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It's occurred to me that I really love the kind of things that represent a beautiful but gentle sadness because it feels like the most accurate reflection of real life and it feels the most like home.

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Poetrywriting to writeStranger sadness everyday lifehome


I found my bliss 

Heading south on the A23

She’s a rollerskate

He’s a magnet 

Like the easy way 

Water slides down your throat. 


Me, a pearl of existence 

Gently cooking in this black car 

Heat. From July. Discomfort 

In the way my baths

Are always stifling. 


A glissando of tyres 

Droning down to the coast 

Under a weatherless sheet 

Of baby blue...

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My place

The place I go to

it’s always there

as real as it can be

its real to me.

Somewhere near but a map will never show


It’s a house

a pond beside

and trees large and green

a winding path

a shady porch.

Not in a town but nearby

its quite most of the day.


I'll find it I know

and when I do

it will be my time.

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I’m renting,

No, I rent

Yes, I’m actually renting..

No, no, no, not looking to buy.


I don’t have rich parents

Yes, I should buy..

And how about you?

Fuck off.

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So close yet so far

Six hours in the car




Miles and Miles


One day, we will be reunited

Until then, 



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Brunette. Blonde

Black. Grey

I am auburn.


Hazel. Green

Brown. Blue

I am Grey.


Tabs, blanks

Pockets, sockets

Corners, middles

I am unique.


Flat pieces; four points

Innies and lock

The back

always Grey


Without me, you are not complete

With me, we are replete


A needle in the haystack

melancholic morning


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