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You can’t touch me push me
punch me sing me a lullaby.
Don’t even try to please me.
Don’t ever fathom me.
I’m not the understood kind
your mom would want to meet.
Some would claim I’m easy
but they don’t know me,
don’t want to show me
another way to be above the fray,
to leave the drama far below;
besides I ain’t ready to leave it go.
My angry days ain’t left behind.
I seethe, bake and broil,
my thoughts a tasty turmoil
morning, evening, I’m grieving,
fighting feelings, not concealing
my ocean of emotions.
Emotions are my smoke screen,
my soft sides unseen, unheard
unless you listen closely.
Behind the door of drama
there’s some growing going on,
some whispered hints of song.
Just don’t ask me to confirm it,
deny it with my last howling breath,
refuse to concede the warmth underneath.
My caring’s not for you.
Some things have got to be saved
for some future’s rainy days.
©2009 David P. Eckert
Josh Baker said…
David P. Eckert said…
Paul Grimsley
created this social network on Ning.
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