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Assorted Poems 

By: Rachel Deren 

The first poem is written from the perspective of Paco from the Netflix series You.


The Man With the Books:

When you and dad shout,

I come outside

And sit silently on the steps

With a book to take me away from a harsh reality.


Every night, 

there is a nice man.

He is tall and handsome,

And he has dark hair.


He smiles at me,

And he makes sure that I’m okay.

And when I’m not, 

He gives me a new read.


I like the man with the books.

He lives next door

And he is there for me,

Even when you’re not.


But over time,

I grow up.

And I notice that

He is suspicious.


I still like the man with the books.

He is my only friend.

But I know that deep down,

There is something lurking underneath.


The Painter 


I pick up the brush.

I dip it in paint.

I start with red.

And swirl it on the canvas

In lovely strokes.


I start with the lips.

Then the face.

Soon I finish the painting

Of the girl on flames.


Paint, I do.

I paint the tragedies

That I always see.


Maybe next week,

I'll paint you.


The Escapist

Gripping the iron bars on her prison door,

Screaming and cursing until she spoke no more.

She needed to leave this cold world behind.

Another day of gray walls and she would lose her mind.


She leaned her head against the wall,

Wondering why she was still here at all.

She kept hearing voices and seeing words,

Daydreaming of castles, ladies, and lords.


There were little glass castles dotting the hills,

Swords and knives and daggers that racked up kills.

There were kings and queens, poets and dreamers.

She saw angels and demons, monsters and hunters.


The prison guards called her The Escapist.

They claimed she was no Puritan or Papist.

One claimed that at night, he could hear strange music.

Another said that he thought she was psychic.


She was made of mist and dreams and stone

As much as she was of skin and blood and bone.

They tried to tame her flames, calm the violent sea.

But all they could do was watch her break free.


The Escapist runs through the catacombs,

Fighting against the monsters that roam.

She would run until her hands turned red.

And no, Mother, she would not go to bed.

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