Number 8 Pencil

I never liked reading poetry all that much, but did enjoy writing it for a brief amount of time. This is a collection of those poems and hopefully will include some yet to be written.

Thursday, April 17, 2003

The sky doesn't cry
not for me anymore
The world is a fruit
I'm a seed in the core

Give me back my freedom
and don't protect me skin
I want my own problems
so let the rain seep in

This fruit has gone rotten
and life is too easy
Stem, let go of that branch
Fall to the ground and release me

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