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I've got a spot,
out there in the yard
It can sit, it can stay
But playing fetch is hard

I've got a spot,
where I like to spend my days
It takes naps in the sunshine
and together we laze

I've got a spot,
it can't run, it can't jog
But it's a very good spot
I think I'll call it Dog.
Dog is great and all, but someday, maybe we'll have a real Spot. And we can take it for walks, and play lots of games. In the meantime I'll have to live vicariously through others. So please post more poems about your goofy, fluffy, adorable or grumpy puppies. <3
~4/26/21
Boredom bored some,
but for the rest of us it became a lifestyle.

The rest of us,
who spend so much money and time,
on objects and gizmos...
Just to while away our lives.

And, on comfort!
If we're going to do nothing,
we've at least got to be comfortable
while we do it.

We've gotta work though,
gotta hustle.
The trick is finding that tipping point...
The Grand American Treasure:
To find the least amount of labor,
for the greatest amount of leisure!

So let's climb that ladder
Make money! Get paid!
So we can quickly and painlessly,
whittle away our days.
Tapping into my inner gonzo and trying to stab a pin into the heart of the "American dream".
~4/15/2021
 Mar 2021 Amanda Kay Burke
Ky
Between the lines
of now and then,
you’re drawing me
with ink and pen.
Every ridge
and every curve
you’re carving out
what I deserve.
Tangled veins
and knotted hair,
a thunderstorm
of senseless care.
Between the breaths
of God and man-
You’re writing me
just as I am.
With fractured bones
and black-hole eyes,
painted purple,
ringed with lies.
All I am
is what you see
and what you make
is all I’ll be.
 Mar 2021 Amanda Kay Burke
Colm
like a scratching record
around I cannot break
and in circles find nothing
more than our something should
this unwaking headache
with its cold sweat and migraines
is the only thing left
the only path to take

until we are left therein
that parallel state of unbeingawake
My stretch marks define who I am
This insecurity rules my life
Nothing can **** this inner demon
Not therapy, nor meds, nor knife

It grows hungrier by the minute
Consuming my every thought
Eating away at my confidence
Making it harder to be what I’m not

My eyes stained red, these painful tears
That soak the sheets on my bed
Like rain that is supposed to nourish a flower
And ends up drowning it instead
Why fix it when the worrying won’t end
Why try if theres nothing else to save
This insecurity is my cruel, demanding master
And I am my insecurity’s obedient slave
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