<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:blogger='http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4376140121284276906</id><updated>2024-12-18T21:24:28.223-06:00</updated><category term="Chance"/><category term="Life"/><category term="Clarity"/><category term="Spiritual"/><category term="Visions"/><category term="Stacy"/><category term="Misery"/><category term="Funny"/><category term="Giveaways"/><title type='text'>Forgotten Times</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default?redirect=false'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false'/><author><name>Christopher Curtis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09147284490786199991</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Lwo6_a_-ai0/TC-7XSNUWzI/AAAAAAAAAEk/hRO4_XgZXaY/s1600-R/37267_1503135424901_1429694865_31354216_2460187_n.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>86</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4376140121284276906.post-7247157540421888594</id><published>2013-06-11T07:21:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2013-06-11T07:21:25.791-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Alberto Stefano</title><content type='html'>&lt;blockquote class=&quot;tr_bq&quot;&gt;
I write because I&#39;ve got a sentence stuck in my head.&lt;/blockquote&gt;
&lt;blockquote class=&quot;tr_bq&quot;&gt;
Description: I have been working really hard on this story for the past 2 weeks now. The story is true, but I changed the name of the guy to protect his identity. A writer must dig a little into the past.. ;)&lt;/blockquote&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was an evening in June. I packed up my suitcase, I was going away to spend the summer in Brazil. And there I met Alberto. He was tall, and a very handsome man. He was much younger, he was like 26 or maybe 28. He had thick black hair,very white totally perfect teeth. He smiled at me and I could see that he was used to smiling at people. His eyes were brown. But his smile was the most perfect thing about him. He was a very clever young man, with great love for music. Our first meeting was in a music store. We met again and again and we became very friendly. When Alberto and I first met I just thought it was a silly crush. Over time he grew on me; I found myself smiling, then I found myself thinking of him. I tried not to cry, but my tears still broke through. I always asked myself &#39;&#39; could it be true, or was this just a one off thing.&#39;&#39;? He made me smile, he made me feel special. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;I knew he didn&#39;t feel the same way about me, but he was absolutely everything I have always wanted in a man. Alberto was like my long lost prince charming, and his personality was indescribable. And I stumbled like I had nothing to say whenever he came around, and being completely shy and unable to express my love for him. I decided to start texting him, and making up crazy excuses just because I wanted to see him. I felt extremely guilty for not admitting I&#39;d liked him at first, but I was crazy in love with him, and totally obsessed by him. I went to bed thinking, woke up thinking about him, I couldn&#39;t get him out of my thoughts. I was so desperate for him that I even considered getting pregnant just so if I wasn&#39;t with him I&#39;d have a part of him to hold onto. I knew this was totally wrong and not sensible, but I wanted and needed him. Alberto and I went into town and had dinner together. We had dinner together every evening for a week. I was enjoying my new life, and so was Alberto. We talked freely. &#39;&#39;Suddenly he asked &#39;&#39; what&#39;s your true reason for coming to Brazil, and do you have a boyfriend?&#39;&#39; I said &#39;&#39; no.&#39;&#39; with a smile.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt; I lied to him because I wasn&#39;t ready to reveal my true identity. I had been up all night working. I went and took a long, hot shower. Warm water and fresh soap can work miracles, at least they always do for me. Afterwards, I felt like a new born baby. I wanted to tell Alberto everything he wanted to know about me. But when you have seen as much as I have, done as much I have, it just isn&#39;t possible to trust anybody anymore. But there was no point in getting depressed. I mean, why criticize what you can&#39;t change? Not that I didn&#39;t trust Alberto, but I never wanted him to pity me, and I usually didn&#39;t tell people my past. Make-up can hide the truth behind a mask. I started joking around with Alberto. He got really angry! I don&#39;t like your sense of humor, Ann. I guess he could see right through me, so I automatically started telling him who I was and my true reason for coming to Brazil.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I told him I was planning to write a book about runaways. Thousands of kids boys and girls of all ages run away from their homes every year. They all come to the big city because they want to make a living, but the big city is no place for a kid. Most people think it&#39;s a wonderful place. Just like in the movies, the truth is very different. The streets are full of sex, violence and drugs. Kids come here with no money in the end the only thing they have to sell is themselves. It&#39;s a short trip into prostitution. I came to Brazil because I wanted to get away from the difficulties I was having at home. My cousin was a beast, a real animal. He was after me all the time. I couldn&#39;t tell anyone. But the truth eventually came out. People didn&#39;t like talking about it. But that doesn&#39;t mean it didn&#39;t happen. It happened more often than people know. Lots and lots of girls run away from home because of that. And once they are on the street humor is like a shield for them. It protects girls like us from going crazy. I went as far as telling him how phenomenal I felt whenever he came around. I didn&#39;t mean to exaggerate whatsoever, but I wanted Alberto to feel the chemistry between us. Alberto was silent for a moment. Then finally, he replied in a low voice: &#39;&#39; I&#39;m married, Ann.&#39;&#39; I was absolutely devastated, and humiliated. I felt completely invisible to him, but Alberto Stefano was a true gentleman. He had a very good personality, and reputation. And to me he&#39;s the perfect, smartest, and most cutest guy ever, and the respect I have for him will never go away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By&lt;br /&gt;Stacy Ann ♥♥</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/feeds/7247157540421888594/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/4376140121284276906/7247157540421888594?isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/7247157540421888594'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/7247157540421888594'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/2013/06/alberto-stefano.html' title='Alberto Stefano'/><author><name>Christopher Curtis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09147284490786199991</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Lwo6_a_-ai0/TC-7XSNUWzI/AAAAAAAAAEk/hRO4_XgZXaY/s1600-R/37267_1503135424901_1429694865_31354216_2460187_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4376140121284276906.post-3938609655302481879</id><published>2013-05-27T18:49:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2013-05-27T18:49:02.498-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Best Friend</title><content type='html'>&lt;blockquote class=&quot;tr_bq&quot;&gt;
Dedicated to dear friend of mines.&lt;/blockquote&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;
I can&#39;t give solutions to all of life&#39;s problems, doubts,&lt;br /&gt;or fears. But I can listen to you, and together we will&lt;br /&gt;search for answers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can&#39;t change your past with all it&#39;s heartache and pain,&lt;br /&gt;nor the future with its untold stories.&lt;br /&gt;But I&#39;m here now to listen and understand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can&#39;t keep your feet from stumbling.&lt;br /&gt;I can only offer my hand that you may grasp it and not fall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your joys, triumphs, successes, and happiness are not mine;&lt;br /&gt;Yet I can share and help you obtain,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your decisions in life are not mine to make, nor to judge;&lt;br /&gt;I can only support you, encourage you,&lt;br /&gt;and help you when you ask.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can&#39;t prevent you from falling away from friendship,&lt;br /&gt;from your values, from me.&lt;br /&gt;I can&#39;t tell you who you are.&lt;br /&gt;I can only be your best friend.&lt;/div&gt;
</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/feeds/3938609655302481879/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/4376140121284276906/3938609655302481879?isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/3938609655302481879'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/3938609655302481879'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/2013/05/best-friend.html' title='Best Friend'/><author><name>Christopher Curtis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09147284490786199991</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Lwo6_a_-ai0/TC-7XSNUWzI/AAAAAAAAAEk/hRO4_XgZXaY/s1600-R/37267_1503135424901_1429694865_31354216_2460187_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4376140121284276906.post-7988717310716785064</id><published>2013-04-26T15:06:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2013-04-26T15:06:08.218-05:00</updated><title type='text'>AFRICA</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align=&quot;center&quot;&gt;
Sand of the ocean runs red&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div align=&quot;center&quot;&gt;
Where the sunset reaches and quivers.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div align=&quot;center&quot;&gt;
Sands of the ocen run yellow&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div align=&quot;center&quot;&gt;
Where the moon slants and wavers.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div align=&quot;center&quot;&gt;
If only my life could be an ocean&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div align=&quot;center&quot;&gt;
Where my wisdom shall touch the world.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div align=&quot;center&quot;&gt;
This is &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Africa&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;.﻿&lt;/div&gt;
</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/feeds/7988717310716785064/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/4376140121284276906/7988717310716785064?isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/7988717310716785064'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/7988717310716785064'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/2013/04/africa.html' title='AFRICA'/><author><name>Christopher Curtis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09147284490786199991</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Lwo6_a_-ai0/TC-7XSNUWzI/AAAAAAAAAEk/hRO4_XgZXaY/s1600-R/37267_1503135424901_1429694865_31354216_2460187_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4376140121284276906.post-6749842340292235707</id><published>2013-02-25T11:08:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2013-02-25T11:37:58.212-06:00</updated><title type='text'>New Beginning - A True Fighter </title><content type='html'>For someone who is only 21, I have been through a lot in my life already. I have always had to take care of myself, because my dopted family never properly looked after me. No one talked about it, it was just one of those things. I was sexually abuse by my cousin, Diamond Daniel Davis. I felt so sick, worrying about what would happen, and I was stressing out all the time. I was 13years old when it started, and the last time it happened was the 11th of April and the 20th of May. ( Many things happen behind closed doors.) I started drinking heavily just to get out of it, so; I didn&#39;t have to think about anything.  People around could see that something was wrong with me, but I was scared to tell anyone; I thought it was my fault too because I didn&#39;t stop it. He used to tell me not to tell anyone; I didn&#39;t know what to do. My dad is my everything, so I explained the difficulties I was having; Which he told me to talk to an adult or try talking to our mom; ( Diamond&#39;s mom) Her reaction was rather disappointing, crocodile tears vis superficial sympathy was all I got from her. I mean I knew I wasn&#39;t her biological daughter, but it hurt knowing that I was all alone.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Suicidal thoughts was my first name, mostly because I was so frustrated I just wanted to disappear. I didn&#39;t see any reason of me living anymore because all the people I looked up to were the ones who brought frustration and suffering into my life; That was why I decided to take matters into my own hands, because I was so sick and tired of feeling like a Nobody; I started opening up about the abuses, and about how damaged my life was to the most amazing women and people I&#39;ve ever met in my life. So I woke up one morning and decided, &quot;I am going to change my life!&quot; Funny! But, I needed to change my life,  because;  I was disrespected, mistreated, taking advantage of and you just mean it, and now, I want to put it all behind me; Have a fresh start and just look foreword and never look back again. All though, that is very hard to do when it has stabbed your heart to pieces, but it really doesn&#39;t matter, because I am just writing MY thoughts, feelings and parts of my life. It may be interesting to others and then... it may not. But, that is what makes people so interesting... they are different, wonderful individuals. Over the past few months I have pretty much gotten everything I have always wanted, a pleasant apartment, met some incredible people, and I got myself a very good psychologist.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I pretty much learned that going to a psychologist didn&#39;t mean you were and are dying from insanity.  It means that you are willing to get some help for example &quot;need help sorting out your feelings, finding solutions to your problems, wants to build your self-confidence or figure out ways to make more friends, or just feeling better&quot;. These people do amazing work, that are indescribable, and I think that they deserve an award for all the good things they do for people like us. Sometimes when I&#39;m alone I imagine how my life would have been if I wasn&#39;t alive today, and the people who would have gone to my funeral would have never known the true caused to my death. I would have been known as &#39;&#39; Stacy Ann, dead and gone&#39;&#39; while Diamond and his family would have lived happily ever after, but Justice speaks for itself, because I am truly grateful that God has given me a second chance to find the real me, and realize that not all humans are the same.  I look at myself as a fighter and a survivor, but I couldn&#39;t have defeated and overcome my enemies all alone. There is this one man that is greater than we all, Jesus Christ, the highest He provides my needs, and he knows my heart desire. I pray to him day and night, and I rejoice in my sufferings because I know I am rich in his kingdom, because he rescued me from my enemies.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Written by Stacy Ann </content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/feeds/6749842340292235707/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/4376140121284276906/6749842340292235707?isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/6749842340292235707'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/6749842340292235707'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/2013/02/new-beginning-true-fighter.html' title='New Beginning - A True Fighter '/><author><name>Christopher Curtis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09147284490786199991</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Lwo6_a_-ai0/TC-7XSNUWzI/AAAAAAAAAEk/hRO4_XgZXaY/s1600-R/37267_1503135424901_1429694865_31354216_2460187_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4376140121284276906.post-6911788163897708029</id><published>2012-12-25T14:38:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2012-12-28T15:21:14.715-06:00</updated><title type='text'>THE LOVE OF MY LIFE</title><content type='html'>&lt;span lang=&quot;&quot;&gt;It sounds strange that I&#39;m afraid of my mom but, my mom can be scary. She has extreme mood swings, and even to this day I don&#39;t know how to deal with her because she called me hateful words. I try so hard to deal with it but, I can&#39;t try anymore to be a good daughter; it comes back to haunt me because whatever I confide in my mother is brought against me in fights as harsh insults.&lt;br /&gt;

