individuality
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The artist was powerless under Stalin
well I am glad that wasn't me being sent
to the forced labor camps
But though there isn't a dictatorship
in america.
Life fights with me, trying to dry up
Happiness to me is like a warm chest filled with honey, nutmeg, and love.
It dances barefoot through fields of grass without a care in the world, and a smile so bright.
So What Is The Trick To NOT Being A... Misfit... ?!?
By This I Mean To Be A Seam...
That BINDS A Team Like Coffee Does CREAM... !!!
But DON'T Think That ... “ You're SLICK " ...
BOOM BOOM BOOM
My inside drum has its own sound
It can be ear splitting or barely heard
Or every noise in between
But it’s special and unique and only mine
Like a flower bright and tall
Surrounded by weeds
But shines and never hides
Making it through
Being pulled down to doom
I thought I saw a sparkle
A sparkle in your hair
And for, just for one second
I thought just you were there
But then I saw your mirror
Your two, your three, your four
And so you fade to nothing
In the words on Jean Piaget, "The principle goal of education in the schools should be creating men & women who are capable of doing new things, not simply repeating what other generations have done." And for that, our modern-day school system
I have seen into the eyes of a stranger
I have walked the footsteps of a refugee
I have heard the soldiers commands on the battlefield
I have felt the sorrow for someone I have never met
It's a dandelion in a patch of daisies
Oddly sharing its roots
The daisies left unbothered
But the dandelion disgruntled
The daisies are accepting
And the dandelion screams
Who gets to decide?
Is it you or is it I?
Who gets to decide what is right?
Who can say what is?
Dear Life,
If there's one thing you've taught me
It's that insecurity is tangible.
That everywhere you turn
You wonder if you'll ever be enough.
You look at those around you
Dear myself four years prior,
a time oh so dire.
Acceptance and status
were key.
If I could turn back the clock-
Condemned by the nature of society,
The status quo that instigates conformity.
To rebel is to take the forbidden fruit,
To enter the garden and be dragged through the Inferno,
Dear Dubiety,
I wish to promulgate that poetry is not dead.
But the style... each breath is taken to be lost in an enchantment of idealist fallacies.
Why must I be like him or be like her
Or think like you or love like them
Why can't I be myself
no one else
Why can't I be myself
I wanna just be me
I wanna just be me
i wish i believed in life after death
in a hereafter in heaven in nirvana
waiting on improbable swathes of clouds
painless problemless lifeless nothingness
Because I love you, I will continue to follow my dreams
I will expect the respect that I deserve.
I will make my own decisions and I will be independent.
“students I want you to write
a poem tonight.
And let that poem come out of you
and be you.”
Am I Brave, as they say?
Or do I continue for my fear
Of failing?
Equality, Individuality
Unity, Diversity
The archaic American Ideals
Perfection should not
be searched for; uniqueness should
die with its finding.
The above haiku I wrote years ago;
It is one that I have liv'd by.
Why do they kill the flowers
whose dreams float above delicate, skin petals
Turning the scorching sun
into a sweet nectar blossom?
To satisfy the darkened green blades?
Twinkle, twinkle little Star
How we wonder what you are...
All of Rainbow's colors, stolen, by the
Chameleon.
Camoflauged shades and undertones
For my daughter:
I wish only the greatest of aspirations so that when somebody says “No!”
She will say “Yes!”
Tiana,
Why do you fail to see yourself when your reflection is right in front of you?
Why is it that you don't realize your self worth?
You need to STOP letting the opinions of others change your view,
The curtains rise on the acts of my life,
And already there's confusion among the crowd.
Nobody's bullied me.
Nobody's pushed me,
Nobody's jeered,
Nobody's called me names,
Yeah… the story begins inside of a black hole.
The exit is clear but you can’t seem let go.
You feel rooted down to the bottom of the pit,
There’s nothing here, so why haven’t you let go?
I signed my soul away with a 21st century John Hancock,
To get rid of stubborn, ages old writer’s block.
And now these trembling hands they do mock,
At my crooked fingers and smudged fingerprints they gawk.
