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Good dreams don't come cheap, you've got to pay for them and If you just dream when you're asleep this is no way for them to come alive... to survive.

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When Dreams Don't Come True

One day I woke up
Everything was messed up
Somehow I wish I could fix it
But that's a dream that will never come true
When dreams don't come true

When you cry
In the night
You wish someone was there
But no one comes
When you're down
On the ground
You wish someone was there
To tell the truth and care for you
When dreams don't come true

Today was the worst day
That ever happened to me
Someone once asked me
How has your day been
Then I said
I think my life will end today

When you cry
In the night
You wish someone was there
But no one comes
When you're down
On the ground
You wish someone was there
To tell the truth and care for you
When dreams don't come true
When dreams don't come true
When dreams don't come true

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John Milton

On the New Forcers of Conscience under the Long Parliament

Because you have thrown off your Prelate Lord,
And with stiff vows renounced his Liturgy,
To seize the widowed whore Plurality,
From them whose sin ye envied, not abhorred,
Dare ye for this adjure the civil sword
To force our consciences that Christ set free,
And ride us with a Classic Hierarchy,
Taught ye by mere A. S. and Rutherford?
Men whose life, learning, faith, and pure intent,
Would have been held in high esteem with Paul
Must now be named and printed heretics
By shallow Edwards and Scotch What-d’ye-call!
But we do hope to find out all your tricks,
Your plots and packing, worse than those of Trent,
That so the Parliament
May with their wholesome and preventive shears
Clip your phylacteries, though baulk your ears,
And succour our just fears,
When they shall read this clearly in your charge:
New Presbyter is but old Priest writ large.

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I Don't Come Cheap

'Stop! '
She says.

'I will not continue this futile babble.
Unless you offer some baubles and beads.'

~Are you serious? ~
He responded.

'Very! '
She says.

~I'm not paying for nuthin'
I can give to anyone for free.~
He says.

'That's fine with me! '
She says.
'Cause I don't come cheap,
When it comes to listening to BS.'

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I Don't Know If You Knew

I don't know if you knew
But sometimes I think of you
Sometimes I feel happy
Remembering those fun moments we had together
How it would bring me joy to make you laugh
To make you smile - Bright up your day
How I would enjoy seeing you every day
Having long conversations together
How it would please me to pleasure you
Make you feel like a queen - Treat you like royalty

I don't know if you knew
But sometimes I think of you
Sometimes I yearn
Remembering that amazing friendship we shared
Shocked at how horridly it suddenly ended
Shocked at how cold you treated me
I yearn for that strong friendship we shared
Like no other - Like every other
I sometimes ask myself why it is that I still do
After finding out your true self
I guess I'm just a fool - Loved you too much

I don't know if you knew
But sometimes I think of you
Sometimes I feel love
Thinking of you - Your beauty
Feeling that there's no other girl out there
Which could ever replace you
Or one to share the same love I share for you
I don't know why I loved you so much
Or is it love? - I just don't know any more

I don't know if you knew
But sometimes I think of you
Sometimes I try to negotiate
Thinking that I could change
Change for the better
Become the man you want me to be
Get in shape - Be more fancy
Maybe one day you'd come to realise
That you've made a terrible mistake
And that one day, you'll want to make amends

I don't know if you knew
But sometimes I think of you
Sometimes I feel confused
Not knowing whether I still feel for you
But in the end knowing that deep down
I never stopped loving you - Caring for you
I try to tell others that I stopped loving you
Sometimes I even try to fool myself that I just don't care
But it's hard to fool your own heart - Possibly impossible

I don't know if you knew
But sometimes I think of you
Sometimes I feel in denial
Feeling that there's still a chance
I could still fix things - I'd think
It's not too late - I'd assure myself
We could still be close - As friends, of course
I could supress my feelings for you
It's ok - I'd do anything for you