&lt;br /&gt;
I can&#39;t have a reasonable discussion with her if we disagree; she gets worked up and angry, will accuse me of &#39;&#39; being disrespectful&#39;&#39;. I don&#39;t talk to my mom/family anymore. I say yes, and it&#39;s like that every time. I used to be worse at dealing with it; basically unable to act because I&#39;d be paralyzed with fear and that any minute my mom would come upstairs and start getting angry at me. She has only admitted once that our family is messed up, most of the time if I brought it up she denies it.&lt;br /&gt;

&lt;br /&gt;
This hasn&#39;t helped me to be confident; When I say there&#39;s a problem in the family, or if I argue against her, she will call me disrespectful, but other people believe in me and that&#39;s what keeps me going, because otherwise I wouldn&#39;t know how to do anything, which is sad. &lt;br /&gt;

&lt;br /&gt;
As a teenager, she would tell me during family arguments that I&#39;m a witch and that I want to kill her. It is so stressful as a teen actually believing that I&#39;d be responsible for her death, and I&#39;ve gotten yelled at for everything we got into a major fight, and she got extremely angry she kept getting worse and insulted me, my intelligence, my ability to communicate, and she said &#39;&#39; I will always be useless and that I will never become anything good in life&#39;&#39;.&lt;br /&gt;

&lt;br /&gt;
I don&#39;t know how families should be; even to this day though I can&#39;t take fighting, I freeze up and if it&#39;s too close to me I get a panic attack. Even thinking about fights makes me dizzy. I was so afraid of my mom that everything I did was done secretly. I got secretly engaged at the age of 18 my  and I met by complete accident. My outlook on relationships was simple: men were pigs/ cows. I had been in several relationships that were toxic—damaging to my self-esteem and to my understanding of love. I was beginning to see love as a joke to make sense of the human instinct to control and manipulate each other, but I was having some difficulties with my adopted mom.&lt;br /&gt;


&lt;br /&gt;
Christopher&#39;s ( My  24 years old) friend introduced him to me when I was 18 he had the most amazing green eyes ever; he called that night, and asked me out on a date. One date became two, then we began to realize something serious was happening. He was different from anyone I had ever met, He was magical I made him smoke a lot of cigarettes those first few months of dating because, that was his thing. I knew he was a good thing for me, but I ’t realize how much I knew it until, I mean he was perfect from anyone I had ever known. He encouraged me to take care of myself and not destroy myself, and ’t accept my feeble attempts to hide behind masks. I think I fell in love the moment he heard my story, discovered my emotional scars, I later referred to him as the one who saved me, because he pulled me out of my self-destructive habits, and made me look at myself in the mirror which, honestly; he made me feel so special.&lt;br /&gt;


&lt;br /&gt;
From the day we met, it was barely a year later when he asked me to be his wife. Our relationship had the expected ups and downs (as any relationship should)we grew apart for awhile, fight, became immature and selfish, but we always found ourselves back together, embracing, and moving as one. I have come to understand the meaning of love as it was meant to be. After our one year anniversary everything changed because, he wanted kids and being a mother was the last thing on my mind and mostly because I wanted to prove to my mom that peer pressure didn&#39;t move me and because I had to move to a new state, and because of that I wasn&#39;t ready to be responsible for Christopher not having the life he always dreamed of, so we broke up and I met another guy, and although I loved him too no other guy have ever made me feel the way I felt when I was with Christopher, and I regret everyday of my life for not being with him, but no matter where I go he will always be the love of my life.&lt;br /&gt;


