Single frames
separate the beautiful
from the simple
But the simple was always
The most beautiful.
Write, servant.
Write my story.
Tear the frames apart
To where I am a warrior
To where my heart is true.
I only write truth,
Layers of halves
I still write,
Attempting still to keep
The sun from going down:
When I will tell him,
I am sorry.
I am sorry for the truth.
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
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Our desert (haiku)
I look through photos Our life through the four seasons Back through the old ones. Blossoming in spring With all the diverse flowers ...

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I had something that I couldn't tell, a hope, a truth, and a lie as well. I rolled them all together with a postage stamp and mailed ...
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Going up to the counter at the store and being oh so small evermore. The laughter contorts my face all over and under the place A fort- ...
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i ball my hand into a fist and my knuckles hurt from the punching bag but i know i won't strike first i know that anger makes me ...