go in . sometimes early . sometimes late . or just ,
where had my wacka gone
The days when I stop desiring silver and handles The days when walls come down The days of speaking without a voice Are the days that door will be open, once again The days when no more rivers flow
Dark Eyes meet the worldWith an apathetic glaze;Emotions unreachableOn this particular day. One foot follows the other.Time kept by the clock.Escape the suffocation-Shuffle, stumble, trudge and walk. Robotically write; softly speak, Pen to paper,
If solitude in the blazing sun I earn, and all I have is writing, I’d burn. Because from three in the morning to the afternoon I could bleed the juice of love or war,
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder So we all have a chance Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder So dress up look decent . Try smiling at the dance "Forever to wander all alone" What a sad means
First day, Smell of Axe body spray hard plastic chairs and pixelated screens short hair and sneakers, but no pink or ponytails seen. Every pair of eyes fixed on me
Marbles on the floor, Marbles in my head, Marbles of all colors, From green to red. Blue is my brilliance, Red is my passion, Green is my joy, Pink is my passion.
The pen is mightier than the sword. Is it? Is it, really?