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just like thisyou should remember me like this
i had a brown bifold leather wallet beaten up but in great condition
worn down smooth and i was so proud of that thing because it was the first
truly manly thing i owned and if my father taught me anything it's that
a man is judged by the quality of his wallet.
i could listen to music like rufus wainwright and darren hayes for hours
but most of the time i was speeding down a highway--with friends or myself--
blasting filthy rock music, most likely buckcherry, laughing at the thought
that anyone would even try to have this much fun.
you should remember me like this
i cared a lot about my work even if the job was shit i still wanted to be
respected and a hard day of work sung harmoniously in my bones because
i have never been one to shy away from work even if i was in pain most
of the time.
i played a careful game of cover up and wanted people to think that i was
sensitive and soft and innocent.
but i could have and was ready to kick the shit out of anyon
signsmaybe these are signs of healing
that i don't want to be with anyone
who doesn't treat me as good as i
i don't want you
if you don't want me back
the same way i want you
i'm sure in what i want
i want you to want to spend
as much time with me
as i want to spend with you
i want you to be crazy about me
i want you asking me out
i want you asking me what i want
i want you asking me for consent
maybe this is a sign of healing
where instead of taking whatever i thought
would be good enough for the moment
now i feel confident to demand
the basics--comfort, respect, consent--and
hold out for the extras
i'm no longer interested in settling
or compromising key aspects of myself or what i want
it's either you pay attention to me
meet me half way
treat me as i deserve
treat me as good as i treat myself
or i can wait
i can wait for something
maybe this is all a sign of healing.
You're Not A PoetYou’re not a poet because of strung words
Together on row upon row again
Of blank verse or perhaps liberal rhyme.
‘Slam’ all you want, other poets wonder;
Your ignorance of couplets a blunder?
Yes! I speak harshly, but it’s no gross crime,
To point with honesty failed verse of thine.
No real poet discards upper case words;
Lets prose crawl on paper like listless worms.
You seek to free verse of those stern letters,
Sever away bleak capital fetters,
But it doesn’t sing of great speech sublime,
Rather, it sneaks of writing in spare time.
Wait! before you throw me in the icy Rhine;
It’s hard to put verse together in rhyme,
To make our dull words sound great all the time,
Hear them ring out loud, like a clear clock’s chime,
Heralding a poet’s summer prime.
Yet the sacred muses weep at your crime;
Your pentameter mangled thick like slime,
The subject not gilded in raiment fine;
Your bold ink font, crystal waters divine
Tastes bitter to the ton
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More