“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Sunday, February 3, 2019
Miss Demeanor
Rather than
Not being good at
Anything,
I mistakenly over-
heard
People reading
The writing
I left on the walls
And instead of calling
It graffiti
They said it was
Good, they called it
Poetry, they read my
Name
and it became an
Accusation.
Painting by Pompeo Molmenti (1819-1894) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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Prey animal
Riding horses is just nuts and bolts, you know if the rider is nuts, the horse bolts. it's true. He knew I loved horses from the start....
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A year ago this May, in fact, upon this same very grey day- something came over me I found could say, in no other way but to portray, ...
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Natures touch is both gentle and fierce. Homo sapiens trample on her back. The thick skin impossible to pierce. So...
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Failure is all the rage these days. I have been practicing, and I understand the rage. Someone said that melancholy is tragedy handled well....

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