I am more than a small waistline and an hourglass figure
I am powerful and wise
I am they that gave birth to a thousand generations
Ants by the thousands
Swarm this place I call home.
Consume your momentum
And through the clouds
I scatter your wake.
Teach me the way of the
Oak that is yet to sway
two o’clock in the morning.
your tired voice is reaching for mine
through the telephone wire.
and this is all i know
you needing me
and me
being given,
but something about my name
I've been told,
Several times actually,
to stop fidgeting,
moving,
talking,
singing,
"Sit still now!"
adults would scream,
school was a battle,
between myself,
Brought into a world unannounced with my head held high,
Dreams in the distance yet so hard to reach,
The runt of the pack, soft spoken, broken, feeble and weak,
Poetry is an expression and release
An outlet to the overflowing plugs of life-
a place that listens when the world denies your existence.
I write to be heard.
To be understood and for my opinions to be considered
Oddly enough, I'm weird.
At least that's what they jeered to my beard
as they peered, while my honesty reared
with confidence clear, and hints of fear.
At least that's what they said from their box
Scratch our story into skin
flip my pages thin
you’ll never forget me.
Justify my every move
to conform to nothing in my
naked mind.
You assure me I’m alive
My eyes are wildflowers
Dirt roads. Weeds and
Willow trees
Main stream is cement.
Dead.
My dreams must live and breathe
I won’t be
anything but myself.
Otherness.
At first she was No.
Now, No was beautiful
And no I’m not talking about that porcelain skin, straight hair thigh gap beautiful.
no!
My grandmother just told me
That is wasn't her fault she was lonely.
She thinks she was in the right
To make me not fight
Show me the part
In your scripture
Where it reads
"The female shan't carry hair in her pits."
Show me the picture
Of hairless legs
And straightened locks
And bared nether regions
I fall on my knees picking up my papers,
not wanting to lose another in case it’s important.
I am shoved back down this time hitting my head against the fountain.
Pitying myself and wondering what offense I made
Is it okay to be
yourself
in a world where
each person is a
reflection
of someone else?
Individuality is not
an original equation from a single person,
but an
A balance of night and day
An equinox
Or so they say
A perfect harmony of light and dark
Can one create equilibrium,
Or balance the forces
Acting on someone's heart?
We don't value individuality
Are you searching for meaning friend?
Are you coming to your bleeding end?
Do your wrists speak your bleeding mind,
telling you your purpose is hard to find?
The earth sprouts new life like love grows attachment and clings on tight.
Like a new-born bird taking flight for the first time, leaving the nest, taking chances.
I am not another member of the corporate race
I am not another human taking up space
I am not a mindless drone lead by the herd
I lead from the pack, following is absurd.
I am who I want to be.
I am a believer (not a bieber fan)
I am a survivor.
I am a beautiful female.
I am a sensible teenager.
I am runner.
I don't have an aestheticI don't want an aestheticwhen I hear aesthetic, I think anesthesia and I don't want to go to sleep
Girl(n): a young or relatively young woman
I am young,
comparatively
My eyes are not yet wrinkled at the edges
My bones are not yet weary
What you see on the outside of me is a young freckled girl as confident as can be. She can stand and talk in front of people with ease, and take charge of situations in a breeze.
Who am I, you ask? I am me.
I can't narrow it down--that's all I can be.
I refuse to be labeled by what people see.
All I want is just to be free to be me.
I'm surround by close minded individuals + heartless souls.
No one really vibes with me.
No one really fucks with me.
No one can understand the gold + wisdom that comes from my tongue.
Day in and day out.
Rusty cat whiskers
And I'm lost in the idea of someone else's mind
Let me try your head on for size.
Crumbling ceilings
And I want to see through your eyes
Let me try your head on for size.
One tear
Because that's all I can spare
You slowly walk away
It is finished
This last sunset
This last laugh
This last moment
Gone, forever
The rain then came
I Am
Paint splashed onto weary walls
That have stood over centuries of the normal person.
Spots of color to prove I am different
Than the rest
Splotches that don't blend in
With the rest
A baby, not even a moment oldIts story is unwritten, clean, untoldGrows into a child, encouraged to fulfill his dreamsJust be sure to fit within society’s scheme
Life forgot my passion there
And handed me the key;
For what possesses better snare
Of curiosity?
