7
Le phénoméne de cirque Volume 1, Issue 1 May/June 2014 Common Ground she made her way back to the girl. "You worthless brat! Show them your gift or you'll regret it," threatened the ringmaster in a voice of hate. The ringmaster reached for her whip to show the girl she wasn't kidding. 16 years of abuse sparked the fire in the shell of a girl everyone was watching. The ringmaster leaned close to the girl, gripping the whip. "Perform, you freak." The girl stared back at the ringmaster. The girl pulled out a knife that was tucked away in the folds of her dress and thrust the knife into the ringmaster's stomach. The ringmaster stumbled back and touched the knife. The girl pulled out the knife and tilted her head at the ringmaster. The ringmaster's pale stomach covered in a dark crimson liquid. She fell to the ground...dead. The girl stared at the petrified audience then let go of the knife. Levitating in the air, it dripped blood. "As you wish, sister." And the tent goes black. wicked smile before taking a stand in front of the girl. "Hello my darling. Are you ready?" She ran a cold finger down the girl's cheek, but the girl didn‟t react. The ringmaster stepped away and looked at the audience. "Prepare yourself for the shock of your life." The ringmaster joined the crowd to watch. All eyes focused on the girl with a flame starting inside of her. A fighter still lived in the shell of the girl. "Perform sœur," said the ringmaster with a hint of frustration in her voice. The girl stood still, holding the plate. She stared at the ringmaster with a flame growing in her eyes. "Show the world your gift." The girl did nothing. The ringmaster growled as she stared at the girl. "Now!" she screamed. The girl looked at the plate then at the ringmaster. A small smile tugged on the end of her lips. She let go of the plate and everyone watched as the plate fell to the ground. The sky blue plate shattered to pieces at the girl's feet. The girl looked at the broken plate, then her eyes met the ringmaster's. The ringmaster's green eyes clouded over with hate as Joy B. The sounds of cheering and animals could be heard in the small tent. So could the sound of a woman. A bright light shined on the woman who was dressed in black shorts, high boots, a one buttoned leather jacket, and a top hat tilted to the side. Her crimson red lips were pursed and her green eyes scanned the audience in front of her. "Welcome, welcome," she said, "I'm your host for tonight. You can call me The Abnormal Ringmaster. Tonight will be an unforgettable experience." The crowd roared loudly. The ringmaster's green eyes filled with the darkness that lied inside her. Everyone could see it, but it's the circus. Here, nothing is as it seems. "Hush now, hush. Our first performer is something of a freak. She can move objects...with her mind. Now I know you're thinking I'm lying, but just watch." A bright light flashed behind her and a girl appeared. Her face was split down the middle in two different colors. The left side was midnight black and the right side was as white as death. She was dressed in a tattered black dress and torn fishnets. In her small hands she held a sky blue plate. The ringmaster flashed a Lanier High School Literary Journal Inside this issue: Le phénoméne de cirque Joy B. 1 We are All Broken Records Klara C. 2 Heart of Africa Aline M. 2 What is a Story? Valerie G. 3 My Father Antonette F. and Quran T. 3 Moonlight Madness Anabelle V. 3 This I Believe Rosemary L. 4 Snap Roger R. 4 Remembering You Dayana S.F. 4 Westside Story Mark T. 5 Say & Tell Madelene G. 5 Is it Over? Leslie A. 6 Beautiful David P. 6 In the School that Has No Windows Alejandro V. 6 Couches Emery A. 7 Mess Jacob L. 7

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Page 1: Lanier HS Literary Journal

Le phénoméne de cirque

Volume 1, Issue 1 May/June 2014

Common Ground

she made her way back to

the girl.

"You worthless brat! Show them your gift or you'll regret it," threatened the ringmaster in a voice of

hate.

The ringmaster reached for her whip to show the girl she wasn't kidding. 16 years of abuse sparked the fire in the shell of a girl everyone was watching. The ringmaster leaned close to the girl,

gripping the whip.

"Perform, you freak."

The girl stared back at the ringmaster. The girl pulled out a knife that was tucked away in the folds of her dress and thrust the knife into the r ingmaster 's

stomach.

The ringmaster stumbled back and touched the knife. The girl pulled out the knife and tilted her head at the ringmaster. The ringmaster's pale stomach covered in a dark crimson liquid. She fell

to the ground...dead.

The girl stared at the petrified audience then let go of the knife. Levitating in the air, it dripped blood. "As

you wish, sister."

And

the

tent

goes

black.

wicked smile before taking a

stand in front of the girl.

