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My Book

Author: CynicalxDreamer
ASL Info:    31/m/7th Level of Hell
Elite Ratio:    2.46 - 40 /100 /64
Words: 354
Class/Type: Poetry /Me
Total Views: 1596
Average Vote:    No vote yet.
Bytes: 2261


Had an idea that sprang from recalling some of my favorite books growing up and slowly realizing there were a lot of things I missed out on.

My Book

Remember that time
The time that I scored the winning goal
People reaching out to just touch my hand
To touch my soul
To share that crystal moment of greatness
To tell about again and again how it changed me
Changed us
Yeah, I don't remember it either. I don't have childhood memories
Just stories
These stories aren't mine
They're from Schwartz and R.L. Stein

I want to tell you about me
Not Ponyboy or Maniac McGee
Or the countless books that I lived in
Breathed on
Came to know better than friends
I didn't read
I escaped
I ran from love so suffocating it made me sick
Or told me I was most of the time
I hid from love that didn't know the right words
Of how to be a better man
Just told me "Yes I can"
But never showed me how
I didn't want love that was hand-me-downs
Given because we were kin
Caine loved Abel and it didn't stop that sin

Stories were sold to me
Hooked on the hypeline that I could be anyone
I bet my folks never saw 'me' coming
Dogged down by their dreams of my destiny
Escape became my reality

Read between the lines
These aren't words to say this was their fault
Its not God, fate, or a grand plan
This is from running away
Tossing the script of choices made for me
Choices that might have been better
This from still being unsure what it means
To grow up

My room is still buried in books
I am still buried by books
Word-vomiting academic theories
In the voices of bones and dried ink
Trying to get others to think
That I'm deeper than a book spine
When I don't know my own voice
Don't know how I got to be here
I have read so many stories
Even written a few of my own
The only story never told
The only song I've never sung
Is the one that will tell me
Who I am supposed to be

Submitted on 2014-12-02 19:32:20     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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  This had great flow and rhythm of beat poetry. The words spewing forth with childish abandon only to be reigned in by by your adult self looking back.
I haven'd decided if there was a script and if I got it right or not. I too bury myself in books--I think most writers do. Passion is what it's about. When you write or read, do you do it with passion, in full technicolor scenes with voices? The voice of choices past is one of the least profitable for the soul; it's mephistophelian in nature. Don't worry and just BE with Passion!
| Posted on 2014-12-19 00:00:00 | by jaycee | [ Reply to This ]

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