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"she's a bad friend, just a heads up.
I know she seems really great
and fun and understanding.
she's like that, at first.
she'll be positive and friendly, and you'll feel like you can trust her with your most-prized possession.
you'll want to tell her things, even if you're not a very open person.
she has that effect on people.
after a while, though, she starts to seem rough around the edges.
she'll go through very dramatic
mood swings-
she's a bit like the weather in NYC.
sometimes she'll be cheerful
and she'll laugh at the most
random of things.
those times, she'll be like a fresh spring day, around 72 degrees.
other times, she'll be the most pessimistic person you know. it'll feel like she's draining the positivity right out of you. those times, she'll be like a bitter winter's day, below zero and freezing.
on occasion, she'll change
back and forth between those
two seasons in a day.
it'll get to be very tiring for you,
trying to keep up with her many moods and feelings and attitudes.
you won't really know how
to handle her.
and eventually, it'll feel like she's
not really handling you.
she won't talk to you as often as she used to. she wont know what's happening in your life anymore, and you won't be able to remember the last time she told you about anything happening in hers.
eventually, you'll be the only one putting effort into the relationship.
but you'll continue to see her with other friends, laughing and sharing inside jokes and telling stories.
and it'll be so painful for you, because you're technically
still friends with her- it's not like
you had a fall-out or anything.
things will just be different between you two. she'll be distant, and so will you.
eventually, you'll just stop trying
to talk to her. all you'll do is smile briefly at each other in the hallways, sometimes talk for a few minutes about classes.
and it'll almost seem like you're strangers again.
so if I were you, don't bother with her. find someone worthy of your time and love and affection."
this isn't really a poem, more of a rant. people that I used to talk to for hours haven't had a real conversation with me in a few months. I know they're falling apart, and I should be there for them, and I'm not. so this is kind of an apology poem.
by Arcassin Burnham


Your Right You don't Need my permission,
but I won't sit here and listen to your petty extensions,
and stupid ramblings about you turning the other cheek,
thats like telling me to kiss it just to be kind and sweet,
but I'm me and you should be you,
your audience has expanded,
many people gets a load of you,
which is crazy to me,
because you're not relatable,
even the final stages of anatomy or intimacy,
you failed,
sorry,
let the truth be reliable,
everybody might think you some nice guy that loves to make his words look good,
but again you target me,
in hopes I be misunderstood.

correction your not a good poet.
*** makes a line about me not being a good poet , and I don't how to write , how long have you been writing like a year ***** , I been writing since I was 13 bruh , keep talking **** and ill embarrass you.

**** hellopoetry107
A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.
 Mar 2015 heather leather
M
Untitled
 Mar 2015 heather leather
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"Many people die of thirst but the Irish are born with one."
 Mar 2015 heather leather
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Untitled
 Mar 2015 heather leather
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“Some men never recover from education.”
― Oliver St. John Gogarty
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