"Hello my darling. Are you

ready?"

She ran a cold finger down the girl's cheek, but the girl didn‟t react. The ringmaster stepped away and looked

at the audience.

"Prepare yourself for the

shock of your life."

The ringmaster joined the crowd to watch. All eyes focused on the girl with a flame starting inside of her. A fighter still lived in the

shell of the girl.

"Perform sœur," said the ringmaster with a hint of

frustration in her voice.

The girl stood still, holding the plate. She stared at the ringmaster with a flame

growing in her eyes.

"Show the world your gift."

The girl did nothing. The ringmaster growled as she s tared at the gir l .

"Now!" she screamed.

The girl looked at the plate then at the ringmaster. A small smile tugged on the end of her lips. She let go of the plate and everyone watched as the plate fell to the ground. The sky blue plate shattered to pieces at the girl's feet. The girl looked at the broken plate, then her eyes met the

ringmaster's.

The ringmaster's green eyes clouded over with hate as

Joy B.

The sounds of cheering and animals could be heard in the small tent. So could the sound of a woman. A bright light shined on the woman who was dressed in black shorts, high boots, a one buttoned leather jacket, and a top hat tilted to the side. Her crimson red lips were pursed and her green eyes scanned the audience in

front of her.

"Welcome, welcome," she said, "I'm your host for tonight. You can call me The Abnormal R ingmaster . Ton igh t w i l l be an

unforgettable experience."

The crowd roared loudly. The ringmaster's green eyes filled with the darkness that lied inside her. Everyone could see it, but it's the circus. Here, nothing is as it

seems.

"Hush now, hush. Our first performer is something of a freak. She can move objects...with her mind. Now I know you're thinking I'm

lying, but just watch."

A bright light flashed behind her and a girl appeared. Her face was split down the middle in two different colors. The left side was midnight black and the right side was as white as death. She was dressed in a tattered black dress and torn fishnets. In her small hands she held a sky blue

plate.

The ringmaster flashed a

Lanier High School Literary Journal

Inside this issue:

Le phénoméne de cirque Joy B.

1

We are All Broken Records Klara C.

2

Heart of Africa Aline M.

2

What is a Story? Valerie G.

3

My Father Antonette F. and Quran T.

3

Moonlight Madness Anabelle V.

3

This I Believe Rosemary L.

4

Snap Roger R.

4

Remembering You Dayana S.F.

4

Westside Story Mark T.

5

Say & Tell Madelene G.

5

Is it Over? Leslie A.

6

Beautiful David P.

6

In the School that Has No Windows Alejandro V.

6

Couches Emery A.

7

Mess Jacob L.

7

Page 2: Lanier HS Literary Journal

Klara C.

Bruises, scars, tattoos, and birthmarks are the only remains we have to prove the blank canvas that is our body has actually lived. Scratches, scrapes, and shattered pieces are the same marks to vinyl records as our bodily

signatures are to us.

We are all broken records.

We all come out of the sleeve, brand new and no imperfections. Impatient to hear the first few notes of a

new tune.

The accidental scratches and cracks never disappear. The

fingertips that handle these vinyl beauties are the people

who touch our lives.

After the months, years, and decades of playing our melodies, the cracks and pieces seem to multiply on their own. We‟re fragile and need to be cared for. We need to be placed on a podium and be displayed for all to see, even if it means more imperfections within our

grooves.

The grooves are our experiences, pre-recorded but awaiting to be played, waiting to permanently become a part of the record,

of the person, itself.

We all have fault lines that are deepened by pain and eventually break. The misshapen, pointed and used-to-be precious pieces now lay on the floor until they are swept up and discarded, each scrap never forgiven but

entitled to forget.

The interrupted grooves that hang right on the edge just don‟t connect because an empty space separates them. Those bad memories that we try to forget are cause-and-effects of others that we want to keep, but they just don‟t

seem complete.

We Are All Broken Records

Heart of Africa kids run, playing and speaking the language that I couldn‟t understand. I would run to Mama crying, saying that “I wanna go back home,” „cause I felt like I didn‟t

belong no matter what I tried.

I remember when my teacher would ask me to read out loud. I would sink under my desk, then start reading. I would mix English with Swahili, Swahili with French, French with Spanish, Spanish with French. Then I would start all over again; I would mix Swahili with English, English with Spanish, Spanish with French. I would feel my head spinning like a wheel that keeps on spinning without stopping. I would fight with books, dictionaries and textbooks, wondering if I‟m ever going to make it. I would pronounce words in different languages; I would say I love you, nakupenda, ndagukunda,

je’taime, and te amo.