&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;Written by Stacy- Ann&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/feeds/6911788163897708029/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/4376140121284276906/6911788163897708029?isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/6911788163897708029'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/6911788163897708029'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/2012/12/the-love-of-my-life.html' title='THE LOVE OF MY LIFE'/><author><name>Christopher Curtis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09147284490786199991</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Lwo6_a_-ai0/TC-7XSNUWzI/AAAAAAAAAEk/hRO4_XgZXaY/s1600-R/37267_1503135424901_1429694865_31354216_2460187_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4376140121284276906.post-3444261021579991336</id><published>2012-12-01T08:48:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2012-12-01T08:48:27.016-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Two Side</title><content type='html'>So many give in&lt;br /&gt;So they end up stumbling&lt;br /&gt;And although life is hard&lt;br /&gt;I possess so much pride, &lt;br /&gt;Like a lion in his jungle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My pockets don&#39;t jingle&lt;br /&gt;But I’m rich&lt;br /&gt;Cause with so many characters&lt;br /&gt;I ought to mingle&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As my two souls fight inside&lt;br /&gt;I’m trying to keep my dream alive&lt;br /&gt;To stay focused on what precise &lt;br /&gt;And discard the evil side&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Conditions do change&lt;br /&gt;I’m writing my life on every blank page&lt;br /&gt;So think positive and grounded you&#39;ll stay&lt;br /&gt;Some roads are rough &lt;br /&gt;But there&#39;s always a better way&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life is wonderful, life is beautiful&lt;br /&gt;What you sow you reap, &lt;br /&gt;Now that is truth&lt;br /&gt;So plant good seeds&lt;br /&gt;And reap good fruits.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/feeds/3444261021579991336/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/4376140121284276906/3444261021579991336?isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/3444261021579991336'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/3444261021579991336'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/2012/12/two-side.html' title='Two Side'/><author><name>Christopher Curtis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09147284490786199991</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Lwo6_a_-ai0/TC-7XSNUWzI/AAAAAAAAAEk/hRO4_XgZXaY/s1600-R/37267_1503135424901_1429694865_31354216_2460187_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4376140121284276906.post-1267728961947939711</id><published>2012-10-01T15:04:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-10-01T15:04:54.676-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Mom</title><content type='html'>&lt;blockquote class=&quot;tr_bq&quot;&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;Okay, so this is actually a song I wrote for a very special and phenomenal lady ( My Mom)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;blockquote class=&quot;tr_bq&quot;&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt; From the time I was young, I realized I had someone, you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt; who always cared for me, who always protected me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt; Mom, I love you,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt; you are so wonderful, so gentle, yet so strong.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt; The many ways you show you care, always make me feel I belong&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt; You are so patient even when I’m foolish, how did you find the energy to d&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;text_exposed_show&quot;&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;o all the things you did for me. I can&#39;t comprehend the love I have for you, but I love you more than you&#39;ll ever know,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;text_exposed_show&quot;&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;text_exposed_show&quot;&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;cause you let me know you love me&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;text_exposed_show&quot;&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;in so many different ways, you make me feel so important&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;text_exposed_show&quot;&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;with encouragement and praise. You are always there when I need you, it shows that I’m always in your thoughts.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;text_exposed_show&quot;&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;text_exposed_show&quot;&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;I learned about love from you watching your caring ways&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;text_exposed_show&quot;&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;I learned about joy from you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;text_exposed_show&quot;&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;I learned how to forgive&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;text_exposed_show&quot;&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;I learned what I know about living from you,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;text_exposed_show&quot;&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;and I’m so grateful for all the times you healed my hurts.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;text_exposed_show&quot;&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;text_exposed_show&quot;&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;S.A.M.M ♥ ♥ ♥&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;span class=&quot;userContent&quot;&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Written by: Stacy&amp;nbsp; </content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/feeds/1267728961947939711/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/4376140121284276906/1267728961947939711?isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/1267728961947939711'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/1267728961947939711'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/2012/10/okay-so-this-is-actually-song-i-wrote.html' title='Mom'/><author><name>Christopher Curtis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09147284490786199991</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Lwo6_a_-ai0/TC-7XSNUWzI/AAAAAAAAAEk/hRO4_XgZXaY/s1600-R/37267_1503135424901_1429694865_31354216_2460187_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4376140121284276906.post-4092063976348030856</id><published>2012-08-13T13:58:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2012-08-13T13:58:07.154-05:00</updated><title type='text'>JUSTICE!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style=&quot;margin: 1ex;&quot;&gt;







&lt;div&gt;


&lt;div style=&quot;margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0pt;&quot;&gt;
Hi, this is the first time I&#39;ve ever considered 
thinking about my past.&amp;nbsp; I am a 20 years old girl, and my childhood 
life was miserable. But when did all this pain started? When my life 
did becomes the saddest life a person ever can have?&amp;nbsp; I&#39;ll tell 
you how it all started. &lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;

&lt;div style=&quot;margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0pt;&quot;&gt;
As a child I went through a lot of things, if you 
ever heard of me, you would had known me as the Fun, Nice, Innocent 
next door girl; the girl who had many friends and seems perfect. Did 
you ever truly know me though? Did I really seem perfect? I was known 
as a smart and kind girl, but the years that changed me was the year 
that my parents separated, and I remembered it like it was yesterday. 
When my mom and dad separated, I was sent to live with my aunt - my 
mom&#39;s sister and I was still a little girl at that time, I was like 
2-3 years old. My aunt never had any kid, so she was very happy when 
they sent me to live with her, and since I was still a child I never 
really knew what was going on &#39;cause no one bothered to explain to me, 
but deep down I felt like my parents never wanted me or loved me. My 
aunt did everything she could to pleased me, but there&#39;s nothing she 
could do to make me happy. &lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;

&lt;div style=&quot;margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0pt;&quot;&gt;
After 2 years, I started calling her &#39;Mom&#39; because. 
she was more than an aunt to me She was the mother I wished I had, my 
aunt wanted me to get&amp;nbsp; a better education, so she found a school 
for me, and we both went to the school and she registered me. I was 
very excited to start going to school and making new friends, but it 
was harder than I thought it was going to be. My first day in school, 
the kids made fun of me mostly because I was different, I was very light 
and had very long hair, during lunch time at school, I used to tried 
sitting with some of the kids but they&#39;ll tell me to get away from them. 
I used to go home everyday crying, when my mom (aunt) noticed it, she 
decided to start home schooling me herself. Everything was going&amp;nbsp; 
perfectly until my mom got very ill, it was just the two of us and I 
was 8 years old now, it was a&amp;nbsp; complete nightmare for me, because 
I was now alone and I had no one to turn to for help because my only 
mother in the whole wide world was ill, but luckily for me a lady in 
the neighborhood use to cook food and bring it for me, but it was not 
really a luck because the lady poisoned the food, not knowing it, I 
ate the food, few days passed, I became very ill and I mean very ill, 
but at that time my mom was much better now.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;

&lt;div style=&quot;margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0pt;&quot;&gt;
Unfortunately, the people in the neighborhood blamed 
my mom for my illness, they called the poor and Innocent woman a witch, 
but she wasn&#39;t a witch she was the only mother I had and when my uncle 
- father&#39;s brother heard that I was sick, he came and told my mom that 
he wanted me to go and live with him and his wife, but my mom said &#39;&#39;no&#39;&#39; 
she told my uncle that I was her only daughter and that she wasn&#39;t going 
to let me go, so he decided for them to ask me who I wanted to stay 
with and of course he knew that I was going to choose my mom, so he 
said that there was no point in asking me, that&#39;s how he went in the 
house and collected my belongings and we drove away, I never got to 
say good-bye to my momt and she was crying as we drove away&amp;nbsp; and 
that was the last time I saw my mom. &lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style=&quot;margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0pt;&quot;&gt;
When we got to my uncle&#39;s house, his wife welcomed 
me and took my things in their guest room, but I must admit he had a 
very beautiful house it had everything you could possibly imagine. My 
uncle was nice to me for only a week, and then suddenly everything changed, 
I was not allowed to touch anything in the house without his permission; 
I was not even allowed to go out; in fact, I was not allowed to do anything. 
During my childhood, it was a complete nightmare, all the things I used 
to enjoy doing was all taken away from me. &lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;

&lt;br /&gt;

&lt;div style=&quot;margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0pt;&quot;&gt;
For months, the old man&amp;nbsp; mistreated me like 
I was not a human being. Then finally in 2001 when I was 10-11years 
old, my uncle sent me to my real mom and it never took too long my mom 
and dad sent me, my oldest sister and another family members to Ghana 
and we were greeted by some family, and when the lady saw me she said 
that she wanted to adopt me, I was very happy when she said that, because 
I felt that God truly loves me, after all the things I&#39;ve been through, 
he finally sent an angel from above to be my mom so I moved in with 
them and things was going perfectly well, and then when I was 13 in 
2004 we moved to Norway. I was enjoying my new life now, although, I 
was happy, deep down I was still sad, because few years passed I heard 
no news of my real family. Things got even worse, some times at nights 
when I think that I&#39;m running out of hopes, I cried and cried till I 
fall asleep, then suddenly everything changed to worst, I was being 
molested by my heartless cousin constantly, at the tender age of 13 
and this continued for months, he told me if I ever told anyone, no 
one would believe me. He would come into our room and start fingering 
me even though he knew that I was not asleep.&amp;nbsp; Though I was far 
away from my biological parents, we communicate through phones; my dad 
was the only person I could talk to freely without being afraid because 
he showed me that he cared and loves me, so he was the first person 
I told&amp;nbsp; the day after my cousin fingered me,&amp;nbsp; and my dad told 
me to keep it to myself because no one in the family would believe me 
especially my aunt, and it was understandable enough because I always 
had that fear in me to open up to my aunt. Even when I was down, and 
needed someone to talk to, I tried showing some signs that something 
awful and unbearable was happening to me, but I was ignored. &lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;

&lt;br /&gt;

&lt;div style=&quot;margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0pt;&quot;&gt;
Then a year or 2 passed and we moved to a new state 
and although I was not being molested, I was mentally destroyed. I had 
lots of flashbacks as to when I was younger, and it was very difficult 
for me to concentrate in school. I was taking advantage of and disrespected, 
but as a child I grew up lying, making up stories and convincing everyone 
that I was okay and everything is perfect, but that is fairly common 
among abused/molested children, but I want for my family to know that 
no matter how they try to destroy me, I will always have a smile on 
my face, because I know that everything they&#39;ve done or are doing to 
me, one very beautiful day I will be the one smiling and jumping with 
joy.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;

&lt;div style=&quot;margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0pt;&quot;&gt;
And for those of you who would read my story, please, 
if you&#39;ve gone, or are going through the same thing I went through, 
try contacting a psychologists to get some help, because this is a very 
serious situation. It happened to me twice after so many years of forgiving 
my cousin, this is why I said to myself &#39;&#39;people must get to know the 
truth&#39;&#39; and to be honest, I don&#39;t care how some people will look at 
me, because all I want is justice simple, this is something I&#39;ve always 
been praying and hoping to get one day. &lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;

&lt;div style=&quot;margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0pt;&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: bold;&quot;&gt;JUSTICE!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;

