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Literature Text
All my friends are going places
Whilst I'm just filling empty spaces
With a lack of talent and dark humour
Consoled with 'You're just a late bloomer'
Whilst I'm just filling empty spaces
With a lack of talent and dark humour
Consoled with 'You're just a late bloomer'
Literature
To the Child
To the Child
To the child we never got to know
To the child who's eyes never opened
Who's laugh we never heard
Who's voice never spoke
Who's touch we never felt
To the child we will never see grow
To the child taken too soon
To that wonderful child that lives with angels
You are a child blessed with love
Know as you watch from that golden heaven each day
Everyday we live on we will love you
We will carry you with us as we go forward
To that blessed child
From the parents and siblings
Aunts and uncles and cousins
The grandparents
From everyone who you've touched
To that child may that love reach you
And may that love help guide us all
Literature
Untitled
The silent cry that controls my perception,
Remains the constant reason and excuse for me hesitation,
Questions are never enough, science can lead,
Answers are half truths, religion I can't believe,
The sound of my confusion; my fleeting heart,
The strings of DNA, my family no longer take part,
There is a pile of positive thoughts, arranged in a heap,
My only friend; my teddy bear continues not to speak,
Inception of directions points more than one direction,
Can I live without the band aid I hide behind? The needed infection,
Blood remains trapped, always a single thought under the surface,
This prison of skin, my knife attempts to evolve a
Literature
As If the Disorder Had Logic
I was hoping to find answers
in the pile of ash, in the stubbed out joints,
in the knocked bottles laying low.
I asked questions to the pile of dishes,
to the hidden car keys, to the terrified dog.
As I was heading out, the sun said
"climb high into the sky with me,
from this vantage point
you can see everything."
And for a while I tried.
Came to work. Arranged my poker face.
Let the creases of my mouth do their thing.
But as I was heading home,
the trees threw up their hands in resignation,
every road leading back
to the questions.
What wild idea will he think of next,
halfway out the door,
brain brimming with honey and seeping with l
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Another "late bloomer" here...It will be better. Try to trust it.