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Eliza Crawford Poems
Happy Happy Happy
I smile, I laugh, I glide across the wooden floor in my socks, As music blasts from my iPod,
Sometimes I get tired. So tired that I simply can not. Can not read, Can not speak,
Tangled in my sheets, Curled up in a ball, Willing it away, Praying it will stop.
Hands hands hands. Hands all around me. Hands that trace my lips. Hands that pull my clothes.
I made a small list, A compilation of names That make my heart sing. And the list went as such:
Reasons to Dislike You
I would write about what I dislike about you. But why would I do that, When I could write about your innocent smile Or the way your eyes lock steadily on mine?
An elegant man with an elegant name. He was endlessly fascinating With empty eyes And a brimming heart.
2 am and I'm wide awake My mind refusing to be silenced My eyes refusing to shut
You call yourself a friend Yet when I break, you laugh. You call yourself a friend
A week I went in silence Refraining from all means of speech. No one seemed to notice,
Comments about Eliza Crawford
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Happy Happy Happy
I glide across the wooden floor in my socks,
As music blasts from my iPod,
Filling the room with such emotion,
That I can not help but giggle with glee.
I spin around and
Twirl in circles,
My mind free from all pain.
And I am filled with joy for a moment.
I am happy.
The word escapes my lips,
And I look down
And see my socks
And they are striped
And I grin
As a single silent tear