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Created on: July 30, 2009
Existential Christmas
Organs wrapped tightly in flesh.
Pulled together nicely with
mismatched bows of selfishness.
We never sleep a wink.
Only waiting for morning
to rip ourselves open.
Clockwork. We hate what we find.
An existence gathered in haste
from the bargain bin at the drug store.
Angry eyes peer in jealousy.
The others inherited much from mom and dad.
Failing to notice flaws through beautiful shells.
My smiles are a lie.
I find my gift broken, unwanted, and ugly.
Of course. No batteries.
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Poetry: Identity
I want you to give me your name,
Your name to sleep with,
Your name to sing with,
A name I will drive to ecstasy,
Like being
by Jishi Santos
My identity is who I am,
it is my heart and soul,
the very essence of my being
and that makes it simple,
but only if I recognise
My identity is fleeting, and it evades me day to day,
an unknown person in the mirror, living a different way.
Though I ask
Finding my identity
Was hard to do when I lost me
When rejected for who I was
Approval trumped identity's cause
For I've
The hardest question of them all
We all must face both short and tall
Be fat or thin, be wise or fool
Upon the roof or in
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