Okay I won’t do something silly like double paste my dumb poem again.
Anyways, this poem is in the Liar Collective; a magazine that my school published. They got the formatting all wrong, so I’ll post it here.
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My wrists are the ankles of my hands
All of these nightmares are going to my thighs
adding weight to places on my body
that I didn’t know existed
places I forgot to examine
But when I start to realize
it’s too late; the pounds aren’t shedding.
Just my hair
And I feel like…
The only new thing about me is
the gray hairs I found on my head,
because I don’t realize that I have to learn
from these mistakes
And I feel like…
I just keep making them,
and being wrong wrong wrong wrong
And I feel like…
I feel like an eggplant
December 21, 2011
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