&lt;blockquote class=&quot;tr_bq&quot;&gt;
&lt;div style=&quot;margin-left: 0pt; margin-right: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0pt;&quot;&gt;
Story by: Stacy&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/blockquote&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/feeds/4092063976348030856/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/4376140121284276906/4092063976348030856?isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/4092063976348030856'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/4092063976348030856'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/2012/08/justice.html' title='JUSTICE!!!'/><author><name>Christopher Curtis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09147284490786199991</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Lwo6_a_-ai0/TC-7XSNUWzI/AAAAAAAAAEk/hRO4_XgZXaY/s1600-R/37267_1503135424901_1429694865_31354216_2460187_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4376140121284276906.post-4259889162633902115</id><published>2012-06-20T23:26:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2012-06-20T23:26:48.843-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Really now?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align=&quot;center&quot;&gt;
You think you&#39;re cool, right?&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div align=&quot;center&quot;&gt;
I tell you this, one of three Americans die of cancer,&lt;br /&gt;
you know? Asshole. You&#39;re gonna be one of those.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div align=&quot;center&quot;&gt;
I don&#39;t have the courage&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div align=&quot;center&quot;&gt;
to kick your ass directly.&lt;br /&gt;
Don&#39;t have enough courage for that,&lt;br /&gt;
I could, you know.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div align=&quot;center&quot;&gt;
You know you&#39;re gonna have another accident?&lt;br /&gt;
You know I&#39;m involved with black magic?&lt;br /&gt;
*uck you. Die. Bastard.&lt;br /&gt;
You think you&#39;re so cool, hm? Asshole.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div align=&quot;center&quot;&gt;
And if I ever see your *ucking face around,&lt;br /&gt;
In Europe or Italy,&lt;br /&gt;
Well I&#39;ll -- That time I&#39;m gonna kick your ass.&lt;br /&gt;
*uck you. *ucking Americans, Yankee.&lt;br /&gt;
You&#39;re gonna die outta cancer, I promise.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div align=&quot;center&quot;&gt;
No one does what you did to me.&lt;br /&gt;
You wanna know something? *uck you.&lt;br /&gt;
I want your *alls smashed, eat *hit. Bastard.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div align=&quot;center&quot;&gt;
I hope somebody in your family dies soon.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div align=&quot;center&quot;&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div align=&quot;center&quot;&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;
Dear reader,&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;
No I do not think I&#39;m &quot;cool&quot;, I&#39;m just Chance. One of One Americans die of old age, so what&#39;s your point?&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div align=&quot;center&quot;&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/feeds/4259889162633902115/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/4376140121284276906/4259889162633902115?isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/4259889162633902115'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/4259889162633902115'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/2012/06/really-now.html' title='Really now?'/><author><name>Christopher Curtis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09147284490786199991</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Lwo6_a_-ai0/TC-7XSNUWzI/AAAAAAAAAEk/hRO4_XgZXaY/s1600-R/37267_1503135424901_1429694865_31354216_2460187_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4376140121284276906.post-3679422488039837599</id><published>2012-06-16T20:12:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2012-06-16T20:12:53.096-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The End</title><content type='html'>I&#39;ve tried writing this blog post now several times before, when the party is over and the liquor is no more, I&#39;ll tell you now that living has become somewhat of a chore, and following their rules is somewhat of a Godforsaken bore. I say God because I&#39;m programmed but I believe in none, I&#39;ve seen no interventions and I see no holy sons but if I&#39;m wrong than strike me down and break these breathing lungs, just take these words, reverse them back upon my evil tongue, but fuck I&#39;ve seen children harm each other like it&#39;s second nature and some just want to watch the world burn and bang upon the drums, chaos has a melody and death is like a song, that&#39;s why I&#39;m hanging the noose, waiting for the end.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/feeds/3679422488039837599/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/4376140121284276906/3679422488039837599?isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/3679422488039837599'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/3679422488039837599'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/2012/06/end.html' title='The End'/><author><name>Christopher Curtis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09147284490786199991</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Lwo6_a_-ai0/TC-7XSNUWzI/AAAAAAAAAEk/hRO4_XgZXaY/s1600-R/37267_1503135424901_1429694865_31354216_2460187_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4376140121284276906.post-6617928308414404414</id><published>2012-03-04T18:49:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2012-03-04T18:49:50.549-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Don&#39;t</title><content type='html'>I don&#39;t ever want a God to hide behind the scars I leave&lt;br /&gt;
I only want the crucifix, moralistic bullshit weaved&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
in and out of cloudy pores, arteries that are not mine&lt;br /&gt;
A billion dollar enterprise. Jesus has a trademark sign.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I don&#39;t know anybody and I don&#39;t know what&#39;s mine.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I don&#39;t ever want a Girl to hide behind the mess I make&lt;br /&gt;
I only want to treat her right, even if it&#39;s worse that way&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
In and out of failed romance, these memories no longer mine&lt;br /&gt;
but somehow when she looks at me, I am still the past defined&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I won&#39;t hurt anybody and I won&#39;t survive.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I don&#39;t ever want to do what I&#39;ve done forever now&lt;br /&gt;
I don&#39;t ever want it new, I just want to have it raw.&lt;br /&gt;
I don&#39;t ever want to be the past-tense or the present flaw.&lt;br /&gt;
I don&#39;t ever want it new, I just want to have it raw. &lt;br /&gt;
Even if it&#39;s bound to break, and even if it&#39;s only words&lt;br /&gt;
I&#39;ll hold you as the whole world shakes, the two of us will become birds&lt;br /&gt;
and fly away to somewhere else, a universe that doesn&#39;t suck&lt;br /&gt;
and people care about you, too. But they still don&#39;t really give a fuck&lt;br /&gt;
about the petty and the broken, maybe they are cracking too&lt;br /&gt;
and if everybody&#39;s crazy then it&#39;s really nothing new&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I don&#39;t know anybody and I don&#39;t know what&#39;s mine&lt;br /&gt;
I want to return to the flooding and drown in its time&lt;br /&gt;
When chance resembles birthday candles&lt;br /&gt;
Breathe them deep and let me go&lt;br /&gt;
It&#39;s really not what you can handle&lt;br /&gt;
It&#39;s just what you refuse to know&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So I don&#39;t ever want an afterlife. I tire of the life I lead&lt;br /&gt;
I only want to become dirt, but I could settle as a tree&lt;br /&gt;
I don&#39;t ever want to be again, I can&#39;t just be as-is today&lt;br /&gt;
Without the worst in every person coming back into the shade&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
and I can&#39;t tell if I&#39;m here with them or if they&#39;re here with me&lt;br /&gt;
but in the end it stays the same. The projection&#39;s all I see.&lt;br /&gt;
I don&#39;t know anybody and I don&#39;t know what&#39;s mine.&lt;br /&gt;
I don&#39;t ever want to see myself, I even run from my reflection&lt;br /&gt;
I gut myself internally through daily photographic sessions&lt;br /&gt;
To push myself off of a cliff, where south&#39;s the lone direction&lt;br /&gt;
I am the prize of a flu-like life. I&#39;m a bacterial infection.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I don&#39;t ever want to view it as a pure, wasted potential&lt;br /&gt;
A harvest moon inside my belly glowing like a lightning-bug&lt;br /&gt;
Snuffing out the best of me but at least I have a stomach, full.&lt;br /&gt;
It&#39;s my own little hell and it&#39;s my least-favorite drug.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But I&#39;m addicted to that unique brand of quiet&lt;br /&gt;
and I&#39;m sick to the touch in the front lines of war&lt;br /&gt;
So she&#39;s afflicted when it&#39;s dark, she&#39;s an endless riot&lt;br /&gt;
I set myself on fire! It doesn&#39;t matter what it&#39;s for.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I don&#39;t ever want to make believe in the consequence of sin&lt;br /&gt;
I only want to free myself. I want to feel again!&lt;br /&gt;
And not just as a sputter, like a broken exhaust pipe&lt;br /&gt;
I want to travel on bare feet for the rest of my life&lt;br /&gt;
With one that I can call my own. I don&#39;t ever want to be alone&lt;br /&gt;
Consider it a win if the past has a unique tone.&lt;br /&gt;
Bouncing from the satellites to over privileged white kid&#39;s homes&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Where food is choice and choice is moot&lt;br /&gt;
We settle on some sour fruit &lt;br /&gt;
and make the worst of passing time&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
By avoiding one another&#39;s eyes&lt;br /&gt;
We can successfully avoid ourselves.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/feeds/6617928308414404414/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/4376140121284276906/6617928308414404414?isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/6617928308414404414'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/6617928308414404414'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/2012/03/dont.html' title='Don&#39;t'/><author><name>Christopher Curtis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09147284490786199991</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Lwo6_a_-ai0/TC-7XSNUWzI/AAAAAAAAAEk/hRO4_XgZXaY/s1600-R/37267_1503135424901_1429694865_31354216_2460187_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4376140121284276906.post-3868708276501566406</id><published>2012-03-01T21:06:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2012-03-01T21:06:56.949-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Broken Blues</title><content type='html'>I&#39;ve got those Broken Blues,&lt;br /&gt;
It&#39;s a path that I choose,&lt;br /&gt;
Refuse to live a life less ordinary,&lt;br /&gt;
Even though it&#39;s a little more weight for me to carry,&lt;br /&gt;
I&#39;m very ashamed,&lt;br /&gt;
Find a way to live in between reality and these dreams.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I write to the sounds of empty sidewalks,&lt;br /&gt;
Outline my wallet in chalk,&lt;br /&gt;
If a odometer could, I&#39;d be shocked,&lt;br /&gt;
All the spots I&#39;ve walked,&lt;br /&gt;
Movement is what Chris is all about,&lt;br /&gt;
I&#39;ll flat-line, before I can afford a flat-screen,&lt;br /&gt;
Don&#39;t have the cream to get the gleam of the spotlight,&lt;br /&gt;
Got me feeling blue like frostbite,&lt;br /&gt;
Nothing seems to cost right,&lt;br /&gt;
Give me a free meal and I&#39;ll clean up the plate,&lt;br /&gt;
A worthless poet, &lt;br /&gt;
Too good but yet nothing I inspired to be,&lt;br /&gt;
I don&#39;t care about a steady paycheck,&lt;br /&gt;
Just want to make something for auto-checks,&lt;br /&gt;
It makes sense but not dollars,&lt;br /&gt;
I&#39;m just a guy whose not claiming to be a baller,&lt;br /&gt;
It&#39;s time to elevate,&lt;br /&gt;
I grow taller,&lt;br /&gt;
Like red woods, I hope what I say could,&lt;br /&gt;
Put your world, on a slide-stand,&lt;br /&gt;
Now that&#39;s a somebody who might take a Chance.&lt;br /&gt;
You can when you can that you think you can choose,&lt;br /&gt;
I don&#39;t pay bills, I pay dues,&lt;br /&gt;
