by Mia M Nakao
Monday, June 16, 2003
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And to you, my dear friend:
When the Clock Strikes Later
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If I close my eyes and think real hard,
I return to my small backyard.
But itís not the same - itís no longer green,
Are you wondering what I mean?
Itís black and sad and big and cold,
It makes me feel so old.
I hate it like I hate you.
Does anybody feel like I do?
This never-ending vicious trip
Flashes of a busted lip
Bruises on my left and right
Nightmares passing through the night.
Do you hate me like I hate you?
I wonder what I have to do
To make you feel the sharp cold ice
It feels so nice...
This is what you get used to
When you live a life like I do,
Always happy with my misery,
Leave me alone; let me be.
Because I donít care how you feel,
Iím cold as snow and hard as steel.
Your little games canít make me hurt,
Iím finished with being your dirt.
And you donít have to love me anymore,
Iím not for sale; Iím not your whore.
I donít need to see your smile,
Iíll be okay for a little while.
But when Iím through
I wonít come running back to you.
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|Reviewed by No Longer Member (Reader)
|hello my friend....a nice write, conveying all that bs that is/was going on.|
|Reviewed by Elizabeth Taylor (Reader)
|Goodness, I hope not. Good last lines. Stick with it. A very good poem. Much emotion.|
|Reviewed by Carolyn Red Bear (The Bear Paw)
|This hurts, Mia, having been there myself. Read my post, Ex. You survive, like I....
|Reviewed by Karla Dorman, The StormSpinner
oh, this one hurts--rips the soul
(((HUGS))) and love,
|Reviewed by Jimmy Mills (Reader)
|Mia--this was tough to read my friend. I hope this isn't a true story. If so, I'm sorry that you are going throught this. I hope that life gets better for you. Great write. Jim|