The key, ornate with golden leaves
And “Carpe Diem” divine,
My mind is the only thing that is entirely mine.
And although it has been touched by this world a few too many times,
It remains in a place that is far away
From all that the world has decayed.
I am flawless.
I am not flawless because of the amount of money I own
Nor am I flawless due to the color of my skin.
The length of my hair does not make me flawless
and neither do the clothes I wear.
When asked, "What is your name?"
My response is also a question
Why am I unsure--of the one title I've possessed since birth,
How do I claim to know myself. If I still don't know what I'm called?
A Penguin can’t fly.
The poor flightless bird, confined to the land and sea, with wings weighing it down: gravity.
Me.
The girl who dreams to be a penguin, yet fly,
I'm me.
And I'm not sorry.
I'm not sorry that sometimes,
I'm too honest.
But who wants to be lied to?
Not I.
Not I, who every time I see a cute guy
I must say hi
I’m complicated,
Yet easy to read.
I may be a follower,
But I can easily lead.
I am everything you wished for,
And nothing you can picture.
I’m the lethal disease,
I am a suit and tie man
with tattoos peeking out from under my sleeves,
black ink that flows from my pen
on to every assignment I turn in demonstrates intellectuality,
the ink that punctures my skin tells a story,
A world where the very beings that dewll in it, only exist in a realm of inauthenticity. A filter.
Everywhere I glance, I find a pit of indecency. The urge to acquire the highest level of popularity.
Without a veil
I'm nothing special
Well, not really at least
I have blood running through my veins
And snot in my nose
My eyes are blue
And my teeth white
I have ten toes
I am flawless
But for my flaws
Perfect
But for my imperfections
Sacred
Called by his name
Alive
Because of his resurrection.
I am small
But souls heed no size
I am flawless
But for my flaws
Perfect
But for my imperfections
Sacred
Called by his name
Alive
Because of his resurrection.
I am small
But souls heed no size
It's kind of weird being adopted.
You become a part of someone's family.
These people could just as easily been strangers passing by.
And you are stuck in a world surrounded by people that look nothing like you
Flaws and all I will continue to stand tall, because after all... I am beautifully flawed.
When I look into the mirror , I see smooth brown skin , sharp eyes, a button nose
The filter on right now is called "heading 3." I have the basic font on.
To not live in the status quo means to have no filter.
My name is Parker and I strive to live with no filter.
Lost......
i was lost
lost alone in the world, no where to go
i looked everywhere and searched for everything
i quit
i gave up
I got so sick of trying
trying to be good enough
No matter who you are, no matter where you’re from, you were born to live. You were born to feel and taste and touch, to use every single one of your senses. You were born to make friends, and to lose them.
If the whole world were to look up at the same cloud,
what would they see?
If I peered through stained glass,
do I still see the same cloud?
Do you see me as I see me?
Meek.
I am a beautiful vase.
Society glances and admires
My elegance, my collectiveness,
My flawlessness.
But this one, simple glance
Does not allow them to see
I put on my make-up and pick out my shoes;
the perfect pair to match my shirt.
Because that was what I was taught to do
In a World where looks are what seem to work.
They say my hair is much too short
So who is the man in the mirror?
The real one- you know? The one behind the filter
hidden away, disquised
because no matter how hard he tries...
There is something different--
I am not like the others.
I am not just another soul.
I have a heart just like the rest,
but it's beat is all its own.
Social media and concern for self-image has created an insane craze,
Being abstract is not bad.
You don't want to like everyone else.
Being creativity and rare is beautiful.
This world embracres everyones beauty but, tends to forget their own.
I am him, I am me, no one can take my place.
The one who tries to fill my shoes could never win my race.
Take a look, can't you see that what you say can't hurt?
No matter what they say it cannot change the person that you are,
why do you do that, why do you let them tell you who's the star?
You're one in a million; bought with a price beyond what you can see,
I’m writing poetry on a whim
I have no experience
But I can tell you of my experiences
I have a friend
We all have friends
Don’t we?
Don’t we?
