Poetry

I once knew a girl who loved 
things most people shun. 
Every man she ever loved was
terrible to her, terrible 
I tell you. 
But there was something 
about them that intrigued 
her – she loved broken things,
broken people. 
To her, if there was
nothing to fix there was
nothing to love. 
– Christopher Poindexter
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Original Writing

The Thoughts of A Free Verse Poet

With a pen in my hand,
Resting on a blank piece of paper,
And a blank screen staring in front of me,
I don’t think I could be happier,
Than when I’m alone,
With a chaotic sandstorm
Of poems yet to be written
And feelings
Yet to be diagnosed
With words.
The potential for magic
Rests in the air
And it is magnificently compelling.

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