I&#39;m broke, just like a blown fuse.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I was living at a desk, every day in the same place,&lt;br /&gt;
Felt blue like a mood ring,&lt;br /&gt;
Yet I hate being routine,&lt;br /&gt;
I like to do what you dream,&lt;br /&gt;
and always got a new scheme to keeps things moving,&lt;br /&gt;
As for me,&lt;br /&gt;
I got what I always wanted,&lt;br /&gt;
and she&#39;s begging me to stay,&lt;br /&gt;
another day,&lt;br /&gt;
another light,&lt;br /&gt;
paying dues, what the hell do I have to do,&lt;br /&gt;
I try to be the best man that I can and handle my life,&lt;br /&gt;
If your going my way, there&#39;s no way back,&lt;br /&gt;
No matter the weather, &lt;br /&gt;
I won&#39;t stop to pay no never-minds.&lt;br /&gt;
Inspire me or get out my way,&lt;br /&gt;
Live as I choose these Broken Blues,&lt;br /&gt;
It&#39;s tiring,  but I&#39;m on my way,&lt;br /&gt;
what you don&#39;t need, &lt;br /&gt;
you won&#39;t lose,&lt;br /&gt;
I&#39;m happy despite my dismay,&lt;br /&gt;
De-La says you don&#39;t need something you lose,&lt;br /&gt;
These are just the Broken Blues.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/feeds/3868708276501566406/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/4376140121284276906/3868708276501566406?isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/3868708276501566406'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/3868708276501566406'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/2012/03/broken-blues.html' title='The Broken Blues'/><author><name>Christopher Curtis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09147284490786199991</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Lwo6_a_-ai0/TC-7XSNUWzI/AAAAAAAAAEk/hRO4_XgZXaY/s1600-R/37267_1503135424901_1429694865_31354216_2460187_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4376140121284276906.post-63491105671658317</id><published>2012-01-27T14:32:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2012-01-27T14:32:58.807-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Epidemic</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;My friends, we have entered an epidemic. Your mind is in a state of confusion; blinded, by the glamorous, the goal, the fast-life.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;Children please hear me as I speak, I walk the same streets as you do and see your troubled faces; and your pain is clear. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;I too have seen the black cloud which pain brings to your sky. I too have seen the world as my enemy, for myself is nothing, and the only role-models I had also lived under that same black sky as I did. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;Seems I would never see my sun shine and a happy place is a million miles away. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;Well I&#39;ve seen some fair and two wrongs don&#39;t make a right. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;The world is your Esther, which the only life you lead is the one you make for yourself. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;Choose wisely, for you have to live with your decisions until you pass. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;The path of self-discovery cannot begin with the first steps of another; this cannot continue. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;As we gather at funerals to cry for our lost; celebrate life, and give comfort to those in mourning who questions still remain. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;Will our prayers ever be answered? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;Can we actually achieve change? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;I stare in my sleep with wonder because I Chris pledge to give my life to this cause. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;A cause which saves lives instead of taking them. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;So stand with me, for the end must be now. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;It&#39;s time to put the weapons down.&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/feeds/63491105671658317/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/4376140121284276906/63491105671658317?isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/63491105671658317'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/63491105671658317'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/2012/01/epidemic.html' title='Epidemic'/><author><name>Christopher Curtis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09147284490786199991</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Lwo6_a_-ai0/TC-7XSNUWzI/AAAAAAAAAEk/hRO4_XgZXaY/s1600-R/37267_1503135424901_1429694865_31354216_2460187_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4376140121284276906.post-7468737750764309921</id><published>2011-11-11T08:41:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2012-02-05T20:52:34.684-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Drowning</title><content type='html'>Waves upon waves keep me down,&lt;br /&gt;
and I cant get to the top,&lt;br /&gt;
but when I get there ill still be nowhere,&lt;br /&gt;
cause i cant find the one i love,&lt;br /&gt;
and if i make it out,&lt;br /&gt;
then we should talk about,&lt;br /&gt;
how you left me,&lt;br /&gt;
just how you left me,&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
drowning again,&lt;br /&gt;
drowning again,&lt;br /&gt;
drowning again,&lt;br /&gt;
you should come see how would it would be,&lt;br /&gt;
to come drown with me.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
days upon days Ive been floating,&lt;br /&gt;
and you don&#39;t care if i die tonight,&lt;br /&gt;
but when I&#39;m deceased i hope you will be, &lt;br /&gt;
dying next to me and my boat of regret,&lt;br /&gt;
and before we go i want my baby to know,&lt;br /&gt;
how it would it is to be,&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
drowning again,&lt;br /&gt;
drowning again,&lt;br /&gt;
drowning again,&lt;br /&gt;
you should come see how would it would be.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/feeds/7468737750764309921/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/4376140121284276906/7468737750764309921?isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/7468737750764309921'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/7468737750764309921'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/2011/11/drowning.html' title='Drowning'/><author><name>Christopher Curtis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09147284490786199991</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Lwo6_a_-ai0/TC-7XSNUWzI/AAAAAAAAAEk/hRO4_XgZXaY/s1600-R/37267_1503135424901_1429694865_31354216_2460187_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4376140121284276906.post-2794520246428451356</id><published>2011-10-05T14:32:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-10-05T14:32:33.502-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Lost Within A Person</title><content type='html'>You love people less than they deserve,&lt;br /&gt;
You hate people before they&#39;ve even earned it,&lt;br /&gt;
You tie yourself in knots over nothing,&lt;br /&gt;
And nothing makes sense even after you&#39;ve learned it.&lt;br /&gt;
So you die inside and hide your meaning,&lt;br /&gt;
Where you are always and will forever be returning-&lt;br /&gt;
To shame.&lt;br /&gt;
You live your life always in the dark,&lt;br /&gt;
Always looking for someone to rip out your heart,&lt;br /&gt;
Searching for a way to get everything,&lt;br /&gt;
But everything can&#39;t hold your broken pieces apart.&lt;br /&gt;
No everything isn&#39;t nothing as it may seem,&lt;br /&gt;
You have to live knowing you&#39;ll always be returning-&lt;br /&gt;
To shame.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/feeds/2794520246428451356/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/4376140121284276906/2794520246428451356?isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/2794520246428451356'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/2794520246428451356'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/2011/10/lost-within-person.html' title='Lost Within A Person'/><author><name>Christopher Curtis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09147284490786199991</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Lwo6_a_-ai0/TC-7XSNUWzI/AAAAAAAAAEk/hRO4_XgZXaY/s1600-R/37267_1503135424901_1429694865_31354216_2460187_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4376140121284276906.post-4219828941678219143</id><published>2011-09-17T17:24:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-09-17T17:24:15.501-05:00</updated><title type='text'>9/11 and Death Of Art</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;We just had the tenth anniversary of September 11 (2001). I really didn’t want to touch up on this event because most of the internet is already running it into the ground. I realize though, there’s a lot of kids around the age of 14,15,etc..&amp;#160; who we’re just little ass kids when this happened and basically they really don’t remember a time when 9/11 happened or events before it, so enough about that.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&amp;#160;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&amp;#160;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Around the time of 9/11 though, there was a big debate on sensationalism and how music and movies are making kids get the wrong input on things or make them do things that the society deems unjustifiable; instead they should be more focused on the “art” of todays’ economics. Ask yourself this, a kid in today’s society who doesn’t watch tv or listen to music but plays video games all day deems that video game as an “art”, or when a singer justifies her or his music as a art? For example “Lady Gaga” dresses in undergarments half the time though some of the public media says that’s art when others juxtapose it to non-sense. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&amp;#160;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Point being is that no one is neither right nor wrong about who is doing what in todays world nor do we the people care about what is getting done about it. No man has more or less power or another and that’s the cruel facts we need to get over and stop arguing.&amp;#160; &lt;/p&gt;  </content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/feeds/4219828941678219143/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/4376140121284276906/4219828941678219143?isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/4219828941678219143'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/4219828941678219143'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/2011/09/911-and-death-of-art.html' title='9/11 and Death Of Art'/><author><name>Christopher Curtis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09147284490786199991</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Lwo6_a_-ai0/TC-7XSNUWzI/AAAAAAAAAEk/hRO4_XgZXaY/s1600-R/37267_1503135424901_1429694865_31354216_2460187_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4376140121284276906.post-9142966617792521688</id><published>2011-08-10T13:57:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-08-10T13:57:15.478-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Clockwork</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;That Mr. Bob looked all over town,   &lt;br /&gt;But he won&#39;t find me now for I&#39;m off coastward bound.    &lt;br /&gt;And I&#39;m trading the smog for some fresh salt sea air    &lt;br /&gt;And he&#39;ll never catch on that I&#39;m there.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;I was once his apprentice, in the clock-making trade,   &lt;br /&gt;And the miser made me work for every penny of my wage.    &lt;br /&gt;Till he found he could replace me with a machine,    &lt;br /&gt;And he threw me right out on the street.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;I&#39;m not the type who would grovel and pray   &lt;br /&gt;That he deign to recant and permit to stay,    &lt;br /&gt;So I cursed him and left and I solemnly swore that he&#39;d pay.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Now Mr. Bob has very poor eyes,   &lt;br /&gt;And he never did see me when he left work at night.    &lt;br /&gt;And once in a while he would forget to check    &lt;br /&gt;That his workshop back window was closed.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;No I&#39;m not a burglar and I&#39;m no vandal nor.   &lt;br /&gt;The old man had to suffer, but I wanted something more:    &lt;br /&gt;I wanted him to feel it and know it was me,    &lt;br /&gt;And I knew that his clocks were the key.