One Saturday she up and goes and texts me
My reflection is
a mirage
purely an image
Based
on deception
hidden with lies
buried in secret
It whispers happiness
to me
But all I can see in
Why live solely by the bible,
When it fills you full of hate.
You'll only destroy,
No ability to create.
Endless sleepless nights,
Questioning beliefs,
But you have to keep your head down,
I won’t apologize
for my complex emotions that can be your ecstasy or your next nightmare.
I won’t apologize
for being the one who won’t bow down to your word and whim.
I walk like you in a way
I place one foot in front of the other
But still is where i refuse to stay
Giving you less time to look me over
My golden eyes hide behing the pounds of mascara that shade my natural beauty.
Constrained by the norms of society I fake it until I can one day make it,
Hoping for a chance to be myself,
I was always the last person in line, the last seat at the back of the classroom, and the last person to speak.
We all have our preferences
You and I, he and she
From our individual tastes
In food, friends, music, coffee
Friends may say or speak
In ways that influence us
Though, the result be bleak
Away from my body,
Exiting the mental noise.
I observe the feathered edge of light
Surrounding these form-bearing objects.
What is the meaning of meaning?
The stem-held nerve endings sway
Mind alteration?
Mine’s naturally alternative.
What do you say to the dreamy kite-flyers
When all your life you’ve been high?
Verse 1:
We taint the air with idle words
Cause sticks and stones hurt the most
What’s a jab to the bird?
What’s a duel to a roast?
Shoot….
She looks at her hands
Delicate hands which haven’t done much
Shy hands which could change the world with just one touch
Any act they make
Could be a mistake
Quick, hide them. Back in your jean pockets.
We've created an army of identical twins,
318,457,385 of them today, more tomorrow.
All mirror images staring blankly back at each other,
unable to see the similarities,
What does our future really have in store for us?
Is life still going to be this endless circle of trials
Or
For years my thoughts were silent
Trapped in the matrix of my mind
The only resolve, a pen on paper
Hoping to leave my past behind.
Having no idea how to share myself
With the people surrounding me
I've realixed that when it comes to life, everything and everyone in it has an imperfection. A slight misunderstanding that the universe as a whole compels to call a fatal flaw that keeps life at its best, from perfection.
Everyone has dreams to make it for their familes get of the hood to live good well some people was born into this world with a sliver spoon in their mouth
Dear Anonymous Person,
Read this right now,
Your worth isn't determined
by your grades, your weight,
your beauty is infinite,
immeasurable like the famous lemniscate.
So forget all the hate.
Sitting on this moldy sofa
At this boring party
Everyone around me
Acting like they’re the hottest thing
I’m watching them all
Pondering
All the life advice I’ve heard
About individuality
I wont stop trying to walk on water,
Even if i cannot swim.
Not because of fear i won't
Lose all my dreams and hopes
During my 5th and 4th grade years,
Well, I don’t want to say that I was hot stuff…
But I’ll say it anyway:
One. Popular. 10 year old.
Hollister jacket hair straightener iPod Nano
We live our short lives with the perception we possess laser like concentration!Yet unbeknownst to many of us, we are part of a game rigged to generate tension!
Who am I?
And what do I stand for?
A million different things I can’t bear to name
My life is such a silly fucking game
My peers thirst for fame
I’m not the same
I see
Change, change, change. What would I change about my appearance?What would I change about my life?What would I change about my world?
All of a sudden you’re hit
You think of an idea with wit
Stare at the screen
Don’t make a scene
But silently say “Yes, that’s it!”
You write and act and edit
You upload and then wait a bit
Ten feet deep in eternal sleep
Fell from a cliff with the rest of the snow white sheep
I look up in envy of the black one who doesn't weep
Lying in this red valley
My body, blood, and soul
Is it's
I stopped beinghuman;
Maybe it was the callous palms oftheir hands guiding me into homogenous citadels,expecting me to follow;butI did not follow suite. I wanted more than callouses.
People running and people walking
People passing and people looking
People laughing and people cying
But they are all the same.
All the same individuals.
Held together,
tied together
Cold cinderblocks covered in thick, distorted white paint that tries to hide the sharp, rough edge of the bare blocks.
