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They say that I’m
Too much to
Handle

Yet they never seem
To handle me with
Care

They say that I’m
Unable to
Trust

Yet they break it the
Moment I’m not
There

They say that I’m
Far too
Insecure

Yet they won’t
Help me
Heal

They say I’m
Cold and
Uncaring

Yet they ignore
What I
Feel

They say that I‘m
unable to
Listen

Yet they are the
Ones who can’t
Hear

They say I’m
Afraid of
Love

Yet there is
so much to
Fear...
Sometimes people make as though we are unable or unwilling to love yet  they and others have treated us in a way that has made us so apprehensive to lend our hearts out. Love is a two way street...
 Apr 2020 Amanda Kay Burke
Caro
I think
anyone who says
that miracles
aren't possible
must not have
planted
seeds
Oh I can't stop these words
tumbling and falling
from empty spaces in my head
as they ride the wicked helix
from here to hell and back again
on fettering wings like bats
that get caught in angel hair spaghetti
that gets flushed down the toilet with all the other
goldfish crackers

Each shouting head
surrounds me in rings of fire
with one desire
to watch me burn
as they hula-hoop with rubic's cubes on boomerangs
set for mars or maybe Seattle

Sometimes it's just this way for me
with my mind floating free
like butterflies in nets
or sickly flies in butter
waiting for the spread
but you know it's 10 to 1
and I'm about to get knocked out
I hope you didn't place your bets
on me

I wish the endless stream of consciousness
didn't feel like emptiness
with the only ears that listen
are glued to my head
like Halloween costumes
when Jason stole my candy, called me a dandy,
and ran the hell away

It's really hard to describe
when words won't take logical form
like being gaslighted by my own brain
who wears red ribbons
and plays with ***** of yarn
on rolling farms
as the cow jumped over the moon

But if you think that the cow
was a sight to behold
my imagination's untold secrets
got something for your mental circus
I just saw purple hydras on amino acid trips
riding unicycles
wearing diapers
hanging out with Picasso
who said
"What does this poem even mean, bruh?"
And just to let you know, I was not on drugs for this.  Sometimes my brain just starts racing and I have to put what I'm thinking down on paper.  I hope it wasn't too confusing.
I often wonder
If my best lines
Ended up in the wastebasket
Or perhaps, forgotten
Because I was on city transit
Or
the toilet,
A nautical mile away
From the nearest
Functional
Pen
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