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Happiness is being a six year old child, sitting and making mud pies on a warm summer afternoon with your great uncle Jimmy. Keep in mind, it is now almost December, I'm 15 years old, I do not have a great uncle Jimmy, and I detest the idea of making mud pies.
©2004-2009 ~INotRobot
:iconinotrobot:

Author's Comments

A view I have on Happiness

Comments


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:iconcarboncopyglitch:
..kindof reminds me of childhood at loss. it reminds me of transformation.. *sigh*
:icontmpst24myst:
this is fantastic.

JB sent me here.

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June 22
:iconklmnumbers:
Uncle Jimmy sucks.

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"What wasted unconditional love on somebody who doesn't believe in the stuff... Oh, well."
:iconxxxxxx:
how exactly do you pronounce that?

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:gummybear: deviant art will ban you for being mean.
:iconfutilitarian:
naw, but he likes it if you do.

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This space left intentionally blank for your message.
:iconlivingbyair:
rather than 'I do not have a great uncle Jimmy,' perhaps a more subtle line would do this justice, such as, 'people die.' This would seem to follow the outline of the poem in the same way that you contrasted the warm summer by stating a month, December.

Though this is of little importance.

Tis a good poem. The prose poetry format is most fitting.
:iconsisterjanet:
I can envision this on a poster in the room of the stereotypically ever-angsty mid-adolescent. altogether well done.

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November 30, 2004
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