This Blue Collar Typewriter

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This blue collar typewriter
So many hours down at Ford
Working to support the family
Under the watchful eye of the Lord
Staying together, hand in hand
There were many times that were rough
No fairytale existence here
But love & devotion were always enough

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The Truth About Women’s Feet

  

Love wrapped around my mind like a shroud

Full of colors, spectrums & radiant splashes

Not a day without engulfing sunshine

Blinded by pantyhose & false eyelashes

I believed in the fairytale courtships

Sipping champagne from glass slippers

Lovely damsels in need of gentlemen

Revealed to be crude strumpet strippers

My soul could not take this detail

Where was my love with elegant class

Distraught in this new reality

Stuck on feet made for crystal glass

How could my dreams unravel so

This giving me pause to think

Now I understand the truth

That women’s feet actually stink

Winter Clouds Straying From The Sky

Winter clouds straying from the sky

Fermenting love straining my pants

Fatigue settles down on your choices

Won’t remedy pain by a transplant

Heartbreak debilitating to the soul

Physical passion can’t rejuvenate

A heartfelt kiss to break the spell

Fairytales exist when you captivate

Real world complications reign down

No princess to make my escape

More inclined to discover a tramp

Pertaining to this barren landscape

 

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