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The Journal and I

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Pages yellowed with age,
I look upon them, I am honored.
I don’t want to defile any page,
But I, my friend, must be heard.

Although it is just you,
Wise old friend,
How long have we known each other?
Five, probably six years?
I smile a sick one,
Thinking of every past shed tear.

We’re just two tomatoes in a pod,
Aren’t we?
You pull me through,
And I sow the future seeds.

You who enjoys and silently listens,
I respect you, because if it was I,
I would not pay attention.
I would allow shaky minds to learn their own lesson.

I love it how you are silent, as if you aren’t alive,
But we know the truth,
Don’t we?
Just you and I.


You always wear the black leather,
Looking rather tough.
I always wear the faded jeans,
The faded jeans who’ve had enough.

You are just too ahead of my time,
I can’t stand it.
You sit there with your swagger,
You’re heavy with wisdom and random chatter.

You and I,
Speak in silent tones as if secrets are being spilt from a pool of lies.
You and I,
Hide truth from ever-longing eyes.





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