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It's a never a new day just a continuation of the same events
Phasing away
New inventions are just modified old inventions
Wake up to the premonition thatz sings into the souls as it tensions
Tryna find something to clench onto but the pains long overdue
Awaiting our graves hoping we saved by the pastors words engraved
Deeply I ponder into the lost seas of my mind written on scrolls
Types like hieroglyphics encrypted but our lives been scripted
Wake up it ain't a new day just another control from humanity wayz
Wake up wake up this ain't the same game
SHE
She wants to be beautiful.
So she puts on that blouse that gives her just the right physique.
She puts her makeup on.

China Doll.

She fixes her hair so that it falls in the perfect direction.

She tries to fit in.
To fit in with all these people just like her,
Who want to be pretty,
Who want to fit in.

She wants to be loved.

She finds a guy.
He is her dream come true, her prince charming, her world.

He “loves” her.
He is drawn to her ****, her ***, the most ****** regions of her body.

***.
So he says he loves her.

She loves him.

She loves the sparkle in his eyes, she loves the dimple in his right cheek when he laughs.
She loves the way he walks, the way he talks, the way he looks when he is angry.
She loves his smile, his nose even though it isn't perfect.

She loves him.

She wants to be skinny.

So she looks at herself naked in the mirror every morning and every night,
Imagining how she would look without this and that.
She cries because she wants to be perfect, society’s definition of what a woman should look like.

She wants to be happy.

So she wears that dazzling smile that she has practiced so hard to get right.

She is incredible, funny, and has a personality anyone would die to have.

She fools her family, her friends
To think that she’s untroubled, without a care in the world.

She fools herself.

She is exhausted.

She is abused.

She is used.

She is corrupted.

She is hurt.

She is turned down, let go, disappointed.

She is abused, mentally by those people who told her she wasn't pretty enough.
Used, by the boy who said he loved her.
Corrupted, from society’s image on women.
Hurt, hurt by those people that were so close.
So close that they should have known.
They should have known something was wrong, that she wasn't okay, she wasn't happy.

She is gone.

She didn't believe in herself.
She couldn't deal with the pain and the exile.
She was an outcast.
She took the easy way out.
She has given up.

Now.

Those people are still trying to fit in. To be like everyone else trying to fit in.
That boy is still looking for ****** amusement using and re-using beautiful souls for his own pleasure.
Society is still corrupt. It’s such a shame.
Families and friends still ignorant to what is really going on in their loved ones minds.

Hopeless.
This is the first poem I ever wrote and I just found it; exciting seeing how I've grown as a poet :) I bet you guys can relate too! I wrote this poem in 3rd person about myself in 2012, I was a bit of a Debbie Downer.

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