

A DedicationA DedicationA Dedication
To the girl who challenges all paradigms Who sanctifies with but her eyes What to myself I relate beneath my sighs And berate my mind for my own fate.
A security blanket if the soul be timid Anonymity burrows my whole daring each breath To be bolder than the last (dare it be shy, dare it to pass) What's causing me to lose all control?
Clutching the clandestine, you are the light To every cry and every fright, you insti- -gate the healing of all you love and all you find But this digs you deeper into my mind.
We create


The Treachery of ExplorationThe Treachery of ExplorationThe Treachery of Exploration
The caption read, "Ceci n'est pas une pipe." The Treachery of Images Magritte. I know my French, it doesn't help me glean The meaning the clever painter once had seen.
Confused, I ponder what the painting portrays. How could Magritte so boldly dare to say This pipe is not a pipe? If it is not, What word or image was the one he sought?
These words assigned meaning in heresy They fit together in conspiracy. And images as well, as if from air Appear in our minds, we expect them there.


LamentLamentLament
My life has stood for servitude A humble violin. I choose my fate as much as clothes Befall the mannequin.
I cannot choose my partner's strengths His music's but a game. Ambitionless, he doesn't care; I sit in muted shame.
He doesn't practice basic skills He has no pride, it seems. But why? His lack of discipline Annihilates my dreams.
My heartstrings yearn for so much more The life of a soloist. Instead I'm belching simple tunes; I wasn't made for this.
I cannot cho
lmao
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