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Literature Text
It is a shame that I can tell that I do not meet your standards. I can tell how much you care for me compared to your Blood. Each time you arrive from one of your trips you hand them everything to them and acknowledged them with gifts and money and yet I am given chores along with sarcasm. I do not talk to you nor you me, when you do speak to me it is either condemning and as you call it 'teasing' but I do not see it as such. Whenever I ask for such things as money or a trinket I receive the look of a pest or rustic. I receive the look as if I were a thief! Am I not the one that lives under your roof who has obeyed every word without question? I may be your wife's bastard but never am I a thief! To gain such a blessing I would have better luck seeking the Holy Grail than your acceptance
Literature
Seek
You left where you were, Gone without a trace, I only locate where you are, After you change place, And I’m searching the spaces, In which you were last seen, While you’re pursuing places, I have formerly been, But footprints are overlapping, Crisscrossing on the ground, You’d think with both us looking, We would be easier found, Yet somehow ‘hide-and-seek’, Is hardest if no one hides, Lost following tracks encircling, The same old rounded sides, For at least if you’re not moving, I can learn where you are not, Alas instead in unison, We are both seeking and sought, It is so much simpler to find, What isn’t looking for you too, Guess i lost something unfindable, Because I still always seek you.
Literature
Leaving Nothingness
A notice, an edict, a treatise. Handwritten as the most meaningful are and passed through a driver's side car window as the spitting raindrops amassed into a legitimate downpour. She wrote: Clear picture in your mind of what you want.... Take Possession (scratched out) direct it to whatever means you desire Cursive, with miniature spirals as the dots, in pencil, which makes the scratching out even more endearing. As I am left-handed, pencils are my sworn adversary, smearing as they do across the page as the hand holding them scoots along towards the right edge. Writing in ink, one has no thoughtfully located eraser option, and peoples congested of thought often have collisions occurring violently on their pages. Engine sputtering hollowly, she backed out of the driveway with daughter in tow, face set with purpose and intention. That was hours ago, before the storm worsened, and the digital interruptions of hazardous weather conditions began brashly erupting from devices
Literature
My Heart is an Ocean
My heart is an ocean, And I sail its rough seas. In a dilapidated vessel, Made of screaming trees. Captain of my own fate, I set course for treasure. Lying buried under depths, Beyond thought and measure. Through storms I sail on, Until I arrive at the siren's lair, They sing their beautiful songs, Filling me with hope and despair. I dive into bone cold waters, My blood freezing like ice, Yet still I swim to the bottom, Willing to pay the ultimate price. At last, I arrive to the abyss, Where I find a golden chest, Inside is a crystal woman, Whispering, "you are blessed".
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I wrote this a few days ago I have no idea what to call it.
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