I don't know if you knew
But sometimes I think of you
Sometimes I feel hate
Remembering all the sacrifices I made for you
How unappreciative you were, are
I cant believe I fell for you
I'd love to know what I saw in you
Never have I been able to explain
Not to me - Not to anyone
I wish you had just acted cold from the start
Instead of leading me on for so long
What a fool I was, am

I don't know if you knew
But sometimes I think of you
Sometimes I feel sad
Sad that I never lived up to your expectations
Sad that I could never be the man you wanted
The man of your dreams - Your fantasies
Remembering the times when I was wrong
Causing you to feel sad - Disappointing you
But in the end there was nothing I could do
I just wasn't good enough for you

I don't know if you knew
But sometimes I think of you
Sometimes I feel forgiveness
Forgiving you for the way you treated me
How you handled the situation - Handled me
You just don't know how to handle these situations
Guys who have feelings for you - Or better yet,
Are madly in love with you - You just don't know
But it's ok - I'd say to myself
It's not your fault - I forgive you

I don't know if you knew
But sometimes I think of you
Sometimes I feel regret
Remembering the first day I ever met you
Wishing I could just go back
Reversing everything that happened
Stopping me from going through this pain
Avoiding getting my heart crushed like no other
Not having to spend every day
Wishing that I never felt for you
Wishing that I had never fallen for you

I don't know if you knew
But sometimes I think of you
Sometimes I feel angry
Remembering the way you treated me after
How furious it would make me
Knowing that what we had was all over
Sometimes I wouldn't be able to help it
The anger just gets to me
Sometimes I scream - Sometimes I swear
Sometimes I hit things - Sometimes I throw them

I don't know if you knew
But sometimes I think of you
I guess I've been thinking about you a lot
It's already been seven weeks
I don't know why I've been counting
But I guess I have
But I guess you know that by now

