

This is a poemThis is a poem.This is a poem
~this is a poem for Sammy B.
Whose taught me that good girls can get ahead.
~This is for Jason S - How do I love thee? Let me count the ways
Whose helped me figure that yes it's good to be nice and caring, but to not let myself get walked on. That thinking of yourself, doesn't necessarily make you selfish.
This is for the tattoo man who did some art on my leg just a little while ago
He told me that lines and pieces of a job never could be done in long thick lines, but that if you wanted to get anything beautiful, it had to be done in small,pain
Boo

Dear SirThis is a letter to my sir, in which he may probably will never read this.Dear Sir
I miss our air hockey games, and the dunkin donut runs, I miss the letters we used to write and the smile on your face when I looked at you. I miss teaching you cursive and watching whose line, and dancing in the kitchen. I miss chatting with you over games,movies, and events. I miss you actually caring and enjoying my company. I miss you coming into your own, and actually acknowledging that I was an a-ok person, I miss the excitement and going to the derry playground. I miss candle wax, I miss the fairy tales we used o read. I miss washing eachother, and


MuseMy muse ran away from me just the other day. It feels like a puzzle piece has gone mssing. There's something that should be there...but isn't.Muse
What causes a Muse to come in the first place? Lonliness Unjustice Boredom?
And how does one pick it's owner? Perhaps fate comes into play...
Like a symphany, it composes, it plays, it ends. Not really knowing why it exists in the first place.
I've become sluggish without my muse, trying to find means to grasp onto.
But the muse will never know this. The muse is around merely to exist. Not to indulge in
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