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Soft Speak; Hard Emotion (Free verse) by Blindpoetry

Weeks pass by Your not here Did the maid go with you? Because he isn't here either I confess My nervousness I expected this to not work out *nervous breathe* Was I right? I give you my hand I want to guide you To happiness I thought thats all you wanted I hesitantly take my hand away It got numb from your coldness You ask if I'm ok, "Why are you like this?" My temper rages; *yells, "You know why!"* I get up, to my feet Shock painted all over your face I whisper, "See you at home... Dear." She leaves with the maid. Do i give you my jacket So you can walk across the muddy water? No. Just ask the maid! He'll clean it up! And I hope you don't mind I fired the maid He didn't do his job He made this life harder! So leave with him I don't care (leave with him) I won't sit and stare (leave with him) I'll just *yells: go outside and save myself*

zodiac 4-Feb-04/8:16 PM
re: "weird, awkward poetry about things that haven't been written about." ONE LAST THING and then I swear I'm done with this fucked-up string! See if I'm not!!! See, you (blindpoetry) write about breakups, sadness, and that guff because it's embedded into your consciousness, the way you see a sunset and say 'that's beautiful' because someone has told you sunsets are beautiful. You pay attention to them. Now what if instead of telling you sunsets were beautiful, they had told you poo was beautiful, or a duck dying of AIDS, its tender stiffening body tracing duck angels in the powdery snow, was beautiful? Then you'd stop when you saw a duck dying of AIDS and pay attention. You'd think it was poetic. That's what we do. We who write poetry are the ones who TELL PEOPLE THAT THINGS ARE BEAUTIFUL (or insert any other adjective for beautiful.) It's not the other way around. We're the ones who embed things in other people's consciousness, which means the first thing we have to do is get rid of all that guff embedded in us. Does that make any sense? Great. Tchuss!




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