Cold cinder blocks covered in thick, distorted white paint that tries to hide the sharp, rough edge of the bare blocks.
I have two hands and a brush
And a silver palette filled
With many colors lush
That I swirl and I swill.
My brush I drag across and down.
Black drips into white
That's the difference between you and I.
You spend your time talking about love and romance, that's all you dream of.
I dream of exceeding expectations. Of blowing people like you away with what I can do.
Begin the dance.
Lock the door.
Put on the mask.
Shape the curls.
Brush on the paint.
Plaster the smile.
Look in the mirror.
Look away.
Begin the dance.
It was a place in the 1940's
where all the foxes still hung up on swing
would go to lick the floors and taste the walls.
Vigil and roaring,
it held the blistered soles of vagabonds,
I'm envious towards the movies,
That's my only crime.
Most take Marley,
Coconut with the lime.
I'm Selective to necessity,
Absorbent of the time.
Transpose and Metamorphose,
Can you hear me?
I'm Singing
I'm Shouting
I'm Whispering
Can you see me?
I'm Standing
I'm Spinning
I'm Hiding
Can you feel me?
I'm Far
You live each day just like the last
Which is why your life goes by so fast
You're taught and drilled on how things should be
Soon these codes are all you see
You strive to do what they've perfected
The feeling within
Ignored by all
I AM SCREAMING
But nobody listens
I am dying
But nobody helps me...
Inside I know I have potential
I know the underlying truth
i am more
A masterpiece was promised,
A carving out of words,
To stand, eloquent, elegant
Child of talent, effort, ripped-up sheets,
The first of many,
Essay-sculpture,
And I, Author-carver.
Free
Free country, they say.
But really?
To conform
To think the same
To act the same
Based on a "correct system"...
But really?
Where's the freedom
To be an individual?
Perfect straight unbending rows
All lined up one by one
Cookie cutter spoon fed facts
Untill our time is done
The light is cold. The day is dark.
The only thought I have, a spark.
The only breath I breathe, my mark.
In this ever-changing world.
The mirror is the truth, my face.
Dear Elementary School teachers,
It has been years since we have spoken
Since you let me slip away into the system
Forgot me, and my talents
Ignored what I couldn’t do.
Well I am no longer that kid,
The classroom is my dungeon
Cold, stark, and bleak.
The desk is my cage
Restraining my mind’s reach.
I’m drawn away from creativity
Herded by the group
Who are too slow to move on
Dreading Spanish every day
Something I wish I could say to my teacher
You flirt with all the boys and ruffle their hair
When I leave crying,
I'm the "trouble maker" I'm the "Liar"
My dialect is catastrophic. Viciously it consumes the minds of those who surround me. To catch only a whisper would reveal the sadistic sense of my nature. At least to some. Those who merge opinions with facts. Bellowing assessments of "this gen
Oh honey, lock the door on the way out,
and shut those windows, keep the daylight out!
We don't want scary strangers looking in.
Oh and stay indoors, rapists will snatch you in
"Thats not even muisc" they say
"All they do is scream"
It seems to me like you're forgetting something
Catchy beats and rhyming words is not what music is about
We are not men and women
though we like to believe we are.
We are children stuffed into the bodies of
"further evolved humans"
Full of preconcieved ideas
but robbed of curisity.
Pigeons told to fly
Who is to say what a win or a loss is?
I believe the magnitude of the win should be measured like beauty
Only in the eye of the beholder, should it be judged.
If each strand of my hair is a bristle
My head is a paint brush,
My forehead is the top of the canvas
Smoothly and vastly drawn,
My eyebrows are the wings of birds
It's wrong of me
To want to be equal.
It's wrong of me
To not feel like a woman.
Or a man.
It's wrong of me
To not be sexually attracted to anyone.
It's wrong of me
Make a mark in your name
no two fingerprints are the same
You dream your dream
I'll dream mine too
Don't let me falter what you want to do
Soak in life
Create your own voice
Not even the Crayola Company can keep me in that box
Rose Art never stood a chance
Sandusky couldn’t capture my essence
Prang dulled faster than my curiosity of Dixon Ticonderoga
I am a work of art
Can I put my trust in you?My future?My dreams?