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Patrick White

You Don't Come

You don't come. Your absence is a guillotine. My heart
plummets from the altitude it risked in looking forward
to a day with you outside of time and circumstance, jumps
from the edge of paradise, the flat earth, the back
of a winged horse. You don't come and such
is the nature of love
I go out of the plane not knowing
if I've got a parachute on and my heart
pulls the rip cord to see if there's any salvation in the fall,
any flowers for me in the bag, morning glory
or dandelion seed, or this is just another
mode of acceleration to death. You don't come
and my heart candles without a reserve,
I haven't packed a spare dawn
and though I will make every effort to understand
there's a grave waiting down below like an open mouth
and the void is laughing at the persistent folly
of my believing you would come,
and my fear of not being worthy of love anymore
sends my mendicant self-image out
wandering over thirteenth century Europe like some flagellant
on a pilgrimage of flogging, ribbons of blood running down my back
from salted wounds, and though I know
the expectation and the disappointment are both delusions,
birdshit on the claws of a sphinx, and I will try to be
intelligent and wise about the whole thing,
tugging my heart out like a garbage-scow into deep space
where it will be laced with explosives and scuttled once again,
and I will be awarded another paradoxical brownie-badge
by another scout-master Tibetan rinpoche
for knowing how to survive alone in this empty wilderness,
a tiger of will, a Viking of resolve,
an aging clown without children or laughter, a jester-king
officiating from the throneless butt of his own joke,
a poet with nothing to praise, a painter
with cataracts in the eye and flowers in the sky, I
know there is nothing I can tell myself, no spiritual weed
I can poultice over the vacancy that goes on forever
to draw out the infection from my heart, the gangrene
from the broken pillar of the foolish temple I erected
to serve the goddess in any of her lunar phases,
and though I struggle like a diminished thing to accept my dejection,
to imbibe the toxins from the left tit of the Medusa
while trying not to turn into stone, while trying
not to avert my eyes from this crone-form of the moon, let
Kali drink my blood, in the name of insight, clarity and courage,
good wolf, I know this, too, is delusion, another
projected holograph from the third eye of the pineal gland,
and kick the chair from under
the useless fruit of my head in a noose. Back to earth
without a heat shield. Impact. You don't come
and your absence is filling up with people I like as far as I know
but don't want to see, people who walk into
the sad forests of my solitudinous melancholy with chain-saws
for conversation, stupid lost bored people who just can't help it,
looking for cigarettes and companionship in the life-boat,
the leper-colony, stars on the Titanic, and I am compelled up
from the depths of my cosmic despair like a white whale in a holding pen
to jump for the tourists, make a big splash, make
anything happen to amuse them, and I try, I honestly try, regretting
even the shabby sincerity of my own incapacitated efforts to love them
by pulling something out of the guts
of my own anonymous dismemberment, a hand or an eye or a smile,
and it all feels like the work of a tired ox grinding social corn
on the zodiacal millstone of its own heart
but everyone leaves like a gray day anyway, the sun eclipsed
and I am returned to myself like polluted water
running like a desert flashflood through the dry creekbed
of your undeniable absence. You don't come. You have forgotten me
as you said you wouldn't and all the promises
of intimacy and vivid affection
are unleashed like a plague of locusts on the moon
to devour the open-faced swordless clocks of the flowers
I planted there for you to know eternity in the hour.
I am eaten alive by a million mouths
and even yesterday's demons banished from the feast
are called back from lean exile
to this jubilant feeding-frenzy that consumes without mercy.
You don't come. And I don't blame you. I understand
the flux of time and circumstance, I understand
how a man goes to bed at night thinking
he'll be drinking wine in the morning
and winds up being offered vinegar on a cross,
I understand that there are events that appear like sharks
in this water droplet of a world, that there are crossroads
that baffle the journey with traffic cops
and starless unknowns, with roadkill and dangerous vagrants,
that there are off road shortcuts across the far fields
that seem to take forever to return us to where we began. Alive
fifty-four years, I understand what it is to walk this road of ghosts, a refugee,
carrying your own body to a shower in a concentration camp,
to mistake the apocalypse of a nuclear explosion
for the advent of dawn, to mistake the knot in a river of wood
for a ship on the horizon, an island in the stream. Castaway again
on the cold rocks of some extraterrestrial shore
to follow my own footprints back to me, every life form on the planet,
including myself, a fossil of nirvanic spontaneity,
some indecipherable glyph broken off
the loaf of some lost continent like a crumb of stale bread, a bone-fragment,
a dead civilization, to feed the curiosity of time-travellers
who fix like junkies on the mystery of their passage
through empty alien rooms, though I burn like a library of reasons,
and mock my own scholarship, mustering arguments against myself
to excuse your absence and justify another fleet of coffins
sailing to the rescue, I do understand. You do not come. This negligence
is unintentional. You are young, free, a gust of wind and a leaf
that flares up in a back-alley throwing gold-dust in your eyes,
fire-fly north that can't be constellated, a dolphin off the bough,
and I am no fisherman with a net, no obvious lures,
who's trying to draw you up on deck out of your element,
but a captain going down with the ship, his hands at the wheel out of habit.
You have not come and I am a thousand years older and more correct
than I was on this delirious bird-mad morning,
lyrically awaiting you, than I am now looking upon all these sad eggs
smashed like a junkyard of embryo suns and broken crowns
at the foot of a nest in the bent axle of the cosmic tree
where I hang like the pagan god, Wodin, a sacrifice unto myself,
one pathos to another, inaudibly whispering last words
into the ineffable silence of a non-existent ear.
You have not come and all your reasons are valid. Brutally,
I understand the firewalk of this excruciation on crutches,
limping over hot coals to transcend myself for clarity's sake,
for poetry's sake, your sake, my sake, love's sake, the seeing's sake,
I have worn out the road and the bridges of my feet
with my walking across the rivers of hell to understand:
I am aging and the ignorant insane children of this black spring,
brought up on logos and T.V. only come to look through
the rubble of Tintagel for the lost jewels of Merlin,
for any heart-stone they could pull the sword out of
to establish their own thrones once again
in the fields of glory beyond the round table of the calendar.
I have drunk from the cup and passed it on and all the shining skies
that I have ever walked under, all the legends of my stars,
my former radiance, in their eyes, are cemeteries of dead stars,
black dwarfs and the holes of exhausted graves in space, the blue-white
of their ingathered light that once could stir a planet into life,
now the braille of an effaced epitaph runed on a poet's tomb.
And it's not as if they don't come bearing gifts when they do come,
flowers and compliments to the green patina on my erudition,
small obeisances at graveside, gratitude
for my gray-haired kindness, token offerings to the dead,
to the prophetic skull of one of their ancestors
consulted like the weather or Moses
on the future of the promised land that I'm forbidden to enter. No blame
in their approach to the disembodied, no fault
on either side. I understand. You do not come. No word
to allay the silence, no sword to fall upon in the stoic shadows
of your portentous eclipse, no way to scry, haruspicate, divine
the meaning of the darkness that overtakes me
like Herculaneum under the canning-jar ash of a volcanic heart
putting up preserves. My dick falls off at forty. At thirty
the colour runs from my hair like a sunset. At fifty
I'm a desert in an hourglass. Fifty-four and my blood chips off
like flakes of paint from a dry rose. Two thousand a.d.,
at the turn of the millennium, my eyes turn into clouds,
my tongue, the spent autumn of a leaf on the wind. By forty-nine
all that I remember is on display in a museum, my eviscerated heart
sinks through a convenient tar-pit and my brain, cracked mud,
orders a modest sarcophagus and rents a small room under an affordable pyramid
close to the valley of the kings. Today
I shed a few tears tinged with acid that die
like rain looking for roots on rock and bury my riddle of bones and vertebrae
under the snuffed fire-pit of a cave floor
for an archaeologist not yet born to guess at what I was.
You do not come. I understand. Tired of scratching at my coffin lid,
I must get out, I go to the Perth Restaurant and call to see
if you need a ride even though the wheel
is ten thousand years in the future, fire hasn't been discovered yet
and I'm back in the Jurassic, a tiny mammal, trying not
to be stepped on by a stampede of doomed dinosaurs.
Wrong number. Wrong life. You do not come. I understand,
the flag of my heart at half-mast on the pole of my spine,
and no one but strangers and hired mourners,
mirages and self-inflicted nightmares
to carry me out of my hapless resignation into a waiting hearse.