Students would stare at me, but all I do is say, “Hey, I‟m

fifth lingo!”

I was raised in a place where

people speak more than a

thousand languages, I was

raised where kids play with no

rules, I was raised where

people have the right to

speak their mind because I‟m

African. I have the African

blood in me, I carry the

African pride on my shoulders

„cause I‟m African, I carry

Africa in my heart. You can

see Africa when you look close

in my eyes, you sense the

African blood when you hear

me speak, you can see my

African pride when you see

me walking. Africa is the land

I call my home „cause I‟m

African and proud to be!

Aline M.

What do you see when you look at me? When you look in my eyes, do you see me as I

see myself?

I know how you think of me when you see me walking down the hallways, I know what you think every time I open my mouth trying to speak, do you judge me by the way I look before you get to know me? Well, let me tell

you something about myself.

I‟m an African Girl; I‟m an African girl that struggled to have a normal life like other teenagers. I‟m the African girl that you see walking in the hallways and you would think that I have it all. I‟m an African girl that speaks more than three languages. Remembering back in the days when I first came here in the so-called “United States of America,” I would see other

Page 2 Common Ground

When the song finally ends, some of us will be treasured classics and others will be

forgotten indies.

Inevitably, when the needle

lifts, the silence will fall.

We are all broken records.

“I would pronounce

words in different

languages; I would say I

love you, nakupenda,

ndagukunda, je’taime,

and te amo.”

-Aline M.

Would you like to be published in Common Ground? Send us your work and you could be included in an upcoming issue!

Email your submissions to: [email protected]

Be sure to include: your name and grade, your English teacher, the title of your piece,

and your revised and edited submission in the body of the email (1,000 words maximum)

The deadline for the September/October 2014 issue is September 19th

Page 3: Lanier HS Literary Journal

Page 3 Volume 1, Issue 1

Valerie G.

What is a story, and what makes a story worth reading? I sometimes wonder what makes an author write what they have. One time, I thought about the stories we and others have read in the past. For example, our Sleeping Beauty is much different from their Sleeping Beauty, or should I say Sun, Moon and

Talia.

Sure, thanks to Disney, it‟s a family movie. But, what is the real story about this classic? I‟m pretty sure if Disney made it the same way as its ancestor, no parent would

take their young child to watch something they are too young to understand. Even though there are crazy theories and other bad messages about the modern day version, this version is safer and more valuable than its creepy ancestor. The same rules apply to The Little

Mermaid and Cinderella.

But there are others where there are too many stories that it is hard to know what is the original telling. For example, Little Red Riding Hood: there is a good ending, yet there are also bad endings. There is one where the wolf gets caught and Red

and Granny are saved, but there is one ending where Granny didn‟t make it, thus leaving Red and the wolf alone with no axe-man in sight. Depending on what story it is, Red either lives, dies, or does something awful and dies. The same thing applies to Goldilocks and

maybe Thumbelina.

There are plenty of fairy tales that differ from what we were read while young, but this flower of thought just appeared when the seed was created during a movie franchise run. The thought of having more than one fairy tale came together to make a

madness. For, if I do, the cries of those who fell shall continue to linger within me. Their demons shall become my own and my angel shall become their hope, their guide, and their salvation to the endless

madness and pain.

For if their guide shall lose his way, the single feather may have once been lost, but was never truly alone within the moonlight madness. For it is of this single feather that shines brightly within the madness of the darkness and guides those who have lost their way back

to the eternal paradise.

Anabelle V.

For the light that shines through the darkest night that leads me to the eternal paradise. For the guide whose fur shines like a thousand diamonds and eyes who glowed like an eternal flame. But, to the moon whose light showed the way, the madness of the darkness shall continue

to fight.

And I, as the angel of light and the demon of darkness, shall roam for all eternity, never to rest my wings under the light of the moonlight

What is a Story?

Moonlight Madness

My Father to my heart. With the IVs running through your veins and the monitor beeps traveling to my brain, I begin to feel your pain. A pain so real only someone so close can feel. But, in the end you take your path either to Heaven‟s gate or to fit your family‟s heart with a case. Either way, I will wait.

Pick your fate.

Antonette F. and Quran T.

As I watch my father slowly slip away, I reminisce about our days. Reminiscing of when you were amazed by me and when I set your nerves ablaze. You gave me life, so I owe my life to you. With you slowly slipping away, you‟re leaving me with nothing else to do. My eyes fixate on your scars; each sends an emotional bullet

“My eyes fixate on your scars; each sends an emotional bullet to

my heart. With the IVs running through your veins and the

monitor beeps traveling to my brain, I begin to feel your pain.”