Can I share with you my biggest fears?My worries?My tears?
No. I cannot.You do not teach me trust.You do not teach my compassion.
Individuality is a rarity
We live in a world of carbon copies
Of mass productions
A world where uniqueness is taken for granted
And similiraty is highly evident
I saw a million people
Standing on a hill,
Under the grey and square sky.
When I went to ask them,
What they were doing,
They remained silent.
When I look around
I see conformity.
We try to be the same
to maintain
a sense of normalcy
but it just constricts
our voices.
The world is closing in
around us,
if you never stop questioning what you're toldwhat you're shownwhat you're guaranteedwhat you're spoon-fed by the hand ofstingyswinishshrewd and slybusinessmenwell that's half the battle.
Lost inside a world
that really doesn't exist.
Nothing more than fake history
that we all seem to understand.
Though we don't understand it
and we don't want to accept it.
But we do.
Why write poetry?
Why bother at all?
Now, it might seem like it's going to rhyme
like I just stepped out of a story book,
but it's not going to tinkle;
it's not going to be pretty
I wrote to create. Reaching deep into the recesses
of my mind, I pulled what whimsical ideas sprouted there and pushed the ball
Individuality has become a competition
Behavior is tailored to receive recognition
If everybody’s eyes were closed
How different would you be clothed?
If your classmates didn’t surround your seat
The reason is simple.
It’s not black and white.
My pen is drawn to paper with ease
For once, my mind is free.
Words flow to and fro.
I write for emotion.
My feelings run with every thought.
Sorry if I don’t smoke
Sorry if I don't take my life
and my studies
As a silly little joke
Sorry if I don't wear clothes
That looks like my skin
Sorry if I think hoeing around
Do you know how it feels?
to not be comfortable in your own skin?
waking up everyday
and wishing
you looked like someone else
finding beauty in everything
in everyone
but yourself
Words that are for the wisdom we choose to seek
Predators circle its prey until its last breath
Dictators watch as it its it solemn flesh
Stuck in one’s mind of the already decided
When I was a little girl,My dad asked me,What birthday present he should get me,I asked for an artists set,and that's about it,After I got it,I let my imaginative child mind,Grasp on to everything,While I left reality behind, when I started schoo
The lone wolf was cut out from the pack
With nothing but a hurtful smack.
What did she do?
She wasnt like you.
She hunts at night,
With the moon as her light.
She is alone,
But not forlorn.
I am me, truer words never fully expressed
Within such a world where not one shall wholly address
The reality of individuality is merely a creation…
A creation by those who once professed,
Some may say we are nothing more than players in an overcrowded game. We're spread in different layers but we're nowhere near the same. We, ourselves hold our destiny they can't control our actions.
Ever since I was young,
I knew.
Knew that my world needed expanding,
to open on itself,
I write to create,
new worlds and new lives,
I write to destroy,
hatred and fear,
Poetry, the wonderful freedom, The anonymous friend that calms your flares. Poetry tends to ease my mind, Poetry is my vent for life. My anger now will be released, My stress will unwind on paper.
Why do we write? To tell others of the sorrows we go through as people? To share with the world how high and mighty we show ourseleves to others but deep down we sore lower then the ground itself?
My words flow on paper,the stress loses its leash.
Allowing me to be vulnerablewithout the lost of dignity.
The pen and the paperbecomes the doctor.
Closed eyes, heavy sighs.
We are broken.
Desperate pleas, destroyed dreams
We are long gone.
Chain me up and my actions follow the pattern
Thinking freely becomes a problematic matter
Breaking free from labels becomes unease
Your self doubt is for the world to feed
Our thoughts is for us to own and probe
A cart rolls into the frigid clean room,
the sheet is removed, revealing terrifying tools with innocent names.
I sit back into the chair as it crackles in disappointment.
Ink stains my face, my chest, my stomach,
I see my beauty in the reflection of the waterMove my hand through the murky liquid my appearance is altered I can be anyone I want to beIt’s so easy to change myself, my identity Most go to the salon, and pick a style from a bookWhereas I change
I had a dream one night
That left my mind in a bit of fright.