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Don't Come Cryin' To Me

Throw out our love
Like it was old news
Be sure to wear your best pair
Of walking out shoes
Go take the world
Into your hot hands
You want the music baby,
Go have the dance
Ooh when you miss my love
And you're thinking about
How good it use to be
Ooh when you long for my touch
[Chorus:]
Baby please don't come crying to me
Remember you were the one
Who wanted to be free
That's how you wanted to be
So don't come crying,
Don't come crying to me
Don't you come crying
Walk out the door and go on and go free
Step on my heart like
It's the ground under your feet
Find another lover if you want to
You got to do whatever you got to do
Ooh but when the nights get cold
And you're thinking about
How hot we used to be
Ooh and when there's no one to hold
[Chorus x3]

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I Work To Make My Dreams Come True

My working day draws to its close
The light is leaching from the sky.
The western sky shows tints of rose
appealing to my artists eye

I rose this morning with the sun
And broke my fast at break of day
Then did the chores that must be done
For soon I must be on my way.

I am not yet self sufficient
Although one day I hope to be.
For now I have to be content
with working in a factory.

I am well paid for what I do
I earn enough to pay my way
and add some to my savings too
The same old routine every day.

At half past four I cycle home
Back to where I'd rather be
My collie dog bids me welcome
I loose his chain and set him free

My pot bellied stove may be old
but it still works efficiently
To me it worth its weight in gold
I have no electricity

It heats my home and cooks my food
Cost less than nothing to maintain
All it requires is firewood
And a good clean out now and again

I have my own sweet water well
Although the pump is in the yard
The water flows clear as a bell
I do not need to pump too hard.

