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Poetry
Systematic
By sarahh
28 January 2008
Please don't judge I just typed what my fingers wrote.

Making sure that I am not being followed,
but the gut feeling is making my head perturbed.
Listening into conversations about their insiders life.
Making it indubitable that they are not stealing my plans.
My plans of escape and ecstasy of freedom sovereignty.


Need not of the things that love will bring, only a distraction
to my iron heart that can not bear the pain that passion transports.
My friends fled a long time ago, tired of being dragged along, only
in the end, that their tired, weak, legs couldn't bear my journey any longer.
Family are all passed away, meaning they are weary of my inquiry conflicts.


Everyone told me to be me, and that they would love me forever.
When i demonstrate their guidance, looks of grief and illness fall
upon me. Doctors and therapists gather around me like a pride
of lions gather around a elephant carcass. Needles and instruments
that I do not recognize, they hurt me and I don't even know why.

Confusing beliefs and conviction ridiculed. My mind is simple and
my statement is clear; I did not do anything wrong. But still they
poke and prod. They eat up my life like it is there to be had. They
took away my sense of security and my love of music and poetry.
They took away my life all because of my love of recantation and wealth.

Reviews
Spelling!
Written by audrie (454 comments posted) 28th January 2008
Second verse, last line: passed not 'past'. 
 
Third verse: herd not 'heard' and a group of lions is generally referred to as a 'pride'.

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