F U C K E D  U P  C O L L E G E  K I D S
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               - t h e  p o e t r y  v e n t u r e -
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       why do others swoon over poetry?  without reading it..
       just knowing that you write it, something drives them
       to want to look into your soul.  your cries that it
       is private, lost on their unwilling ears.

       sometimes romantic, sometimes sick, sometimes everything
       else.  the one thing it always is, is a true piece of
       what you are.  no wonder they want to read it.

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       To Someone

       You have built up someone you wish to be..
       and someone you pretend to be..
       you even tell yourself you are that way, even though you are not ...
       who you wish yourself to be.

       Someone who hurts others before they can hurt you.
       Someone no one can fall in real love with,
        so you never have to have heartache, again.
       Wishing yourself to be someone who is hate-filled.
       Inside a battle between good and bad, right and wrong rage on.
       Not wanting to feel the good, so the bad does not seem bad.
       Doing whats wrong, in hopes of destroying what is right ...
       just like what was so right once destroyed a part of you.

       I do not apologize for how you have become..
       however I do apologize for how I dealt with you..
       Even back then though that battle was beginning to rage.
       A battle which, if I would have stayed - I would never have survived.

       It is to the someone I once saw in you..
       I beg that you let your heart's light shine.
       And, it is to the someone who is today, that I hope never stays.

       Anonymous



       To You

       Sitting down, I begin to read,
       soaking in the words,
       my very blood begins to boil.

       Once you were not a coward,
       you had a heart,
       do not deny, because I know.
       For shared them with me.

       Cares, concerns, loves, likes,
       instead of empty words and that are lies.
       Lies of which you spin ...
       Living a life that even you hate.

       Eyes that held care,
       a touch which warmed me.
       Now hollows and sends chills
       to everything you touch.

       Young and niave,
       wanting more than
       what either oneof could give, a mistake.
       Which changed you and I forever.

       Part is by my doing,
       part is your belief.
       Having hurt one another
       deeper than a boardsword ever could.

       Somewhere the you I once knew
       must reside ...
       will he always hide?

       Look up, stop dragging yourself down,
       and realize you too could soar on
       happinesses wings.
       Be real instead of this one you built,
       which you figure can never be hurt.

       With your creation, you are now
       a shell of what you wish
       would never feel, again.

       In reality  you are murdering yourself.
       And scared to feel,
        you are scared to live.

       Kamira                October 28, 1997



       SURVEYING THE GIRL GRIDDLE

       it seems my house
       is tilting south;
       my two pancakes
       bump into each other in the pan
       like two heaping spoonful breasts
       gently caressed by buttery hands -
       I would love to taste the sweet syrup
       between her fluffy thighs;
       it is true - my house
       is sinking south.

       Indiana Poet            Jan. 2, 1998



       regarding religion

       sinner mocks god in his sleep
       emotional turmoil is sinner's drug
       silly christian, don't you know not to fight?
       i crucified your god in my dreams last night.

       dis



       i don't know when the depression started
       i don't know when i went insane

       all i remember is some girl standing on a road
               some place
                       i cannot recall
       all i remember is the way she wore a look of
                                                    dissatisfaction
       across her beautiful face when she saw my
                                                 gaze.


       i didn't know her                       heart
       i didn't know her                       desires
       i didn't know her                       wants
       i didn't know her                       needs
       i didn't know her                       life,past,dreams

       all i knew was me and my heart
        for it was the only thing that could speak to me.

       i looked down upon her expression
       with a feel of sadness, maybe that
       is when it started, maybe it was
       the day she told me to go away
                                          without opening her mouth

       rage



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       (c) Copyright. All poems copyright by original author.
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       F O U N D E D:                         October 30, 1997