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poetry

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FC: Poetry

1: where i'm from self respect my mother's kitchen

3: I am from sipping lemonade by the pool on a hot summer day, from Doritos and Lays I am from the red brick house at the end of the street. I am from the sparkling lake in my back yard, and the gigantic trees that surround it. I am from vegaila on Christmas eve and thick brown hair, from Jerry and Irv and Thomas. I am from beliving we are indnependint on this world. I'm from Poland, perogies and kabasa. From the time my sister fell while iceskating and got a concusstion, the I am from in my basment where priceless amounts of family memories are stored. | I am from believing we are independent on this world. I'm from Poland, porgies and kabasa. From the time my sister fell while ice-skating and got a concussion, the I am from in my basement where priceless amounts of family memories are stored.

5: Sometimes I wash my hair, sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I wake up early, sometimes I won’t. Depend on mood of the day; I might even meet someone new. It really just depends on what has happened to me so far. I’m not the average human. And I ain’t no geinus. But I learned who I am Because I am fine the way I am. I’m not a perfect person. My worth is not determined by my smarts. No matter what I won’t change for anyone, I will always be unique.

7: Here I am along the ground Crawling around in search of food When I stumble apoun a kitchen. Crawling around up the wall and across the counter I hit the jackpot someone was preparing a feast and now i have one too There is so much to choose from There are tomatoes and potatoes Iceberg lettuce greener than the grass it's self There is even a steak calling my name Then there are footsteps coming this way Before I can even get a single bite I must scurry away Back on the floor again crawling away Under the oven must surely be the way There I am waiting all alone With only dust bunnies and a few of my dead breatherin for company I can't hear any footsteps the coast must be clear I slowly walk out to return to my feast Then SPLAT I was squashed by the owner of the kitchen She has killed me and I will never get to feast again

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  • By: alex t.
  • Joined: over 4 years ago
  • Published Mixbooks: 1
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About This Mixbook

  • Title: poetry
  • Tags: None
  • Published: over 4 years ago

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