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;I sat in his workshop, my thoughts running wild,   &lt;br /&gt;Then it suddenly hit me, and I looked up and I smiled    &lt;br /&gt;For I knew that I&#39;d have him and I knew that I&#39;d do it in style.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;I tell you that clockwork&#39;s a powerful thing;   &lt;br /&gt;There&#39;s a terrible strength in those tightly wound springs.    &lt;br /&gt;And a gentleman&#39;s pocket watch stays by his heart,    &lt;br /&gt;And that&#39;s where the damage can start.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Now I&#39;m no machine but I can work when I choose,   &lt;br /&gt;With hands good as any when I&#39;ve something to prove.    &lt;br /&gt;So I stayed up all night among cogs, springs and screws,    &lt;br /&gt;And I didn&#39;t stop till I was through.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;I rigged up a watch to do more than just chime ,   &lt;br /&gt;And I didn&#39;t baulk once at the depth of my crime -    &lt;br /&gt;A most perfect invention that still kept immaculate time.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;The next week a young man stopped by in the shop,   &lt;br /&gt;Took a shine to a timepiece and paid on the spot.    &lt;br /&gt;He wound it, and wore it, and at 6 on the dot    &lt;br /&gt;He came to a messy and permanent stop.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Now Mr. Bob&#39;s got blood on his hands,   &lt;br /&gt;And he barely made bail, he&#39;s a ruined man,    &lt;br /&gt;And surely he knows who his downfall was planned by,&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;It&#39;s all worked out like clockwork.&lt;/p&gt;  </content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/feeds/9142966617792521688/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/4376140121284276906/9142966617792521688?isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/9142966617792521688'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/9142966617792521688'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/2011/08/clockwork.html' title='Clockwork'/><author><name>Christopher Curtis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09147284490786199991</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Lwo6_a_-ai0/TC-7XSNUWzI/AAAAAAAAAEk/hRO4_XgZXaY/s1600-R/37267_1503135424901_1429694865_31354216_2460187_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4376140121284276906.post-566274586841232684</id><published>2011-08-02T14:38:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-08-02T14:38:00.736-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Lost Without Hope</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Saturday&amp;#160; the thirtieth of July&lt;/strong&gt;, the patients’ passing seizures are becoming more pronounced by the day; the under-lying cause, seems to be a slow and progressive decay.; if I don’t find a cure, I fear that my patient must surely fade away, but I swear, I’ll apply my science. It’s for the cause, breaking no defiance. I’ll deliver her, from this melody, she’ll dance again, and I’ll never forget, when our first recording, and she faced me, and her eyes were gleaming, in the moonlight, and she spoke so sweetly “&lt;em&gt;Don’t let me go my darling, hold me safely till the morning. Promise when the lights are fading. You’ll save me.”.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&amp;#160;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Sunday, the thirty-first of July&lt;/strong&gt;,&amp;#160; her worrying symptom has reared it’s&amp;#160; head week. She’s been bed-bound for a month, and now the patient is no longer able to speak. She tries to utter sounds, but the grip of the illness is strong and the patient is weak. On the bed, in a cold sweat, like a corpse, but she’ll live yet; when I find the cure; I can surely promise; she’ll laugh again, like she did; on our wedding day; when we danced, and laughed the night away, and now I can hear her say “ &lt;em&gt;Don’t let me go my darling, hold me safely till the morning, promise when the lights are fading, you’ll save me&lt;/em&gt;”&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&amp;#160;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Monday, the first of August&lt;/strong&gt;, the patient no longer response to stimuli of any kind. She’s now my only charge. I cloth her and feed her, and nightly I read by her side. For though she’s paralyzed. I know that inside there still is a functioning mind. Neatly laid, on the bed-sheet, I can still hear her fading heartbeat, I’ll keep her stable,&amp;#160; and continue my research; she’ll smile again, and I must, bring her back to me, in her eyes I can see the gleam. In my mind I can hear her breathing. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&amp;#160;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Tuesday, the second of August&lt;/strong&gt;, my latest apparatus is the only thing keeping her alive. I had to stop her heart, the mechanical replacement will ensure the other organs can survive. Her body is destroyed, but what nature has neglected the fruit of modern science shall provide, and I’ve broken every code of practice, but for my love, I’d shift the planets’ axis; she’ll return to me, when she’s been repaired, she’ll live again, &lt;strong&gt;and I swear, I can see the gleam, in her eyes,&amp;#160; amidst the new machines, and at night, &lt;/strong&gt;I can hear her whisper “&lt;em&gt;Don’t let me go my darling, hold me safely till the morning, promise when the lights are fading, you’ll save me” &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  </content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/feeds/566274586841232684/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/4376140121284276906/566274586841232684?isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/566274586841232684'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/566274586841232684'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/2011/08/lost-without-hope.html' title='Lost Without Hope'/><author><name>Christopher Curtis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09147284490786199991</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Lwo6_a_-ai0/TC-7XSNUWzI/AAAAAAAAAEk/hRO4_XgZXaY/s1600-R/37267_1503135424901_1429694865_31354216_2460187_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4376140121284276906.post-8289472155620288706</id><published>2011-07-04T17:39:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-07-04T17:39:33.150-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Many people want to pray for my downfall, isn&#39;t nothing but hate around you all, and isn&#39;t nothing but success around me.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/feeds/8289472155620288706/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/4376140121284276906/8289472155620288706?isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/8289472155620288706'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/8289472155620288706'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/2011/07/many-people-want-to-pray-for-my.html' title=''/><author><name>Christopher Curtis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09147284490786199991</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Lwo6_a_-ai0/TC-7XSNUWzI/AAAAAAAAAEk/hRO4_XgZXaY/s1600-R/37267_1503135424901_1429694865_31354216_2460187_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4376140121284276906.post-4309491710077717908</id><published>2011-06-26T18:51:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-06-26T18:51:50.637-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Chance"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Life"/><title type='text'>Hustle</title><content type='html'>I close the window to soul,&lt;br /&gt;
I can see my death coming.&lt;br /&gt;
Praying for peace with my lord,&lt;br /&gt;
Left but you nothing.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I&#39;ve been, swallowed by misery,&lt;br /&gt;
I keep no friends and no enemies,&lt;br /&gt;
A solider for eternity,&lt;br /&gt;
This is for my niggas on the corner-&lt;br /&gt;
with the heart to ride,&lt;br /&gt;
Getting high watching time fly,&lt;br /&gt;
You never die with a smile,&lt;br /&gt;
guns burst,&lt;br /&gt;
I never die cause of verses and rhymes,&lt;br /&gt;
But in my dreams I see visions of me facing death,&lt;br /&gt;
never scared,&lt;br /&gt;
I&#39;m prepared,&lt;br /&gt;
Keep a bullet to my left.&lt;br /&gt;
Mommy in your wisdom I need you,&lt;br /&gt;
can&#39;t understand this,&lt;br /&gt;
Seems people speaking gibberish,&lt;br /&gt;
Every day a nigga wants to beef me.&lt;br /&gt;
I&#39;m changing rules but baffled by the moves when they see me,&lt;br /&gt;
But first got to learn to take it easy.&lt;br /&gt;
This is for my niggas that arrive,&lt;br /&gt;
As a child of the night,&lt;br /&gt;
Dark shades underage in a gun fight.&lt;br /&gt;
Blow your trees,&lt;br /&gt;
Walk with me,&lt;br /&gt;
Getting money as this city is ours,&lt;br /&gt;
Drug dealers screaming Fuck the Lord,&lt;br /&gt;
I just want to spread word,&lt;br /&gt;
To lost souls, as my own,&lt;br /&gt;
In a place a called home and the rest of the globe.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Swallowed by misery,&lt;br /&gt;
See me sitting where the river be,&lt;br /&gt;
Trying to heal spiritually.&lt;br /&gt;
I see my Grandmothers&#39; ghost when I look in the sky,&lt;br /&gt;
My smile creates sunshine.&lt;br /&gt;
My conscious eyes tired of seeing these shadow living people,&lt;br /&gt;
Life is worth more than money, houses and vehicles.&lt;br /&gt;
Some sit in traffic on the way home,&lt;br /&gt;
others are trafficking coke.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/feeds/4309491710077717908/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/4376140121284276906/4309491710077717908?isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/4309491710077717908'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/4309491710077717908'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/2011/06/hustle.html' title='Hustle'/><author><name>Christopher Curtis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09147284490786199991</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Lwo6_a_-ai0/TC-7XSNUWzI/AAAAAAAAAEk/hRO4_XgZXaY/s1600-R/37267_1503135424901_1429694865_31354216_2460187_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4376140121284276906.post-8349292732250224282</id><published>2011-06-25T18:52:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-06-25T18:52:11.999-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Chance"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Life"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Misery"/><title type='text'>True Freedom</title><content type='html'>Set me free, or&lt;br /&gt;
leave me to be.&lt;br /&gt;
why must everyone,&lt;br /&gt;
look up to me?&lt;br /&gt;
I&#39;m high in demand,&lt;br /&gt;
I hardly think so,&lt;br /&gt;
I don&#39;t understand?&lt;br /&gt;
this wont make me happy,&lt;br /&gt;
a life so bland and dull.&lt;br /&gt;
leave me alone,&lt;br /&gt;
let me find my home.&lt;br /&gt;
Turn my heart to stone? &lt;br /&gt;
Just go away,&lt;br /&gt;
give me just one day.&lt;br /&gt;
you make me feel trapped,&lt;br /&gt;
held under wraps and misery.&lt;br /&gt;
so I&#39;m begging you now,&lt;br /&gt;
can I have myself back?&lt;br /&gt;
give me a break,&lt;br /&gt;
its&#39; my life you take.&lt;br /&gt;
My smiles are fake,&lt;br /&gt;
I&#39;m lying to you,&lt;br /&gt;
I cannot pull through.&lt;br /&gt;
I should stop this madness,&lt;br /&gt;
and stop it soon.&lt;br /&gt;
why cant you see,&lt;br /&gt;
i need to be free?&lt;br /&gt;
Can you not see? &lt;br /&gt;
your driving me mad,&lt;br /&gt;
making me scream.&lt;br /&gt;
so now end my strife and misery,&lt;br /&gt;
or I&#39;ll take this knife,&lt;br /&gt;
and with my own hands,I&#39;ll end my life.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/feeds/8349292732250224282/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/4376140121284276906/8349292732250224282?isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/8349292732250224282'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/8349292732250224282'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/2011/06/true-freedom.html' title='True Freedom'/><author><name>Christopher Curtis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09147284490786199991</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Lwo6_a_-ai0/TC-7XSNUWzI/AAAAAAAAAEk/hRO4_XgZXaY/s1600-R/37267_1503135424901_1429694865_31354216_2460187_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4376140121284276906.post-5349715471777361062</id><published>2011-05-05T17:05:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2013-07-22T08:47:00.373-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Stacy"/><title type='text'>A HUNTED BOY IN YUKON-TOWN</title><content type='html'>


