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I slip away while you are talking
My mind finding its way
Into somewhere far away
You're still complaining about work
And people who mean nothing to me
And I wish I could take you with me
But you're still stuck in your rant
About people who mean nothing
All I can do is slip away
While you're still talking
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"Hope isn't just some nebulous thing. It's tangible if you do something with it."
why bother caring about the environment when 1. It’s so obviously a lost cause and 2. There’s definitely going to be a nuclear war?
And what are you doing about it Anon? Learn about ecological restoration or get out of my way.
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Jacaranda Trees
The greens turn purple Amid late summer heat As the Jacaranda tree spills Its lovely blooms across the ground
And every year I wait In anticipation of color To brighten the tree lines And leave a wilting carpet below
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Summer Insomnia
The buzz of summer
Presses down again
The heat in my lungs
The static in my veins
I try to sleep to clear my thoughts
But only toss and turn
I try to relax to calm my mind
But all my feelings burn
I'm clawing from the inside out
Desperately needing peace
But the heat ripples over my skin
Blistering to the depths of me
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"We don't love things
that don't love us back."
She said with a lift of her chin,
as if my parents had taught me
how to properly love myself.
How many years had I lost
waiting on someone to realize
that I was worth their love?
How many nights had I cried
over unrequited devotion?
How many wasted lives
had I spent loving things
that would never love me back...
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Jacaranda Trees
The greens turn purple Amid late summer heat As the Jacaranda tree spills Its lovely blooms across the ground
And every year I wait In anticipation of color To brighten the tree lines And leave a wilting carpet below
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The sun dips,
Melting and dissolving
over the horizon
setting everything to blue.
And then the chill,
the absence of your breath
leaving the backs of my legs
cold.
I don't know
how to deal with loss.
So I stand motionless,
hoping the cold
won't find its way
into my heart.
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I am not a muse
My edges are not soft
My voice lacks beauty
I leave no one desiring
I am not a muse
I am not quiet
Nor do I fulfill the masculine need
I do not need rescuing
I am fire
I am hell's furry
I am unapologetic, unforgiving
Unbearably myself
I am anger and wrath
And the scale of justice
Demanding equally
I am not a muse
I am the voice of resistance
Treason in the face of patriarchy
I don't need adoration
I am not a muse
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Are we disposable,
only valuable when we're firm
and ripe?
Are we simply worth
what we can produce;
a giver of life
to be thrown away
when the effort we expend
drains us of life?
Is this what it is to be woman?
Is this our fate?
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The vacuum
of a night out,
feeling free
but falling asleep
lonely.
You text goodnight
dutifully.
And I wonder
if you're content
to sleep alone.
Do you miss me at all?
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I'd like to miss you
Miss your kiss
Or miss your touch
But you were never very good
At physical affection
I'd like to miss you
Miss your voice
Or miss your words
But you were never very good
At speaking lovingly
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Drink the dew
From early spring
As she spins you up
In florals and new leaves
Breath in the warmth
Of an early sunrise
As it drenches you
In the welcoming day
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You've left me here alone for a bit
And I really thought I'd be hating it
But solitude isn't a bad feeling
When I'm no longer holding up the ceiling
I caught myself sleeping in late
And didn't put makeup on my face
I'm okay with drinking all alone
And not even leaving my home
I'll just sink myself into this time
When all the decisions can be mine
#sanddollarpoems#spilled ink#poem#my poetry#alone time#writeblr#quick write#solitude#the peace of being one
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Just about now
I'd like to go in my house,
walk into my room,
go into my closet,
dig a hole in the hanging clothes,
and bury myself in between them.
Let me sleep;
let me hibernate.
I'm so tired of being aware.
I'm so tired of being awake.
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Do you have room
On your shoulder
For my head to rest
For just a little while?
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"Colors after the rain"
- sanddollarphotography
Montaña de Oro State Park
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You lost the quarters
That you saved
For parking meters
And washing machines
We stay on the sidewalk
Watching the birds fly
Asking why
We never left this place
You're worried about the rent
And I still cry
Over spilled milk
And my favorite broken mug
What if we quit all this
Moved to a different county
And never called
Our friends and family again
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