Whilst waiting for my meal to heat
There some things I need to do
Before my working day's complete
I feed the goats and chickens too

Then I shall brew a pot of tea
My stew will soon be heated through
I sit relaxing comfortably
There's nothing more I need to do.

Except to eat my meal and plan.
Improvements I intend to do.
I have no doubt at all I can
In time make all my dreams come true.

I am a very patient man
Dreams don't come true overnight.
I knew this when my dream began
It will take time to get it right.

I am quite sure one day I'll be
Free from the need to earn my pay
Escaping from the factory
To live my life a different way.

Growing what I need to eat.
and tending to my goats and hens.
No longer needing to compete
To me my dream makes perfect sense.

Although my friends think I am mad.
To choose to live a simple life.
I am quite sure I shall be glad
To leave behind the cares and strife.

Which daily I'm subjected to
Whilst working in a factory.
Where I am told what I must do.
It is less satisfactory.

Then living independently.
In my own house on my own land.
Which one day soon I hope to be.
My own domain which I command.

No one to tell me what to do.
No one to say me yea or nay.
I work to make my dreams come true
and it draws nearer day by day.

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Patrick White

I Don't Care If You Remember Me Or Not

I don't care if you remember me or not.
I'm not going anywhere. I'll still be here.
But I'm going to disappear soon enough
and you can have the mirror all to yourself.
I can't imagine dying alone is any deeper
than this solitude I've been living on my own.
Take that chisel of a tongue and chip
my cartouche off that gravestone I'm not under yet
as if you just discovered a new talent
for pecking away at death as if you were married to it.

I'm out of here. This is my grand exit. Like Keats
I make it with an awkward bow, the way the deer do
when they come down to the river to drink.
I don't make it in anger. I'm not judging a mirage
because it doesn't slake my thirst for real water.
I'm not bitter, vicious, or proud. I see myself
in you, especially when you're crying without
a knife in your hand you wield like a paper cut
of the last crescent of the moon. It makes me sad
that we live more separately than we ever will in death.
I can remember when you first took my breath away,
and now, if you want to give it back, that's ok,
that's ok, too, as my brother would say, listening
like an amputee to the one-handed applause of the Buddha.

There are gaps, there are voids and abysses,
there are neuronic synapses, godheads, bardo states
and black holes we all have to bridge sooner or later.
Love's one of them. Death's another. And life's
a country road with so many potholes it's shell-shocked.
You can efface my name from your memorial wall
but I'm sure I'll turn you into poetry somewhere
along the way. I'm thawing into tears
like an Arctic ice cap faster than I should
but I'll hold you in my cold, cold heart forever
like a dolmen without snow nobody knows the name of.

More wonderful things get said in the doorways
of farewell through the veils of our motiveless tears
than you're ever going to hear on the thresholds of hello
when everyone mythically inflates their uncontested lies
in the name of love. It's not much of a triumph
to ride in a golden chariot of the sun through a slum.
It's a little vehicle, and come the first serious eclipse,
you're on black ice on a highway late at night on your own,
however many corpses you've sand-bagged in the rear
to give it some weight. Kitty litter and ashes
for traction are better than rose-petals and thorns
strewn along your path. You get a better grip on things
as you're turning your wheels into the direction of your spin
or somersaulting over your handle bars like a cow
that jumped over the moon. As for me. The moonrise
raises a spoonful of ashes to my lips and I try
to take my medicine like a solitary nightbird
sipping from the fountain of a dark muse
like a lunar fish in the watershed of a total eclipse.

I'll never wish you ill. And I'll try really hard
never to dispel your delusions of me as someone
you might have been able to love. Sorry about the discrepancy.
Mirages on a sundial. Lighthouses on the moon.
Sharks and shipwrecks. Shouldn't our dreams and delusions,
our secret nightmares, be accorded the same
ontological dignity as any other God particle
in the transmorphic context of reality? They move
the world as much as mass or gravity and they're
as counterintuitively absolute and constant
as the speed of light. Everyone's trying to write
their own unified field theory to explain everything
all at once to themselves, as if they were whispering
seas of rising awareness into their own ear.

