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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Experience · #1512005
Its a poem.
Bless that crooked soul of your’s , child,
You’ve earned it.
Crawling through barbed wire, scorching embers - unscathed was never an option.
In my opinion, a destruction bar demeanor is the only way to get by when life laughs at your disposition.

Regret not the decisions you’ve made,
There’s really no sense in it.
What’s done is done, it is what it is , what will be will be, with consequence or not.
This is a matter of survival, of who has the quickest draw, of who is the better shot.

Spine full of fire, jumping quick to skitter,
Scurry as my cut throat crow and I’ll follow.
Bullet proof, as far as I’m concerned, is what our one has become.
Baby, if there’s one thing you’ve taught me, it’s only the weak that run.

We’ve stitched, we’ve patched , put ourselves back together before,
Practice make perfect, be thankful for the preparation.
This isn’t a battle cry, we’re waging no war, this right here is the fact of the matter,
Let’s see just how far we can get, the destitute give up and the fat get fatter.



Copyright: Jaimie Polkowski
© Copyright 2009 Jaimie Spade (juiceboxjr at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://shop.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1512005-Crooked