I am buried here.
Cars drive by but they don’t know.
Children play around me but they don’t know.
Sometimes people stand on top of me but they don’t know.
I am buried here.
I used to belong to someone.
I used to have value.
How did I get here?
I am buried here.
Why isn’t someone looking for me?
Why doesn’t someone find me?
Am I not worth digging up?
I am buried here.
Maybe I should stay here.
Once I was shiny and new.
Now I am tarnished and old.
I am buried here.
I fell but no one noticed.
I am lost but no one cares.
After all….I am just a penny.
Dang Laurel. You are frigging good at everything you choose to do! Great poem, and metaphor and I’m happy it’s not really about you!
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LOL. I woke up thinking about finding my sons’ cars buried out in the yard. I remember how attached he was to them but he buried them and forgot about them. When I showed them to him, he smiled and said he remembered them….so the idea was born….”I’m buried here.” LOL
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Love the way you put your beautiful words together….You are grand.
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Thanks. It was actually an idea from having found my sons’ cars buried in the yard. LOL
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Really love this, Laurel. And love that each of us sees things in the writing that evoke thoughts, emotions…just what good writing should do. HUGS.
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Thanks so much. đŸ™‚
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Ho hub calls me a magpie. I stop to pick up spare money on the ground all the time and no one ever sees it. Even pennies because 100 is a dollar, and I have been that poor in my life that one dollar can make that difference. This is beautiful and haunting. Love you momma and you’re way more than a penny to me
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I always picked up money and grew up knowing the phrase “pennies make dollars.” I remember Loser asking me if he could “borrow” a dollar and I had to scrounge around and count out 100 pennies and take them to the 7-11. I was too embarrassed to tell him I didn’t have a dollar.
I had a huge glass jug that I kept all my “found money” in. At the end of the year, sometimes I had over a hundred dollars! My son started stealing it and before long….it was empty.
I still pick up money, even pennies that are tails up. Hey, it’s still money! LOL
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Even pennies have value.
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I like this! A forgotten and lonesome little penny! đŸ™‚ I like to imagine what things would say if they could speak. đŸ™‚ Great writing!
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Me too. It was actually based on my sons’ little cars that I found buried in our yard. đŸ™‚
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Haha that is just so cute. đŸ™‚ Little toy cars.. aaw.
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Little toy cars…and little boys….both are lost….but I still remember them and it does bring a smile.
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Wonderful …..if we really look at and to and for someone, we can often find a treasure. It is those who don’t see us or care to see us as we are and In all our worth that will never find gem we are. Sometimes, we cannot even see it in ourselves.
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True but it really wasn’t so much about me….I woke up thinking about finding my sons’ matchbox cars buried in the yard. I didn’t know they were there. They were so special to him at one time. They were shiny and new. When I found them, they were rusted and old and he had forgotten they were there. They had lost their value. Maybe, in my sub-conscious I transposed them into myself.
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I can tell you wjhere you went wrong. :”I used to belong to somebody. I used to have value.” You can never measure your own self worth (or value) by someone else. If Loser was an idiot, that was his problem. His actions do not devalue you in any way. You need to get out of this mindset if you hope to recover from his stupidity. Beautifull written metaphor. Happy to read your poetry. I have always said you have an extraordinary talent for writing and humor. But remember this, you are not a penny. You must be a quarter.
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You know, it really wasn’t biographical per se. I was remembering the time I dug up all of these little Matchbox cars that belonged to my son. They were there. We would walk over them and mow over them and nobody knew they were there. I remembered how much he loved them. He used to call them “my nines.” He couldn’t get the “they’re mine” right. When I dug them up and showed him, his face turned back into that little boy as he said “oh, I remember these.” But..they had lost their importance and he had forgotten them.
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It was a good piece of writing. I just want to make sure you know you’re worth more than a penny. Okay, I’ll give in. Maybe a whole dollar. lol
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Now you’re talking. I’m thinking a sterling silver Walking Liberty dollar. What ‘cha think?
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Could be. lol Will you consider writing more poetry? You do it well.
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Was that poetry? I thought poetry was supposed to rhyme…and that was just something that popped in my mind just as I woke up….the “nines” and how much they meant at one time and then were forgotten.
I can give it a shot.
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Mine usually does, but poetry doesn’t have to rhyme. I bet you can pen a funny poem about Loser.
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I might could…LOL (my RBS giggles every time I use that phrase.) There was so little about him that was funny, though….until his latest antics…now…that was funny….seeing him turn into the shell of a puppet. “Baby…let me pull your strings.” HA.
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LOL I bet you could come up with something hysterical laced with your delicious Southern sarcasm.
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Shucks…and all this time I thought it was my delicious Southern wit. LOL
I’ll “study over” it for a bit. đŸ™‚
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Thanks. You know I will read anything you write.
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I just have visions of being one of those “writers” who everybody quietly says “bless her heart.”
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I say it all the time about you. I just say it a bit differently. “Bless her Southern heart.”
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You know what that means, don’t you?
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What?
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In the South, when you say “bless your heart” what you are really saying is “you’re an idiot” or it is a precursor to an insult. You know…”bless your heart…you think you can write but you suck big honky balls.”
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Oh shit. Sorry. I had no idea. LOL LOL LOL LOL
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That’s okay but next time there will be severe consequences..as in a few of my comments on your posts will read:
“Bless your little pea-pickin’ heart, Andrew.” LOL
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LOL Anytime my dear. Laughing so freaking hard. Hey, I don’t speak Southern.
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A lucky penny đŸ™‚
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