Poem of the Week



The poet is a faker
Who’s so good at his act
He even fakes the pain
Of pain he feels in fact.

And those who read his words
Will feel in his writing
Neither of the pains he has
But just the one they’re missing.

And so around its track
This thing called the heart winds,
A little clockwork train
To entertain our minds.

Translated by Richard Zenith

I like how simple this poem is. i also like the beat…it seems to move on its own. i don’t have to think too much about reading it at all. it’s nice and light.

i had a good week-end. it started off real sketchy with car problems and feeling like a robot without feelings, but it progressed into living a little and some fun. i like the st. elisabeth’s terrace. i also like white russians, rosee and hanging out with boys. i also like hanging out with Veronica and Shaun. i do not like having to go to work this morning.


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