Words make me feel fulfilled occasionally.
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Meet me where you go When the world gets too loud There I'll be, you know Trying not to look proud Yes I've got the map to your quietest places
By Violet P. Davies4 years ago in Poets
It seems that my saliva’s been misplaced So now my throat is dry And my lips are cracked And I don’t mind, but I mind
There's only one route here Down all the widest streets Up a breathless hill And flying down the other side . There's only one route here
When I got here I wanted to run Old people are sad to see drunk And the young people are all strangers And there's not enough of them
I hear the dewdrops speak to me Of distant fields and far off mysteries ... The grain of sand can speak, as can The leaves, and each so differently
By Violet P. Davies5 years ago in Poets
One I'm sure there's nothing else, I just don't want to leave. The heart leaps into the throat And blurts unbidden. Not entirely a surprise;
I'm sitting sweating buckets under the roof over my head Reading a Twitter thread On the phone my parents pay for About how some people can't afford to work
In July, flying high, a patchwork appears Bold chartreuse pieced with deeper green The canola's in flower, in its goldenrod hour
I've caught spring fever I sweat it out all alone Cursed travelers April is in my mistress' face, but May may not Flower readily
I said something real once. I said something real once, And people liked it. I said something real once, And people liked it,
Nobody's strong because they want to be We only hold on because we have to And the ones who don't won't admit they're weak just by not hurting
I fell to the ground But I felt no ground beneath me So I looked up at the stars But all I could find was a dead black sky