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What it seems most people find inspiring Is people who have, what they’re desiring Those that have money, fame, or power Those that live on top of Trump tower
I am still,but I move; in my head,
by Ariel Douglas (July 2016) Every morning it’s the same The two sit together, just inside the door Like two medieval soldiers taking the night watch
To The old man in the wheel chair at the art gallery last month, You said I was in your way, and then you called me ignorant, And I wanted to say I'm sorry, But I knew my words did not make up for it.
Poetry was a way to escape The cruel harshness of the world With people who were more like rabid animals Than people. I could write it out in ways In a language That made sense to me.
"All Special Needs kids need to burn in hell" I laughed. It's funny when education is wasted on people like this boy. I laughed. It's funny how he is so ignorant to his own flaws that are shamed deep within his mind
Anxious about being
I am in an empty casing. My soul is hitting walls and edges.
A frosty road less traveled by A Dickinson invitation to the internal sky
I ask you not to stare when I walk by, So look into my eyes where beauty lies, Some people’s comments make me want to cry,
An infinity or a figure eight. Your fingers always seem to trace. As if you’re trying to unlock a gate. Your fingers trace perhaps a face? A trace made only by your hands.
Stuck here, In this chair. Hey man at least its got wheels. I never get to leave this thing. It sucks, Day after day I sit here, To be honest; Its not even that comfortable.
Your eyese gloss over as you once more see my hand slicing through the air,You know I know the answer, yet you never let me speak.If I could speak, here Is what I would say:
My little younger sister, Was told when she was seven, That she wouldn't see so well, Maybe till she got to heaven. She has a rare eye case, Rentinitis Pigementosa,
The moon peers in, an uninvited guest Illuminating lids without consent. Although the sleeping child’s time is spent White light disrupts her dreams and steals her rest. The moon smirks smugly at his playful jest
January 2008 is a month I will never forget I woke up expecting another day at school To only have my vision suddenly change A curtain had been pulled over my face
The walls were painted, never mind the sightless eyes. Insignificant details passed up by vision that never was, is, or will be. The lamps were shaded,
It’s only partial darkness, But it’s known the light isn’t complete. It was not always this way, although there was always a chance it could be It could be worse, but still it could be better.