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Waiting for the Call

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A pool of black, black spilled ink
Don't wanna take time, time to think
Not a tear will this strong girl cry
This craven girl, one day she'll fly
Tired of having to reiterate
That no, she doesn't have a date,
And yearning that it wasn't true
Her unkempt hair and loneliness, too.
No redress for the broken-hearted
The diffident, and never-started
She doesn't care when they scrutinize,
Doesn't look in their judging eyes
There's solace in an empty room
But what's to stop impending doom?
Only musty, broken hearts grow old.
Yet, frozen ones only get more cold.
Too meticulous and scrupulous,
Making just too much of a fuss.
It's not too late to fix what's broken
Call her up, let it be spoken.
Let yourself be loved, if you'll allow
You've only got one moment, do it now!
Black, black ink, with a drop of gold
Frozen hearts don't have to stay cold.
This is your story, let it be told...





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This article has 4 comments. Post your own now!

S!we M. said...
Apr. 1, 2009 at 11:48 pm
it really is impressive! incredible, i wish i could write like that =] kudos
 
alanna.of.tortall said...
Jan. 13, 2009 at 10:49 pm
Thank you so much. You are the first person to ever respond on something I wrote on here. It's hard to believe someone who doesn't know me really read read my poem.
 
kmanley This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. replied...
Jan. 8, 2011 at 4:26 pm
ohhh wow... I have changed so much since writing this comment 2 years ago. :)
 
willow.lightfoot said...
Jan. 12, 2009 at 8:54 pm
Impressive.
 
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