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PerksOfAWallflower

poetry anyone???

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catcher---- i loved it.. truely.. it is wonderful. i love how you make certain objects out to mimick things (i dont know how to word this) but the idea of combining two thinks that sound similar, but are totally different. like reading a book of matches, and an ink well running dry. great images. and i love this line. "All my friends are fables sitting around empty kitchen tables and all I want is for someone to pass the salt." and i also like "the laughs are the same and it makes me want to cry" it reminds me of an old sinatra album where they put the same claps ont he begining of every track.. funny.

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quote:
Originally posted by andreseng:

quote:
Originally posted by PerksOfAWallflower:

and its not like im gunna be famous anyways.

Bet me......

haha. i bet you my non-existant fame.. hows that!

while talking about poems.. haha guess what i made a rhyme about george! haha. NAPLOEON!!!!!! hahaha.

he came from la Corse and he was five foot two, be he was taller on a horse, is a horse bien sur!!!!

hahhaha.... its a mix.... just to tell you... bien sur means of course...

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I Owe Me

It’s hard to even like myself when I’m being like this,

The doctors won’t tell me but I know the diagnosis,

All the symptoms built up and became too clear to ignore,

Total loss of self-confidence brought me below the floor,

And no matter how hard I push I’m still stuck beneath the tiles,

I remember how this all began: compliments just produced bile,

Every flattery was painted false by my paranoia,

Condemned to solitary confinement by the strictest lawyer

To ever grace the courtroom: my pitiful self-esteem,

I’m the only cat in history to refuse to eat the cream

That the world placed in front of me. I just let it go sour.

I simply left myself to wilt: a self-destructive flower.

My body is a temple that I helped to desecrate,

I fished around for happiness but made myself the bait,

So everything I caught I threw straight back,

No good moments were long enough. I let the line go slack,

I know in the far caverns of my mind dreams don’t come true

But still I’ve addressed to myself a pile of IOUs,

So many things I would have done if I thought I deserved to,

But I put up these barriers that I now can’t get through

And stopped myself from progressing with this wall of doubt,

I’m the tick beneath my skin that I cannot scratch out,

You’re not the one holding me back: that’s where all my strength goes,

My own dreaded opponent, I cower from my own blows.

So why do I do this to myself? I could hold my head high,

If I could block out the sound of my own sarcastic sigh,

Which drags me back each time I get past the starting line,

How ironic is it that without me I would be fine?

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quote:
Originally posted by PerksOfAWallflower:

haha. i bet you my non-existant fame.. hows that!

while talking about poems.. haha guess what i made a rhyme about george! haha. NAPLOEON!!!!!! hahaha.

he came from la Corse and he was five foot two, be he was taller on a horse, is a horse bien sur!!!!

hahhaha.... its a mix.... just to tell you... bien sur means of course...

I so love that. You can't imagine!

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new poem written five minutes ago...

with unmatched splendor the light drew your thighs

your uncombed hair

your swolled eyes

that intangible hour when your teeth start to ache

and the approaching silence at your words might just break

violent was the wind

and violence was the time

thrashing and spurting were needles from pines

unsheltered from sharpness in absence we delved

heedless they called us

inept though quickwilled

on these thick proverbs i tended to choke

thought it wasnt the fire, it was the smoke

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okay... i wrote this like ten minutes ago. when i have an urge to write i cant deny myself, and for some reason this poem/ account came out as mostly a bunch of questions.. i dont know if its poerty at all maybe more of a short story. but maybe you'll like it.

when you were young.

The week I went to France was the same week that I learned how to unsnap my bra with my left hand, which is not an as easily achieved feat as it may seem.

Many things remind me of that summer and that trip; those girls and what we said and did.

Memories are peculiar vacations I like to think.

Is it a blessing or a curse to remember France by a bra?

Years from now will I seldom think of it when I no longer have my same dexterity?

Are memories so feeble that we must attach them to daily rituals, songs, and people?

Is it merely human nature or luck?

I am lucky to have my memories even though sugar cubes make me long for Paris.

I secretly buy cubed sugar just for that reason.

The friendliest kind of masochism; to wake with the ache and sip with suffering.

Am I afraid to loose Paris or do I prefer my sugar shaped?

*the title comes fromt he killers song. it was the song i had in my head as i walked through the doors of the cincy airport getting ready to go to france. everytime i hear the song i immediatly am brought back to the airport and that day. this is what made me think of this whole story about how odd memories are.

EDIT: i totally forgot to tell you guys... the english department at my school picked me to represent my school in the national overture awards. Smiler exciting huh? i submit my final pieces on monday and hopefully go to the semi-finals then maybe the finals. i will keep you guys posted on if i do well...

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quote:
Originally posted by PerksOfAWallflower:

EDIT: i totally forgot to tell you guys... the english department at my school picked me to represent my school in the national overture awards. Smiler exciting huh? i submit my final pieces on monday and hopefully go to the semi-finals then maybe the finals. i will keep you guys posted on if i do well...

Wow Jess! That's awesome. Congratulations! You'll always be a winner around here regardless of the outcome.

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