I've lived too long under this cloak of the mystery
I bear as best I can like a mantle of starmud
in the name of a thousand poets who bore it
in their turn to suffer the solitude of their revelry
like the calyx of a black hole in the center of a galaxy
consuming two hundred billion stars in a single gulp
to stay drunk enough for light years to learn
to breathe in the light before they're willing to let it go.
To kiss the bud of the wildflower into the open
and step back into the light like a shadow at noon
and watch it grow without you. Noblesse oblige.
And I don't mean it cynically. The wolf howls.
The dog barks. The road leads like a trail of blood
to a dark grove of trees where everything heals by itself
and death is a retroactive edition of a posthumous future
that lies up ahead like road kill. Like it or not.

Sooner or later every persistent absurdity is interred
in an aura of grace, as if we gave the dead
the benefit of the doubt we begrudge the living.
That said. Still hard to kiss the stinging nettles
like hooded cobras on the head spitting in your eyes
like the Taliban just as you're learning to read
the writing on the wall. So the blind prophets
learn to love the dark. So the candle that's burning
to shed some light on the night and the stars
goes out in a gust of breath like a secret chandlier
on the dark side of death. And what are we left with
that might remotely stick it out with us
in search of a treasure chest that isn't
just another bone box of sacred relics? I used to think
scars from the stars that enlightened us
like Medusas of white phosphorus that bit
like high frequency wavelengths in a snake pit
the moon was agitating like ripples and scales
on the skin of a mirror we thought we'd shed
relationships ago. But now my youth has outgrown me
I go well out of my way to err on the side of compassion
more than I ever longed to know the truth
of what we're all doing here together
trying to stay true to the circuitous path we're on
by getting lost in each other's eyes and arms.

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Good or don't be

If you want to be famous
If you want to be written in the history
If you need a change
If you are chased by troubles
If nobody looks at you
If you are tired to be unlucky
If doubt conquers the world
If life only needs one choice
good or don't be

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I don't come in parts

I DON'T cOME IN PARTS


I
Can't 
Give
You
Ha lf
Of 
Me.
Because
I
Don't 
CoM e
In
Parts! ! ! ! ! !
So if any resason that I don't fit in your plan of a whole, by all means walk and it will be easy for the both of us, because I DON'T COME IN PARTS.

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When I Dream Of You

when i dream of you
my mind is smiling

when i dream of you
my face is warm

when i dream of you
my eyes are crying

i wish it where true
when i dream of you

cuz nothing can happen
cuz dreams don't come true

nothing can happen
when i dream of you

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Good Dreams

Focus on your good dreams, the feelings, aliveness, the sublimeness, the beauty, love, meaning, wonder, such alive real dreams are life of life, they are you, more than you as well as a a head of you, making real your share of paradise now. Actively process bad feelings than move onto your good memories, experiences, feelings, they are the digestive enzymes of the negative as well.

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Don't Come Home

Walk away when you know you should
come back when you know you can't
dream when you're not sleeping
and cry when you're not weeping
slow dance to a fast tune
and howl at an un-full moon
sing to no music
sing to acoustic
laugh at serious subjects
and stare at unique objects
do things normal
be yourself
stay uncommon
feel the unfelt
if things go your way
or if they don't
they'll never say
don't come home.

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Dreams

I've dreamed many dreams

I've screamed many screams

Theres been so many times

when tears kept running from my eyes

but I still go on and live my life

I never stop doing my best

I will never take a rest

Like me or don't

It's what you want

Look at all the stuff i achieved

I did it all because i believed

So don't let anyone tell you dreams don't come true

Look at me yesterday i was just like you

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Don't Come Close

You know it's generally known
You got everything at home
Kisses out of desperation
Bring you more aggravation
And you don't come close
You don't come close
You don't come close
You bring out your souvenirs
Soak them wet with your tears
You lose your imagination
Out of more aggravation
And you don't come close
You don't come close
You don't come close
You turn red with rage
But act your age
Only thing that your regret
You need more time to forget
And you don't come close
You don't come close
You don't come close.


