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I am stained;
I am a filter: the product of man.
Where white light enters
You see what you see.
This frame defines me.
I could be vibrant and I could be bold.
I should be a story told.
I could be any
Sun beams, galvanized
And my potential is still compromised
For I yield impurity in the form of an art.
So I must be shattered
By you and only you.
With the soothing blow of your fist
Through the target in my ribs.
The wind needs to course through me with
No more obstructions
Because, to you, I can’t stand to be any
Connor and I just hung out by the creek all night like just the two of us and it was pretty cool. We just talk about the usual skateboard stuff, and we listened to the new Cage the Elephant album, which is subtle, but nice, compared to their past releases. Then we went to hang by the creek and drink some beers and started talking about stuff like school and jobs and girls and everything else and shit got real and well… I feel good about it. Even though I jumped in the creek after yet another phone and I’m freezing, it was a good night.
Reasons why talking is bad:
ur so dum
To capture your lofty glance,
To polish your perception,
To make your mind wander,
As you’ve so easily done to mine.
Does such a string of verbs and nouns exist?
Maybe it starts with talk of your new shoes,
Or about your friend’s wellbeing.
Perhaps it’s a short story of a boy’s misadventures,
And his interest in her’s.
But what if it’s something less obvious,
And more time consuming?
The clock as my motivator, I will now persist.
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