 
 
 
 &lt;style type=&quot;text/css&quot;&gt;P { margin-bottom: 0.08in; direction: ltr; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); widows: 2; orphans: 2; }&lt;/style&gt;


&lt;div style=&quot;margin-bottom: 0.14in;&quot;&gt;
&lt;span lang=&quot;en-US&quot;&gt;A HUNTED BOY IN
YUKON-TOWN&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style=&quot;margin-bottom: 0.14in;&quot;&gt;
&lt;span lang=&quot;en-US&quot;&gt;Story written by&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style=&quot;margin-bottom: 0.14in;&quot;&gt;
&lt;span lang=&quot;en-US&quot;&gt;Stacy Ann&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div lang=&quot;en-US&quot; style=&quot;margin-bottom: 0.14in;&quot;&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div lang=&quot;en-US&quot; style=&quot;margin-bottom: 0.14in;&quot;&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style=&quot;margin-bottom: 0.14in;&quot;&gt;
&lt;span lang=&quot;en-US&quot;&gt;It was an evening
in March. The wind was blowing clouds of dust across Yukon-town. As I
stood in the doorway looking at the lonely road. I saw a boy. He was
about 19-20 years old. I turned to call my dad, but the words died on
my lips. I then quickly walked out of the house and went to the boy.
He was covered with blood and seemed very tired.&#39;&#39; hide me please&#39;&#39;,
he said. The boy did not look like a criminal, so I wasn&#39;t afraid of
him. &#39;&#39;Follow me.&#39;&#39; I said quietly.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div lang=&quot;en-US&quot; style=&quot;margin-bottom: 0.14in;&quot;&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style=&quot;margin-bottom: 0.14in;&quot;&gt;
&lt;span lang=&quot;en-US&quot;&gt;I led him
upstairs to my bed room opened the door, and pointed to a wardrobe.
&#39;&#39; Go and hide in that wardrobe,&#39;&#39; I said. The boy thanked me and try
to explain. I want to tell you what had happened,&#39;&#39; he said. &#39;&#39; A boy
hit his girlfriend.... I fought him and--- I quickly shut my bedroom
door. And went quietly into the kitchen. My dad was making dinner, so
he knew nothing about the boy in my room. About 10-15 minutes later
the doorbell rang. My dad then ran to the door and I followed him. It
was two policemen. &#39;&#39;Have you seen anyone go along this road? &#39;&#39;the
policemen asked. &#39;&#39;no,&#39;&#39; said my dad in a voice of surprise. &#39;&#39;why&#39;&#39;
what happened?&#39;&#39; one of the policeman then answered. There was a
fight in a night -club last night.&#39;&#39; A boy attacked his friend with a
knife, and escaped. We hunted him to Yukon-town, but we lost him.&#39;&#39;
So please give us a call if you see him, said the police man. The
policemen then said &#39;good-bye, and drove off. As we got inside my dad
said &#39;&#39; I&#39;m going for a walk I&#39;ll be back later. I then ran  back
upstairs to my room. The hunted boy came out of the shower. He was
now only wearing his boxers. He smiled at me and then said. I&#39;m now
cleaner and fresher.&#39;&#39; I looked at him and smiled he was tall, strong
and extremely handsome. He also had very beautiful brown eyes. He
seemed to me the man of my dreams. We then sat on the bed and started
talking freely. I asked for his name, and he called his name to me, I
then said&#39;&#39; Nice to meet you Josh Nickson.&#39;&#39; I&#39;m Marthailyn. He
smiled and said.&#39;&#39; Pretty name. I thanked him. And also told him
about the policemen. &#39;&#39;I can&#39;t leave until they go,&#39;&#39; He said. &#39;&#39;Can
I sleep here tonight?&#39;&#39; I nodded. He then said, &#39;&#39; can you please get
me some food? I&#39;m starving. I ran back downstairs and got Josh some
food and a bottle of orange juice, and also some of my dad&#39;s clothes.
I then ran back upstairs and gave the things to him. I&#39;ll come back
later,&#39;&#39; I promised and then ran back downstairs.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div lang=&quot;en-US&quot; style=&quot;margin-bottom: 0.14in;&quot;&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style=&quot;margin-bottom: 0.14in;&quot;&gt;
&lt;span lang=&quot;en-US&quot;&gt;After 20 minutes
later I went back upstairs. &#39;&#39;I thought you would never come!&#39; Said
Josh Nickson with a smile. He pulled me down on the bed, and soon our
lips met in a kiss. We then started  kissing, and making out. It felt
great to be wanted, and I cherished every second we were together.
Josh Nickson and I were now lying in bed talking. Suddenly I heard
&#39;&#39;Marthailyn! where are you?&#39;&#39; It was my dad&#39;s voice. I looked at
Josh and put my finger to my lips. I then got up and answered in a
cool voice,&#39; in here dad! I&#39;m just cleaning my room. &#39;&#39;I see, he
said. I then shut the door and quickly went downstairs into the
kitchen to my dad I then decided to tell him about Josh Nickson. I
also repeated the story he told me. My dad seemed neither surprised
nor angry. He then decided to meet Josh, but as we got inside the
room a fearful sight met our eyes. Furniture was destroyed. And a
knife, covered with blood was lying next to Josh. &lt;/span&gt;Josh Nickson
had committed suicide.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style=&quot;margin-bottom: 0.14in;&quot;&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style=&quot;margin-bottom: 0.14in;&quot;&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style=&quot;margin-bottom: 0.14in;&quot;&gt;
&lt;span lang=&quot;en-US&quot;&gt;I was shocked and
also speechless. Why would Josh Nickson commit suicide? It was very
strange. But I didn&#39;t think about it too much. As my dad got closer
to Josh he noticed a white paper lying on the bed. It was a letter
written by Josh before his death. The letter says: &#39;&#39;Dear miss
Marthailyn, I want to thank you for everything you&#39;ve done for me,
and I also want you to know that I appreciate you. You&#39;re a
phenomenal person. But there&#39;s also something else I want you to
know. The thing that happened in the night-club was my fault. I
killed my best friend Ryan Johnson. I didn&#39;t mean you any harm, but I
knew that I was going to face the consequences somehow, that&#39;s why I
decided to commit suicide&#39;&#39;. It was very sad and difficult for me to
believe that Josh was dead, because he was extremely handsome,
charming and intelligent. Not to mention, he was in absolute perfect
physical condition. And because he meant so much to me. I lived with
an emptiness  and  thought that I would never be able to love anyone
until I met Mr. Incredible, Josh Nickson.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div lang=&quot;en-US&quot; style=&quot;margin-bottom: 0.14in;&quot;&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div lang=&quot;en-US&quot; style=&quot;margin-bottom: 0.14in;&quot;&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style=&quot;margin-bottom: 0.14in;&quot;&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/feeds/5349715471777361062/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/4376140121284276906/5349715471777361062?isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/5349715471777361062'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/5349715471777361062'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/2011/05/hunted-boy-in-yukon-town.html' title='A HUNTED BOY IN YUKON-TOWN'/><author><name>Christopher Curtis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09147284490786199991</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Lwo6_a_-ai0/TC-7XSNUWzI/AAAAAAAAAEk/hRO4_XgZXaY/s1600-R/37267_1503135424901_1429694865_31354216_2460187_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4376140121284276906.post-9021709551213541599</id><published>2011-04-24T21:10:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-04-24T21:10:14.935-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Cold</title><content type='html'>In the stone wall&lt;br /&gt;