-Antonette F. and Quran T.

new story begin; that is what created this seed of thought. When it first happened, it never occurred to me, but when I wanted to learn more about the character from the series, I found different versions of just one tale. This made me think of what authors write about, and why

they write that they wrote.

Honestly, reading more than one version of the same tale can be interesting, and what makes it interesting is the thought about what writers and authors put into their world. It gives an insight to what the i r t ime and

imagination is like.

Page 4: Lanier HS Literary Journal

Rosemary L.

The beautiful smile I once knew is back; it projects my happiness in the hallways, and in the sun. I barely remember your name or your face. I can finally sit by myself and think. I believe I found happiness

when you left.

I no longer stay awake at night wondering how bad of a girlfriend I was. I stopped crying at night. My tears no longer hide in the back of my eyes. I don‟t have the need to cry. I finally feel beautiful. I believe you were the reason

behind my sadness.

The girl my friends once knew is back. She laughs, hangs out, even smiles. That girl finally feels free to be herself again.

She no longer thinks about arguments she had with you in the hallway, she doesn‟t even cry thinking about the arguments. That girl is finally able to be happy. I believe you were holding her back

from happiness.

That girl everyone once knew is smiling that beautiful seductive smile they all loved. That girl finally started singing in the shower again. She went back to her old ways. She wears a ponytail and gets to school early. She no longer has to wake up early to fix her hair and make-up to impress you. That girl you once knew is gone. I believe

she is finally free.

Or is she?

Behind all the smiles and giggling is still sadness. It‟s worse than ever. She doesn‟t cry at night, instead she cries in the shower as she sings to

the song that y‟all met to.

That beautiful smile people think is back is fake. She puts it on for show to make you think she‟s doing better

without you.

She doesn‟t stay awake at night because her sleep is the only thing that helps her escape her sadness in this

world.

You think she‟s done crying over arguments, when in reality she urges for them, just like she urges for you to look

at her.

your mom—who is really nice and considers me her daughter just because of you—she talks about you every single time we are alone because she doesn‟t want me to get in trouble with

my step dad.

Even though you try to make it up to me, there‟s something that stops us and makes me

get away from you.

Every time, you come running to me and make me fall for

Dayana S.F.

I hate that I try to get away from you, but then you come

along again into my life.

Your name is stuck to my mind. It doesn‟t want me to forget about you and your smile that looks like you are thinking about doing some trouble. It makes me melt every time I

see it.

I try to go on with my life, but then one call, one message stops me every time. Then,

you.

Six months have passed since the last time I saw you, texted

or talked.

Now, you come as a call and tell me that you still love me, that soon you will be back home, that this time there will be nothing stopping you from getting with me. After that call from you, my heart starts beating fast every time I hear your name. Then, you show up

in my dreams every day.

This I Believe

Remembering You

Snap

unexpected, but will hit you hard. The pain will be

unbearable.

Your heart will shatter since she was all that mattered to you...at the time. The pain will disappear. She isn‟t the only girl in the world. There are many other girls out there; you‟ll just have to find the

right one.

Roger R.

I fear...I fear love itself. How it can be so beautiful but be so painful. In the end, one person

will be hurt the most.

Love is just two people holding a rubber band. The longer it is held, the more of the pain you feel. When that person you shared “forever and always” and “I love you” with lets go.. . the pain wi l l be

“Love is just two people holding a rubber band.”

-Roger R.

Page 4 Common Ground

She doesn‟t wear make-up or do her hair anymore because she wants you to fall back in love with the girl you fell in love with when you told her

you liked her.

She misses those long romantic walks around downtown. She cries because she needs your love and support that you once gave her. She longs for the sweet taste of your lips on hers when you tell her she‟s beautiful. She wants you to make her feel like she‟s in heaven again. Most of all, she prays to God every night you text her saying, “I love you,” because when she‟s not with you, she feels like her whole world is falling apart. I believe a smile can hide one‟s

true feelings.

Is that a warning or a sign that this time will be different

than the last one?

Page 5: Lanier HS Literary Journal

Mark T.

