Sitting Here With Glasses On My Head Like I Need Them (I'm Sick of Pretending)

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
One of my favorites.

Submitted: September 11, 2012

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Submitted: September 11, 2012

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A A A


I was born to be one thing,
and one thing only.
But how am I supposed to do that,
with you hanging over me.
In the words of a man I have great respect for,
"Where your passerby can see."
If I can't break free,
I'm bound to fall.
But in the end,
Will anyone else care at tall?
Trying not to be corny,
I write my words in stone.
But if I laughed the night away,
I am sure you could atone.
In the end, right beside you,
is sitting there, your quill.
Take up your pen,
And write what you will.
For your purpose is to write me away,
and never let me leave.


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