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Bottom Line I Don't Wanna Loose you

Bottom line I don't wanna loose you
I was a fool to give that girl ‘that come hither eye, '
Insanely making me look such a fool that's true
Without you my lovely I will surely die,

Let's fly together on your magic carpet to see
Over mountains thru a soft silken cloud,
Over the rainbow where you'll find another me
Please don't leave me, I love you, I shout out loud,

Like many a man I've been a chauvinistic fool
Never again I've seen the light an' too much to lose,
Here's roses and chocolates to keep you so cool
Lay down by my side let's make happiness news.

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Don't come to my House

Don't come to my house.

I'm not fashion trendy.
I'm not style savvy.
I'm not a "make-up
And foundation" person.

I haven't waxed
My legs.
I haven't tweezed
My brows.
I haven't had my
Facials.
I haven't
Colored my hair.
I haven't yet
Manicured nor
Pedicured.

Don't come to my house,
For if you come, you'll
Come seeking my
Physical beauty…
And push me
Out of my
Comfort-zone.

You are not my hubby
Who loves me just the way
I am.
With him, I can make do
With the barest minimum
That makes me feel
Neat and tidy…
For he loves me
Even if I look untidy ;)


(Poem themed on Acceptance)

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They say dreams never do come true.

They say dreams never do come true..
But they are wrong, I say they do
I dream of violence, I dream of hurt
I dream of children, they live in dirt
I dream of you, I dream of me
I dream of how this was never meant to be
I dream of my feelings, I dream of my thoughts
I dream of these things, I dream of them lots
I dream of my loved ones, I dream of the dead
I dream of these thoughts, exploding my head
I dream of you yelling, I dream of you crying
I dream of you hiding, I dream of you lying
I dream of you hurting, I dream of you shutting me out of your life
I dream of the of the only one I can trust, I dream of my knife.
They say dreams never do come true,
But they are wrong, I say they do.

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I'm About To Come Alive

I can hear you downstairs crying on the phone
Telling someone that I'm here but you still feel all alone
Maybe we were too young
Goodbye, I've gotta go
I can hear the baby waking up
Got to get back to the life I know
I should have never believed him
Maybe I should just leave him
Maybe I'm not but you're all I got left to believe in
Don't give up on me
I'm about to come alive
And I know that it's been hard
And it's been a long time coming
Don't give up on me
I'm about to come alive
No one thought I was good enough for you
Except for you
Don't let them be right
After all that we've been through
'Cause somewhere over that rainbow
There's a place for me
A place with you
In every frame upon our wall
Lies a face that's seen it all
Through ups and downs and then more downs
We helped each other off of the ground
No one knows what we've been through
Making it ain't making it without you

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Don't Come Around Anymore

Goodbye, farewell
I don't wanna see you around anymore
Don't come knockin' on my door
Coz i won't answer it to you
No don't come knockin' on my door
Coz i won't answer it to you

You told me you loved me
but all you wanted from me
was sex. When you didn't get it from me?
You went and got some from a Barbie
If i see you with her
I'll tell her what you did to me

So farewell, goodbye
I don't wanna see you around anymore
Don't come knocking on my door
Coz i won't answer
No don't come knockin' on my door
Coz i won't answer it to you

If you come to my place
I'm gonna call the police, and tell them
Why i had a black eye
Why i am so bruised
Why my nose is broken in two
I wanna tell them but do you

So goodbye, farewell
I don't wanna see you around anymore
Don't come knocking on my door
Coz i won't answer it to you
So goodbye, farewell
No don't come knockin' on my door
Coz I'll be waiting on the other side
With a crowbar

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