Here we go on a trip

Deep inside my mind

It‟s a story that‟ll be told

Coming out the Westside

Let you in on my secrets

And how I see life

I take it to the old school

Of San Antonio

It‟s the countdown city

Just in case ya‟ll didn‟t know

The home of the Voks

We never say die, just

multiply

And then we roam

Unwind with family

And sometimes I feel alone

So these rhymes I kick

Are to let the story be told

Of this life that I‟m livin‟

Just never seems to get old

But with blood by my side

No telling how far I go

No telling how far I go

Just when you let it go

Continue to be yourself

When others, they seem to

fold

These eyes, they see the lies

I don‟t believe what I am told

I was raised up right

With morals and set goals

From start to finish

I‟m incomparable

I got the love for the music, so

I let it unfold

And let my culture know

That I‟m in it to win it with all

my heart and soul

Here we go on a trip

Deep inside my mind

It‟s a story that‟ll be told

Coming out the Westside

Let you in on my secrets

And how I see life

Have you ever been through

The path that I take?

Have you ever seen the

struggle

In this life that I face?

It‟s a complicated factor with

decisions to make

And no matter what it is

Decisions decide our fate

We start off with a clean slate

And caught up by our mistake

So I demonstrate routine

How I was brought up every

day

„Cuz my parents I portray

And my lyrics are never fake

My flow that I let go through

my soul is on the page

For so many years now

I‟ve been feeling encaged

Westside Story

Say & Tell

different things. You tell me one thing and say different

things to others.

You say you‟re honest with everyone around you. You tell

me you‟re just playing.

You‟re just confusing this poor girl who can‟t do anything but

love you.

Madelene G.

You tell me that you love me.

You say you adore me.

But yet, you don‟t prove it.

You say and tell things you feel toward me and yet threaten to tell my #1 biggest secret to the one person I

don‟t want to know.

You say you trust me, but yet you tell your friends to watch

me when you‟re not around.

You say and tell everyone

Page 5 Volume 1, Issue 1

Day by day

Through my hustle

My stamina‟s getting faint

My flows you can‟t contain

Putting a strain up to your

brain

Making your body go insane

Till today I‟m here to stay

Competitive in my membrane

So I watch for every strain

„Cause He can take me out the

game

Any day He decides my fate

Here we go on a trip

Deep inside my mind

It‟s a story that‟ll be told

Coming out the Westside

Let you in on my secrets

And how I see life

“Till today I‟m here to stay

Competitive in my membrane

So I watch for every strain

„Cause He can take me out of the game

Any day He decides my fate.”

-Mark T.

Page 6: Lanier HS Literary Journal

Page 6 Common Ground

Leslie A.

Growing up in the Lincoln

Courts was not the best

experience a little ten year

old girl would want. It was not

my choice, I actually didn‟t

have the ability to choose

where I would have lived.

I really didn‟t know anything.

The only thing I knew was I

didn‟t want to be without my

mom, I wanted to be with her.

Being in those courts on the

Westside made me feel

scared. Every night I would

hear fighting going on

between men and men,

women and women, and men

and women. Living in those

courts when I was young was

just embarrassing and ugly to

talk about. I didn‟t know what

to say about it.

I would go to sleep scared,

wondering if there would be

another drive by. Will those

bullets go through my sister‟s

window?

When I looked out my

window, I saw a typical

Westside neighborhood: stray

dogs searching for water,

their ribs showing so much you

could tell they had not eaten

in days; men and women

beside the corner store asking

for money, but I knew they‟re

just going to do the wrong

things with it.

Nights I would hear screaming,

I‟d look outside.

Once, someone had set a big

fire inside the house in front of

our house. I asked myself: is it

over?

Is it Over?

In the School that Has No Windows Now he just needs to ask her

parents, pick up a tux, and

see the lux that is of prom.

The time the mayor dyed his

hair blonde because the

basketball team made it to

the playoffs. They tried their

best to the very end.

The girl who has a child, but I

smile because she and her

boyfriend are lovingly raising

their daughter.

The boy who had a crush on a

girl and for many months they

only talked and now they are

together, maybe forever and

on.

And those times when pep

rallies came, many groaned

and complained, but gave into

the screams and the chants.

Those crazy teachers who we

think are weird, yet we don‟t

even realize we‟ll be like them

in a couple of years.

The girl who came mid-

semester to a new class,

discovering she had a way

with words with a touch of

quirkiness.

We don‟t know when our

stories will end, but each day

a page has been written.

With ups and downs, lefts and

rights, we soar as high as kites

and delve as low as moles.

Our last period will come, but

those words and scenes that

were done will be passed on,

living in hallways, rushing

through doors, and being

made inside classrooms.

In the school that has no

windows.

Alejandro V.

