Welcome to society,
We hope you enjoy your stay,
And please feel free to be yourself,
As long as it's in the right way,
Make sure you love your body,
Not too much or we'll tear you down,
We'll bully you for smiling,
And then wonder why you frown,
We'll tell you that you're worthless,
That you shouldn't make a sound,
And then cry with all the others,
As you're buried in the ground,
You can fall in love with anyone,
As long as it's who we choose,
And we'll let you have your opinions,
But please shape them to our views,
Welcome to society,
We promise that we won't deceive,
And one more rule now that you're here,
There's no way you can leave.

By
Erin Hanson

Words are not weapons,
And this is not a war.

Remember this: you only die once,
                                      
                                   but you live everyday.

I see you.
I see the real you.
I see the real you no one else sees.

Because you wear a mask.
You wear a beautiful, deceiving mask.
You wear a beautiful, deceiving mask but you forget,
     I can see you.

Why can't you see me?

We live in a wasteland.

A place for uneasy souls,
Uncared-for thoughts,
And loneliness.

We live in a wasteland.

A place for wild unrest,
Frequent combat,
And total war.

We live in a wasteland.

A place for the rejects,
The wallflowers,
And the jocks.

We live in a wasteland.

A place of constant turmoil,
Between states and countries,
And people.

We live in a wasteland.

                                            We live in a wasteland.
                                                                              
                                                                                  We live in a wasteland.

We live.

you
cannot
be
fixed
by
the
same
person
that
broke
you.

A poem is like a tickle,
It gives you joy and pain:
With blissful tears and
Tearful giggles,
You'll read that poem again.

A poem is like a damaged heart
In need of surgery:
The cut that heals,
A line that leaves
A scar along your heart.

A child draws the outline of a body.
She draws what she can, but it is white all through,
she cannot fill in what she knows is there.
Within the unsupported line, she knows
that life is missing; she has cut
one background from another. Like a child,
she turns to her mother.

And you draw the heart
against the emptiness she has created.