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There's excitement and adrenaline when I'm with you, Sleeping next to you with my eyes sweeping past your cheeks, The dull embrace of reality disappears and I'm cloaked with condensation,
You have a little melanin, you're not welcome. The scarf on your head and your loose clothes says you support terrorism, go back to where you came from.
My ears bleed from the tales of your insecurities Why am I being cursed for the patience of my maturity? You seem to have tied your tongue in annoyance Every word you spit a spoon full of poison,
Built upon bloodshed and mass genocide maybe the color of my skin did dictate innocent lives We probably did take it all away The culture, the land, the native beauty
Beneath the patterns of the surrounding society Beneath the spice in other's eyes to hawk like vultures at the vulnerable Beneath the excess necessity for superiority and distance
I see these plastic people, Barbie dolls. With their dream houses and expensive cars. And their plastic friends, at their plastic malls. Getting “white-girl wasted” at plastic bars.
My life: Wake up Fight with mom to take me to school Math- can we stop now? Lunch- alone, content, Youtube Euro. History- like a soap opera, i love it Come home, fight more, homework, shower
Superficial faces Superficial smiles Superficial places Traveling superficial miles Give me something real Give me somthing pure Give me somthing needy Something to endure
Human 2 humans are such fickle creatures they can never decide they go into something thinking one way and wanting this then by the end thery're thinking the complete opposite
Can you imagine the frustration The frustration of your own ignorance and complacency But you are made to think that it is everyone else's fault? You can't solve your problem
All the years of winding and tightening the perfectionist urges, only to increase the craving for alteration. And finally comes the vain obligation to maintain 2 rows of 32 pearls.
If only you could understand. Can you not see the twinkle in my eyes or hear the excitement in my voice or see the happiness in my smile? Are you so blind to your own world
Models are tens, are dressed to the nines, Sneak away with photographers behind closed blinds. Silhouettes pinch at the waist, like the skin on their face, too tight to relax
Its blinking button eyes Lashes Plucked Clean conscience lies Demons of possess Its ragged red dress Hides in the shadows; tireless Awakened by the silver moon Loom through loom