Seed of love lies&lt;br /&gt;
Only pain needs for birth.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/feeds/9021709551213541599/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/4376140121284276906/9021709551213541599?isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/9021709551213541599'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/9021709551213541599'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/2011/04/cold.html' title='Cold'/><author><name>Christopher Curtis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09147284490786199991</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Lwo6_a_-ai0/TC-7XSNUWzI/AAAAAAAAAEk/hRO4_XgZXaY/s1600-R/37267_1503135424901_1429694865_31354216_2460187_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4376140121284276906.post-8666108645149019427</id><published>2011-03-30T13:39:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-03-30T13:39:43.220-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Fed Up</title><content type='html'>&lt;h2&gt;&lt;font face=&quot;David&quot;&gt;Could it be all a dream&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;  &lt;h2&gt;&lt;font face=&quot;David&quot;&gt;Like people say it be?&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;  &lt;h2&gt;&lt;font face=&quot;David&quot;&gt;Tired of hearing non-sense&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;  &lt;h2&gt;&lt;font face=&quot;David&quot;&gt;or is it my conscious playing tricks on me?&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;  &lt;h2&gt;&lt;font face=&quot;David&quot;&gt;I’m fed up&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;  &lt;h2&gt;&lt;font face=&quot;David&quot;&gt;I’m on top&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;  &lt;h2&gt;&lt;font face=&quot;David&quot;&gt;Which you can&#39;t take that away from me .&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;  &lt;h2&gt;&lt;font face=&quot;David&quot;&gt;They don’t give me the love I need&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;  &lt;h2&gt;&lt;font face=&quot;David&quot;&gt;I&#39;m so sick and tired of being sick and tired.&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;  &lt;h2&gt;&lt;font face=&quot;David&quot;&gt;Just like a glass&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;  &lt;h2&gt;&lt;font face=&quot;David&quot;&gt;Transparent I can&#39;t hide my&amp;#160; pain.&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/h2&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;font face=&quot;David&quot;&gt;     &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;font face=&quot;David&quot;&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;&lt;font face=&quot;David&quot;&gt;&amp;#160;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  </content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/feeds/8666108645149019427/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/4376140121284276906/8666108645149019427?isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/8666108645149019427'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/8666108645149019427'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/2011/03/fed-up.html' title='Fed Up'/><author><name>Christopher Curtis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09147284490786199991</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Lwo6_a_-ai0/TC-7XSNUWzI/AAAAAAAAAEk/hRO4_XgZXaY/s1600-R/37267_1503135424901_1429694865_31354216_2460187_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4376140121284276906.post-1277163247412317777</id><published>2011-02-27T20:41:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2011-02-27T20:41:19.390-06:00</updated><title type='text'>My life</title><content type='html'>Everywhere That I Turn&lt;br /&gt;
Troubles right behind me&lt;br /&gt;
The struggle is inside me&lt;br /&gt;
Yeah I fighting for peace&lt;br /&gt;
Throw your middle finger up&lt;br /&gt;
to the beast and tell em come and find me&lt;br /&gt;
I might be giving a speech &lt;br /&gt;
Or marching a million men&lt;br /&gt;
When they snipe me&lt;br /&gt;
The sun still rise in east&lt;br /&gt;
And as long as we are alive&lt;br /&gt;
I can keep giving&lt;br /&gt;
God willing,&lt;br /&gt;
Burn sinners,&lt;br /&gt;
Open eyes of children&lt;br /&gt;
Look at what we billing&lt;br /&gt;
From the bottom up&lt;br /&gt;
This Sh*t started watching&lt;br /&gt;
Donald Duck&lt;br /&gt;
Now they want to snip I on the run&lt;br /&gt;
But we still write live rhyme&lt;br /&gt;
We finding fun&lt;br /&gt;
Tell me you the righteous one&lt;br /&gt;
Grab a piece of cheese and bun&lt;br /&gt;
Bun a piece of weed&lt;br /&gt;
In the breeze and sun&lt;br /&gt;
Grab scud and light it up,&lt;br /&gt;
Come blud get high with us&lt;br /&gt;
So many die and get committed to dust&lt;br /&gt;
This is as real as it comes&lt;br /&gt;
There&#39;s no love&lt;br /&gt;
In the Heart of the slums&lt;br /&gt;
Just these drugs teenage moms&lt;br /&gt;
And the ringing of guns&lt;br /&gt;
All we need is love&lt;br /&gt;
Everything else is borrowed&lt;br /&gt;
Praying for a better tomorrow&lt;br /&gt;
Im felling swallowed&lt;br /&gt;
So follow me if you feel me&lt;br /&gt;
Im paranoid&lt;br /&gt;
Im feeling they want to kill me&lt;br /&gt;
Everything I do I know they filming&lt;br /&gt;
Looking at the windows&lt;br /&gt;
Of the buildings&lt;br /&gt;
Street lighs as illuminous&lt;br /&gt;
AS the moon&lt;br /&gt;
A curtain moves&lt;br /&gt;
In one of the rooms&lt;br /&gt;
Death coming&lt;br /&gt;
So start running&lt;br /&gt;
Cos it way to soon&lt;br /&gt;
I&#39;ve got to do&lt;br /&gt;
what the F*ck I got to do&lt;br /&gt;
I&#39;m on the move&lt;br /&gt;
Scraping the bottom &lt;br /&gt;
with nothing to lose&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
MC CURTIS&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
You know I&lt;br /&gt;
Aint stopping &lt;br /&gt;
cos its all on me&lt;br /&gt;
Ay yo the vibes unforgettable&lt;br /&gt;
Capture it and hold it&lt;br /&gt;
Every moment is impeccable&lt;br /&gt;
Like the search on the beach&lt;br /&gt;
For the perfect pebble&lt;br /&gt;
As the tides rolls in&lt;br /&gt;
Holding seashells on sea shores&lt;br /&gt;
This is heaven&lt;br /&gt;
Ask yourself&lt;br /&gt;
If this was your last day&lt;br /&gt;
Are you ready hand steady&lt;br /&gt;
Its a art of a penman&lt;br /&gt;
I half my heart&lt;br /&gt;
Half in the art&lt;br /&gt;
Half independent&lt;br /&gt;
Blood of my forefathers&lt;br /&gt;
My ancestors decedents&lt;br /&gt;
I&#39;ll die for redemption&lt;br /&gt;
But I aint past yet&lt;br /&gt;
Because&lt;br /&gt;
The divine intervention&lt;br /&gt;
The last left&lt;br /&gt;
Im a ride to the end of my last breath&lt;br /&gt;
Everybody is a target so look!&lt;br /&gt;
Im Curtis&lt;br /&gt;
Right to the death&lt;br /&gt;
Cos the army is behind me</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/feeds/1277163247412317777/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/4376140121284276906/1277163247412317777?isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/1277163247412317777'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4376140121284276906/posts/default/1277163247412317777'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://heim-poems.blogspot.com/2011/02/my-life.html' title='My life'/><author><name>Christopher Curtis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09147284490786199991</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='20' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Lwo6_a_-ai0/TC-7XSNUWzI/AAAAAAAAAEk/hRO4_XgZXaY/s1600-R/37267_1503135424901_1429694865_31354216_2460187_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>