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| Follow me... as I ice skate upon the blade of a penknife, with his tainted tongue darting in and out of my consciousness. Now I am deaf to him; come, let's write... well... I will write; this is how it goes... When he loves me I feel so full of life, vibrant with eyes that radiate like fireflies. When his gnashing jawbones are pursed together... I know... I am his object of ridicule hit "bulls eye" every time, needled until I cry. But sadness only utilizes me If I surrender to it. I pencil on my lipstick grin taking on the task of being so witty; so wise. Oh yes, everybody loves me aside from the one I love but I am eloquent, and resilient, still. I hear the echoes of his anger with everyone oblivious... but me. |
| The Masquerade By: Rhonda Hardwick |
| At age 14 |
| Butterflies When I look into your eyes, I realize I get butterflies. I'm the one that cries when I realize perhaps you don't get butterflies. Do you... get butterflies when you look into my eyes? Is it something I just don't realize, maybe your the one who cries when you realize we should be together to unite our butterflies. All Rights Reserved; Melissa Burlison |
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