<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=489029" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>I Do Not Correct Mistakes … I Play</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">it so happens that<br>i post a poem with some errors<br>not of feeling but of <br>grammatical lapses and she is afraid</div><div style="margin:10px 0">that people may begin to belittle me for such <br>unforgivable simplicities of <br>mistakes unaccounted</div><div style="margin:10px 0">but i tell her even beforehand that i am <br>always unapologetic<br>even unkind<br>or indifferent</div><div style="margin:10px 0">i am a person who does not go back<br>to review<br>and correct errors</div><div style="margin:10px 0">i laugh at them knowing that they have deceived<br>me into such a corruption</div><div style="margin:10px 0">somehow life is like that<br>we rush to get out of a door only<br>to find the wrong key in our hand<br>and we are having a hard time<br>opening that <br>which we closed<br>and we cannot enter anymore<br>except when when we break the door &<br>open it forcefully<br>with a hammer</div><div style="margin:10px 0">the noise is painful<br>having to break in <br>your own room with locks forced open</div><div style="margin:10px 0">like an invasion of your own <br>body destroying it<br>breaking your heart or<br>bones<br>tearing your skins apart<br>or slicing some flesh<br>because you made a mistake</div><div style="margin:10px 0">i like lapses, <br> errors are not supposed to be<br>minded at</div><div style="margin:10px 0">life is like that<br>no crying for what is there already</div><div style="margin:10px 0">sometimes<br>i don't even solve puzzles<br>i let them be their own problems</div><div style="margin:10px 0">as i sit on the sands<br>watching the sun <br>set<br>feeling the cool winds when the<br>world starts to lose<br>its light<br>and surrender all its arms<br>to the power of<br>darkness</div><div style="margin:10px 0">and when it gets too dark<br>i begin to play again<br>like a child left by mother<br>abandoned<br>by father</div><div style="margin:10px 0">under the moon under the rain<br>and all alone.<br>i like it when i listen<br>to the bliss of my own wild<br>laughter</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ric+S.+Bastasa">Ric S. Bastasa</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=489029" data-title="I Do Not Correct Mistakes … I Play de Ric S. Bastasa" data-description="it so happens that i post a poem with some errors not of feeling but of grammatical lapses and she is afraid that people may begin to belittle me for such unforgivable simplicities of mistakes unaccounted but i tell her even beforehand that i..."></div> </div> </div>

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