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No Good Boys, No Bad Boys

The Petty Player Who Rarely Sleeps

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If Prejudice Were Dumb And Could Not Speak

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The Petty Player Who  Rarely Sleeps

what did she give away
did it all fit into a box
teensy tiny pieces of herself
mismatched like discarded socks

what do you hold onto
what do you let in
what's the meaning to this and that
and of loving of Him

is there any meaning left at all
is it what prompts you to
search the sky
do you gaze glazed as others pass
the past a more distant blur
in the innermost portions of your mind

where did you and it all go
down with Alice
squeezing down her rabbit hole
in the mirror backwards to and fro
your image paces lost

expectations exact a cost
little self-wounds make of you
a moving target destined
to test the winds
like a weary albatross
of all you ever lost

remember little hands
remember your little feet
remember days of daydreams
remember nights of music sweet
remember who you were
when you thought you cared
remember now and how you've developed
your thousand-eyed stare

the night makes sounds
that seem to be your friends
the wind she sighs
and wants
you to listen in

the tree branches bared
scrape against the night sky
and the darkness has grown
with each year the closes in
and passes you by.

legal copyright for this poem
December 5 2023 written directly to the page
and also for this writer Melissa A. Howells
and also for this legally copyrighted and registered site title
Meloo Straight From Her Tilt-a-World

time and date stamped for copyright 6:37PM PST December 5 2023

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