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Let me spit it
While I get it
Yes I know you need to run
But first why don’t you sit and listen
To this tale that I have spun
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It’s sick and twisted
It’s malicious
But in the end a lot of fun
So be patient of my verses until I decide I’m done
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It starts out
Let me see
With a girl who’s just a tween
No, not yet a woman
She’s not even seventeen
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But her Daddy says he loves her
As he touches her real wrong
And she doesn’t tell nobody
Because she doesn’t really belong
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She shivers as he whispers that
She’ll never be alone
She drowns out all emotions
As he pushes in her zone
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Her sleeves hold her tears
Until he decides he’s done
And when she goes to school
She is nothing but a drone
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There’s never been a day
That she hasn’t wished for a clone
And every night she prays
That he’ll just leave her alone
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But nothing changes
It continues
As the days keep going by
She feels empty and confused
Her heart is nothing but a sigh
She keeps wishing for her mother
Who had to go and die
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She blames herself for not being strong
Not understanding that this man is wrong
She wonders to herself
Why does this life seem so long
She wonders if she can shorten it
With this sawed off stolen shot gun
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She’s reaching for the trigger
As a tear rolls down her cheek
It’s when she holds her breath
That she hears the faintest creak
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It’s her neighbor at the door
Who heard her all the times she cried
And as she held her in her arms
She told her all the times she tried
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Now there’s a case against him
The man that took a girl and made her into a whore
Took the safety from her room
Even took away her door
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He’s now in prison and she’s been set free
All the sick shit he did
Is just a bad memory
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She thinks to herself
If he had been at the door
She would have killed him herself
But instead she smiles to herself
As she thinks to herself
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He tore me apart but now
He’s gonna be torn open
Because prisoners don’t like assholes
Who fuck with their own children
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The End
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In the end
We start again
As ourselves
But as we’ve never been
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We set upon
What we think others would expect
Not what we strive for
Forgetting all but the neglect
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In the end we hold on to
All the things we could never let go of
We remind ourselves of our faults
And the achievements we will never know
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The mourners come but don’t have much to say
They stand awkwardly
Knowing they shouldn’t be there
But feeling obligated
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In the end we’re alone
No matter the time or money spent
People will always come and go
They never stay for the finale
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In the end
Cling to yourself
Because no one else will be there to warm you
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I deleted “Amanda Flowz Introduction” because I think it will come across better as a video post and everyone will be able to hear how it’s supposed to sound. I know it’s always better to hear spoken word pieces performed by the artist who wrote it. So sooner or later there will be a video post of me performing that piece and if you like it I will post more videos. I have many more spoken word pieces but right now I feel like my regular poems are more reader friendly. Plus, it’s easier to hear someone cuss rather than have to read all the cuss words they write! =D
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I like how people who write poetry and spoken word pieces are called “artists” and not just writers…like all the other writers are called. And I love how when writers are telling their poems or stories to audiences they call it “performing”. Is that because they are on a stage? Not necessarily. More likely it’s because when we have to speak in front of other people, we perform for them. We try to bring them into our work and feel what we felt when we wrote it. We try to move our audience by emphasizing our words. Hence, performing.
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Yes, writers are the greatest performers. We are the only ones who put ourselves completely into our work. Talk about “Method Acting”. We literally live what we write. There is no break period for us. There is no vacation time. Because our words haunt us no matter where we are. Writers have to accept that there is no rest for this life. We can only write about characters who are resting…. That was a joke!
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Hold your head high fellow writers! We will all have our moment!
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It lingers on my skin
This stench
This irrational itch
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No physical phrases on my lips
To ease this discomfort
My wrist twitches
It is condemned with an illiterate curse
Which entails unspoken broken bonds
That do no justice to this restless soul
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Condemned again
With a forced vow
Of this ceaseless silence
Marred with fragments
Too weak to satiate this lust
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As I ponder my confinement
It comes to light
A repugnant odor
It haunts my existence
As it rots my limbs
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Exhausted by feeble attempts
To voice…
This last…
Conscious…Thought
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Pounding, Beating, Pumping
Blood flows
Adrenaline surges
No air
So I gasp
Shallow, so shallow
Demons fly past
But stay near
So close
And I feel them
My skin crawls
As they caress me
As they whisper to me
As they show me what I dare not look upon
But a scream would not be loud enough
Would not disperse them
Would not even be heard
So I claw at them
I find no hold except for a pale flesh
That I rip at
That I cling to
That I tear at
As a crimson river flows through empty fingers
My eyes peacefully glaze
And I am lost no more
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Forgetting that old line
Where the dolls and dames
With the porcelain faces and pin up physiques
Fall into distressed scenes
Waiting for the classic good looks
Of an over eager busy body
To sweep them off of their feet
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While reality seeps in
That maybe they should’ve stayed in this night
Because the sleazy mustache crawling over their skin
Doesn’t seem too unsettled at the threat
Of someone looking for them
No, this isn’t a story
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And it only gets worse
Because the sleaze never leaves their mind
Though some might have escaped
The wrong touch lingers on their skin
So that when Mr. Perfect finally meets them
They don’t see him
They see the sleaze
And they walk right on by
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Ingesting and digesting
Knowledgeable skills and knowable kills
Thrills that spill and leak
Onto what can only be referred to as entertainment
Not so entertaining
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No responsible or recognizable
End to the fall of this strong society
Ruling the night by socialist socialytes
Cutting down our strength in whatever’s right
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No hero in the sky
To fly by and recognize
Or even realize
That we have no way to fight back
Or even know that we should attack
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So we sit back with glazed eyes
And only wonder
Who will never be in that sky
To fly by
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Effervescence
Effervescent
Unearthing
Inequality, surrounding and
Upending any ideals that might
Intend to disarray those
Imposing icons which throw
Spells and cast their shadows
Upon any equal marter
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