It began in an inescapable prison
Where darkness drenched itself into my soul
It's plain here. Nothing but gray
You shine so bright, like you're on display.
Sparkle and gleam among the dull.
You stand out. You must be bold.
I write poems because it expresses me!
So I don't sit there and think of rhyming words
Because the words that comes from the inner in are the words that are Me!
Yea, you might think that isn't poem.
My actions…
Draw me judgment from those I love and those I don’t
Can’t always match the true feeling of my heart
Are limited by my physical body
I envy those who can create fine art.
With brilliant strokes the make masterpieces.
Colors flow and blend for a grand effect.
They do not realize how lucky they are
To have the skill to bring forth such beauty.
I want to be a barbie
I want to be a fresh out the box
Accessories not included
Anatomically in correct
Manufactured in the flesh
Rubber in the chest
Barbie
Mark me made by Mattel
When I was young,
I looked up to you,
I saw light in you,
I considered you the sun.
Morning through the night,
I looked up to you,
I saw light in you,
I considered you the moon.
(poems go here) Raindrops fall
From the crystal clear sky
Passing layers of life
Just passing them by
Going on a journey
Through the emptiness of air
Headfirst to the ground
Waiting to get there
I needed it.
Release.
You know, let go.
Be gone.
Release.
Where was this magnanimous means that would submerge my problems
Flush out my feelings
Bequeath my body with boldness
Why do I write?
Why do I write...
Why do I write...
poetry?
The answer is hard
to put into words
even for someone as
"literally gifted"
as me.
Solemnly sitting with strings attached
Head bowed low
With no spark upstairs to glow
Nothing to generate and flow below
Because I'm a puppet you see and your commands are all I'll know.
I baked an apple pie today,
Just for him. It patiently waits on the counter'
And maybe he'll see it on Sunday,
Fear not the bird who sings in silence,
Or the poet who breaks rhythm and rhyme,
For they, the brave, do what many dare not.
The bird that sings breaks the silence of conform,
Her song rings out in defiance,
We put people in boxes
And we say
You must be
THIS way.
We put people in boxes
Crammed in.
Like contortionists.
But without flexibility.
My song sings millions
Though words are mute
Mute the chaos, the slander, the world—
The world needs to hear my song.
I knew a girl once who got called boy more times than she could count
each time it brought tears to her eyes liked she’d never amount
to their glorified expectations
horrified by her image in the mirror
I fly, sometimes, I really do
In space of endless, sticky goo
And even though this flight is free
I find it hard to be just "me"
Its words and trends trade in my own
For styles and tones of the well-known
No brain activity
No thought process
Neither input nor insight
Neither perseverance nor passion
Purposeless existence
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
And like all, wished I could travel the one
Although it is easier said than done
To take the path few have withstood
Individuality
Sits at the table of wonders
With his friends
And eats the androids,
The robots, and the clones.
He doesn’t use his napkin
When he spills the oil.
He likes the way his shirt
I’m an angel within but I fear my wings
Those graceful, feathered, astonishing things
I hide them away so that I can deny
This beautiful girl, whom I transformed into a lie
Searching in mirrors trying to figure it out
i’m not sure if i like
tea or coffee
fruits or vegetables
cats or dogs
math or reading
running or sitting
tears or laughter
gloves or mittens
PHASE I
I have big dreams with standards set high
The same-old same-old, with me, won’t fly
I live in a country whose president looks just like me
Don’t know who he’s working for yet, but we’ll see
I could walk a mile in someone else's shoes,
But that wouldn't help me on my path.
The street
The road
That we all choose
But still I stay strong in spite of that
It starts.
You said you’d let me be anything I wanted to be…
But I never could believe you
When you couldn’t let me be me.
“Don’t let them play soccer or football until they’re in college!”
I am the Student,
Who passes every class.
I am the Girl,
Whose love never lasts.
I am the Hobo,
Who begs for food.
I am the Blind Man,
Who hears few.
I am a Killer,
Once upon a midnight dream
I conjured up a magic scheme.
Some wings to help me leave this place
Where my troubles I could erase.
These wings would take me far away
Where I would make my long stay.
