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Stories. By Clark.

I don't exactly know what I mean by that. But I mean it. J.D.Salinger

An Imperfect Life - Chapter Three

I have never quite felt as though I fully fit in with everybody else. It seems as though they all know stuff that I don’t. The girls all knew when to start shaving their legs and wearing make-up. They all woke up one morning and knew how to do their hair. I still don’t know. This morning I sit in front of my mirror and run a straightener through my hair but it does not turn out like I want it to. It pokes out at odd angles. It curls in and out at different spots. I have to give up eventually. I put on the minimal amount of make-up, to make myself feel presentable to society, and start cleaning up my home.

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Creation - A Poem

How can you call yourself a painter if you don’t paint?

How can you call yourself a writer if you don’t write?

Stain your sheets.

Color your canvas.

Leave your  bright world a little darker

or

paint the black, white, grey scale with a bit of your color.

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An Imperfect Life - Chapter Two


I sleepily feel around a cupboard in the kitchen for a coffee pod so I can brew myself a cup of coffee. I really can’t start my day until I have a cup or two of caffeine pulsing through my veins. It’s a cliché but it’s true. I grab my big blue mug and watch as it gets filled with that hot, perfect smelling brew. Once I have the coffee in my hands and my three-egg omelet frying in a pan, I begin to make a to-do list for the day.

 

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Good Night - A Poem

 

Contentment washed over me in waves.


The night was warm and the buzz of a fan blew a cool stream of air throughout the room. My partners body was still beside me, only stirring with the breath of sleep. It spoke sweet things to me like “I love you” and “I feel your love” and “thank you” and “I’m happy.”

It is the complex feelings of home and of safety and of peace.

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An Imperfect Life - Chapter One