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Category: Creative and Professional

This is a collection of various genres: content writing, poetry, short stories, ect.

Sick of Being Sick

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These lungs sputter like a car running low on fuel.

My exhaust fumigating, contaminating the precious air.

Just Breathe.

I can’t Breath! This chest backfires, coursing microexplosions.

Convulsing.

Violent, like blood smeared highways. Thick liquid.

Unfamiliar taste.
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Letters to Myself

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[05 Mar 2010|11:57am]

I am so excited because I know that, no matter how much more time I have on this earth, I will look back on these past few month knowing that these are the best years on my life. So Kelli, when you read this in the future, remember waking up in Kait’s room and having chicory coffee. Having waffles made with applesauce for breakfast, stepping outside to the beautiful weather, going to work,then a party at which you dressed up as a cowboy. You had amazing friends, you went to the gym every day, and fell in love with your own life.

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[06 Apr 2016|9:26 pm]

Girls will woo you. They’ll smell like warm plops of rain against the August Kansas asphalt — like road trips through the Mohave desert with no A/C and 2 gallons of water in the passenger seat. It will be the best memories you ever had, but it’s not the girls that made them:

When you grasp your fingers into the bark of a 150-year-old walnut tree — barefoot and in dress — and pull yourself up, dusting the dirt off your knees. When you sit down for a greasy burger in Santa Cruz after cycling all day through rolling hills, sand pits, ice plants, and highways through army bases long abandoned. When you paint blue and purple sunflowers on recycled canvas, reminiscent of home — When you rip out soiled carpet and sand smooth the oak underneath giving it new life and creating a home. When you learn to make your father’s chip beef gravy and serve is with fresh,butter biscuits at 7am — clipping coupons as the sun rises over the beach in your backyard.

You did that.

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Run Away With Me  – Craigslist Poem

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Missed Connections Post Id: 5480836772
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You said this to me joking around. I remember we were driving down a rusty, autumn highway.

Dust rising up around the tires. Cow manure smelled like freedom.

I lost myself in the wind, saw our pasts blowing across the brittle prairie grass.

I imagined driving west until we ran out of gas. Then we’d fuel the car on love.

If you ever meant it. I would think about it again.

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