imitation

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Speak to me Emerson & Thoreau Speak to me Let me be alone with the stars   I am me, no imitation Obeying my inner voice, 
My grandfather's smile leads me forever
The rain comes  On piano wielding fingertips Serenading the city With a song That can never repeat. And then, it is gone.
West Virginians aren’t quite New Englanders or Southerners. They’re right in the middle, just within arm’s reach of the coast.
A pastiche inspired by Sylvia Plath’s Cut
When room lights are out, everything blurs together. Shadows start to take form and grab squirming bodies tight. Always dyed black, they’re never anything fun— Like fuchsia pink blossoms,
“I brush away the shadows and all the stars leave cries; I kiss you good night and all is calm again; (I believe my love for you extends to the skies.)
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