In the school that has no

windows, there are so many

stories, even though it‟s only

two floors. Stories about

teachers whose 1st year of

teaching had commenced.

Overwhelmed, yet over

joyous, they teach with a full

heart and good intentions.

Some, who never had any

thought to become one, had

become great teachers and

great friends.

About a boy, scared of the

world, who is taking a girl to

prom. Accidentally, he asked

but gave into the curiosity of

what going to prom might feel

like.

“...those words and

scenes that were done

will be passed on, living

in the hallways, rushing

through doors, and being

made inside classrooms.”

-Alejandro V.

Beautiful David P.

Look through this mirror,

and then you will see

the beautiful person you were

meant to be.

You‟re more than the stars,

and even more than

perfection.

You‟re the beauty everyone

sees beyond this reflection.

You don‟t need to wish

upon a shooting star

to be the person you already

are.

You‟re the princess in every

fairy tale,

and the hero in every book.

You‟re the beauty seen by all,

so, go on, take a look.

The only thing I enjoyed was

walking to Family Dollar to

buy fake nails and put them

on, stopping the ice cream

truck to get cucumbers with

Lucas, but, most of all, Hot

Cheetos with cheese. They

were my favorite.

Page 7: Lanier HS Literary Journal

[email protected]

Common Ground is a student-led, student-reviewed literary journal begun in 2014

with the mission of featuring and celebrating original student writing of all

genres.

Editor-in-Chief:

Antonette F.

Faculty Advisors:

Kerri Ward

Tiffany Jenkins

Common Ground Lanier High School Literary Journal

Common Ground

again. And overwhelmingly

hilarious how I am still here,

after three years. If the past

is destined to repeat itself,

then we are doomed to stay

stuck in this in-between. You

trying to save every damsel

in distress with your

shattered armor and me

trying to convince the

superhero that not everyone

needs to be saved. It's an

endless cycle, a loop in our

broken romance.

But I think I'll always believe

that I have a chance. She

tells you she loves you one

more time, and with a

glance in my direction you

return the sentiment. And

though my heart turns to

cement, I say nothing. My

throat sewn shut with every

broken promise you've ever

fed me.

So, I stay silent. I give you a

smile. I hold my secret. And I

sit patiently at my end of the

couch and wait for your

body to bend mine towards

you again...

Emery A.

We start off on opposite

ends, but you're a magnet

and I always find myself

drawn towards you. Soon

enough I'm bending until we

are nothing but a tangle of

bodies, awkwardly twisting,

folding, and overlapping in

cheeky smiles and laughter.

but your phone starts an

earthquake in the little world

we have created as it

vibrates, snapping us back

into reality.

You check the screen and

see that it's her again. I sit

and pretend to be busy. I try

to make both of us believe

that this isn't jealousy. It isn't,

can't, shouldn't be. But we've

both been doing things we

shouldn't be for quite some

time, and neither of us has

an intention of stopping

soon.

I have no one to blame, but I

can't deny the monsoon of

emotion you bring when you

come around. Your presence

takes everything I have with

him and buries it in the

ground. But it seems you

have an odd fascination with

fixing broken things. So,

while you work on your

latest project, I sit rejected

at my end of the couch. I

listen as she professes her

undying affection for you. I

stifle a scoff with an

awkward little cough type

thing. I know she makes you

happy or whatever, but the

fact that she's trying to sever

this blurred-lines friendship is

frustrating, irritating even.

You always pick the girls

with needy tendencies, and I

always end up being all of

your liabilities.

I know it sounds like I'm

complaining, but it's just not

entertaining watching them

wear you down one

Christianic lecture at a time.

The way they keep you a

secret should be considered

a crime. Hiding your

beautifully sculpted soul, just

because another born-again

mother is in denial of her

daughter‟s sexuality.

It is quite funny really, how

you manage to weasel your

way into the same situations

over and over and over

Couches

Mess Jacob L.

I splatter brain matter with lyrical hollow tips. Straight to the dome like full Uzi

clips.

Doing drive bys on notebook pages, getting the whole media shook „cuz they ain‟t

„bout that life.‟

Drake verse, brake check first, break it apart and

send it to Jupiter.

No gravity, but keep some sanity or hand sanitizer „cuz I made a mess like splattered

brain matter.

Playing mind games,

Mad Hatter,

Still swinging for the fences.

[Bo Jackson, great batter]

Still knowledge hungry. Say, my mind‟s getting fatter.

Conscious overweight.

Throw me in a pool of sharks

like chum bait.

Now learn to swim.

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