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It’s all about the presentation. The way you present your poetry can make or break the poem. A poem written by a below-average 4 year old can sound beautiful coming out of your mouth.
I don't understand  Life goes by in a daze So many thoughts, so many opinions, so much to live for I feel like i should be someone else   But it's a lie When I'm alone I feel happy But it's a lie
Every petal painted pink and prime,Green leaves arranged with perfect symmetry,A few bright shades with which to tell a life,And yet a yearning in the purity. Structure formed and inside wholly planned,Meticulously minding every speck,Ideal distri
No one is like me This is a blessing and a curse No one is as detail oriented as I am No one thinks like me
having an eating disorder means wanting everyone to know and no one to ask it means accidentally leaving your lunch at home and proudly telling friends no thanks when they offer to share 
Of course you are not perfect, but why do you fret? There are many more important reasons to find yourself upset. You could be greedy, coniving, full of deceit, turning a blind eye
the fear of failure has always made me skirt its edge where others have dove right in   I jump nimbly, to avoid the shining drops
Perfectionism We never fully satisfy it Thoughts of self compassion make it cringe Often it deceives Faultfinding limits our potential Cuts off love and belonging in life So scratch that-be free
we were happy once back when we were but children, giggling at the minute moments innocent, but ignorant. not yet accustomed to the term depression
Gather ye round, kids, would you like to knowAbout how I took up the art of writing poems?Let me summarize my 18 years in all of their glory,As you sit around t
I know a girl with 'perfect' written on her wrist, and I think it’s funny because it isn’t perfect at all. When I say perfect, I mean it literally -
As a little kid, I was told I must be the best Be a golden star because I was always meant to shine I got the good grades, participated in sports, did the extracurricular activities Certain things in particular
I made it! I'm in!   Eighteen and the best. 
Those poor girls, this poor me trying to navigate womanhood not knowing which way to look,
There are secrets—Well, there are always secrets. But there are secrets that lie in wait for me. They lie just below the surface.
(poems go here) The fall of eighth grade the leaves changed their glorious colors and I was diagnosed with overwhelming loneliness.
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