For 11.5 years, I have walked through the doors, Big and gray, But they fill me with joy. For 11.5 years, I longed for the stench, Of mold and chalk, Mixed with sweet, Sweet success. For as long as I remember, The stale air, The bloody palms, Was what i called home. Its the lush carpet that cushions my falls, And the, Blood, sweat, and tears that fall down every wall. The earsplitting squeal of the little level fours, that look up to you for guidance. And the rough leather of the beam, That filled me with fear. That rough leather, It reminds me of home. A home like no other, full of blood, sweat, and tears. _______________________________________ For the rest of this ode, click here
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AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
June 2014
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