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Published May 14, 2009
I am a natural redhead.

Freshman year, I was walking to Ms. Brooks' World History class and someone yelled "fire crotch" at me... again.

The result was this poem written February 25th, 2000. I was so distraught I couldn't even think of a title for it.


 "Untitled"

I stand
Frozen by the terror
Of the coldest words
Spat at me
By the villain
With no purpose
Or none that I can think of.
I am confused and unsure.
Not blinding, thinking,
Not knowing how
To position my face,
Project my words,
But I barely know
What words are.
If only I can reach
And grasp
What circulates in your head.
To view what happens next.
Do you know
What I should do?
In those few moments,
What should I say?
During the black seconds?
Or do you
Not think at all
Before you spit?



Finally, I felt I also needed to include this poem as well. Apparently, during high school, I felt very lost and had no sense of identity. Upon rereading this poem now, all I probably needed to do, then, was masturbate more often. This very short poem is entitled "The Search" and was written March 8, 2000.


Brushing my hand
On the surface of the Earth
To react to a bump or a hole
That's been waiting for me.


Thanks for a fun week, FoD. I'll go back to taking out your trash now.
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