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Now, I’m beginning to wonder how many people are left to flounder and crack, breaking under the world’s ever strengthening squeeze.
If you wanted to see, The pieces of my heart. Look in the mirror.
My skin used to be an armor and as courageous as I seemed it was all just this facade that made sleep make me feel like I could be redeemed. But I was lost and I wasn't me.
I looked at my mother as she puts her makeup on. Many words popped into my mind. Beauty Sadness Strength Would I one day wear the armor like she does?
Have you ever just sat down and wondered, Why poetry? Was it an escape from the harsh reality: Pain demanding to be felt The loss of your loved ones
When I was younger I thought adults were made of armor. Skin so tough no one could harm them. They knew everything, they couldn’t be stopped. My eyes beamed at the sight.
Sometimes I wish for a mental shield of armor to outfit my mind's body:
It doesn't pay to be nice People take advantagae You pay the price Weakness There can't be any Strengths there must be many It is a cold world Goons at every corner
This fear I feel is formed from my imagination. Constantly contemplating where my life will be stationed.
My mom likes to think I'm just like her That I love crowds of people and constant noise That I love calling all attention to myself And that I like conflict My mom thinks I hide my real self from the world
With everywhere she's goes
The pale ghost stares at the filthy mirror. He sees not himself; with that happy scowl and playful temperment. The pale ghost makes the suface clearer. He sees not himself, but his own warm disembodiment.
Stress, sadness, fear,wory. I have a mask to cover that up. Boredom, anger, doubt, loneliness, confusion, regret. I can hide it. There truly is no know emotion
Why can't anyone see the me that is truly me? All they see is a mask That does the un me task the one that shows no fear the one who is not really here I wish to show you the me that is really me
You can't see it but insults are weapons, actual weapons. Everydaycitizens use these weapons we were born with to harm other people.Wake up, words hurt. We, the people, we have been trained, and, we
They made me wear a mask when I was younger. Days went by and a new stitch was added to the mask. It was starting to fit my face perfectly. "Do this," they said. "Do that," they demanded.
walls imagination runs away from me where they also happen to speak free Walls built up tears and harbored tension wanting to be stuck in an alternate dimension WALLS
Armor plating to shield my soul. A fragile existence thrice tortured, Marinating in sardonic contempt, Masked by a pretty face And an empty smile. False confidence, False cheer.
As all days before us,and all those to come,those with hidden faces,they learn to be numb.The youth grow with knowledge,with hopes that life is true,The old know by experience,
My jokes are like my armor Something to hide behind Something everyone can laugh at Without ever seeing my mind For if they were to pierce my armor And see what lies beneath
I had a recurring dream as a child