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Annie Quill May 2014
Floating clouds in the sky,
Floating Clouds Mountain high,
Floating clouds morphing why?
Morphing clouds flying high.
Annie Quill May 2014
Endless work,
Endless fields,
Lifetime hard ahead,
A heavy weight upon thy back,
A heavy weight upon thy heart,
Staying there until depart,
Looking for freedom,
Yet getting not,
Looking across and seeing hope,
Reaching far,
Not far enough,
Reaching for the prize,
Forsaken eyes,
Somber faces,
Thread-bare cloths,
Dirtied feet,
Bleeding hands,
Looking forward,
Glaring forward,
Accusing eyes at me,
Fire eyes,
Dagger eyes,
Looking forward at me,
Endless work,
Endless fields,
Lifetime hard ahead.
Annie Quill May 2014
I am from my family,
From the tree that I half-know,
From the half that I don’t know,
From the substitute half given,
To give me room to grow,
To at least semi-know,
What its like,
To know the whole tree,

I am from the friends I didn’t have,
And the friends I have now,

I am from the struggles of life,
And the disability’s,
That made it thrice as hard,

I am from the gifts,
Three of them all in a row,
That gives me eyes to see,
What others don’t want to know,
That gives me a heart wide open,
To help me give so much,
And hurt even more,
At the words thrown at me,
That gives me ears to hear,
What others never will,
That gives me hands to touch,
What others cast away,
That gives me feet to walk,
A path that others daren’t think to,
That gives me a mind to part,
The fog of misconception,
That gives me wild paths with a hundred choices each,
And a mind that likes them all,

I am from the uncertainty of what I shall do,
When the high school path ends,
And the college path begins,

I am from the times,
Of soccer ***** and dads’

I am from the middle house,
With a red door and a porch,
With a crab-apple tree,
With a Toyota Celica and a Toyota Camry,
And web-collecting Moses bushes,
With beige walls,
With a closet to the right and a bathroom straight ahead in the foyer,
With a red couch and a cabinet framed TV,
With a mirror on the wall and shelves up above,
With a once-white carpet and a computer,
With a book shelve set into the wall and an old broken inherited radio,
With hardwood floors in the kitchen-dining room and an old wobbly wooden dining table,
With a counter of doom and a pantry,
With white carpeted stars that lead up to the rooms and down to the family room-basement, bathroom, office, and laundry room,
With the master bedroom and after nightmare cuddle sessions,
With my old room, now my brothers, with yellow walls and a castle mural painted by my Mom,
With my playroom, then nursery, then my room again, with blue walls and clouds on one side over white wooden borders,
With door less closet and Joes’ old bed,
With a pink cubby-bookshelf and old wooden dresser,
And stained floors.
Annie Quill May 2014
Fire,

Pyro,

Flames,

Blaze,

Consuming everything in its path,

Orange heat reaching for the sky,

Exhilarating,

Terrifying,

Fun,

Irresistible.
Annie Quill May 2014
A blank page is opportunity,

Endless possibilities and freedom of expression,

Words waiting behind a pen,

Waiting to be put down,

A blank page is freedom,

Freedom of the mind,

Freedom of the hand,

A blank page is a story,

Untold and new,

Real and unbridled,

A blank page is hope,

For a girl trying to make her way in a scary chaotic world,

A blank page is a friend,

For a new fledged writer or an old hand at the art,

Always patient,

Always waiting,

A blank page is many things,

And all of them untold.
Annie Quill May 2014
Do you realize I can see it?

That look in your eyes?

Saying I’m a freak?

A loser?

A spazz?

A good for nothing?

A ******?

That look that says I’m different?


I’m tired of being different,

Of trying to be like you,

Why do I even try?

To be like you?

Can’t I be myself?!

Oh wait no!

I CANT BE MYSELF!

It’s socially unacceptable!

What the hell!

WHY CANT I BE ME?!


Is that so bad?

To try to be myself?

To be individual?

To be unique?

To dress how I want?

To say what I want to say?

And do what I want to do?

And act how I want to act?

To be myself without rebuke and constrain of social norms?

To be individual without being told its wrong and being tied down with the ropes of unspoken social rules?

To be unique without being glared at with looks of contempt and aloof?

To dress how I want without being looked at like I’m crazy, or told it’s out date?

To say what I want to say without being told that it’s weird or out-of-line?

To do what I want to do without being told I have to stay within certain confines?

To act how I want to act without having my lines scripted and my moves choreographed by the rules and regulations of society?

Is it so horrible to want to be who I am without the looks that say I’m an out-cast or having to live within the walls of social norms?

Am I such a terrible person that I can’t be myself?


And do you realize I can see it?

That look in your eyes?

Saying I’m a freak?

A loser?

A spazz?

A good for nothing?

A ******?

An out-cast?

A person out of line?

That look that says I’m different?


Because I do see it,

And it hurts,

To know I’ll never be accepted,

Or told its okay to be me,

To be individual,

To be unique,

To dress, say, do, and act how I want,

And not have to ask my Mom,

‘Is this outfit okay?’

To ask my friends,

‘Did I say something wrong?’

‘Did I do something wrong?’

To ask my teachers,

‘Did I act out of line?’

To say to the whole wide world,

‘I’m sorry for being me,’


I see the looks,

I notice them every day,

And I must ask,

Can you please stop?

Because I’m sorry,

For being me,

Because I can’t change,

Who I am,

Because I see you, and I notice the looks you give me,

And they hurt,

So please?

Can you stop?

Just for one day?

Just one measly day?

Because it hurts,

And I can’t change,

Who I am.
Annie Quill May 2014
Step step step step,

Arms pumping, legs burning,

Slap slap slap slap,

Barefoot soles meet pavement, concreate, dirt, grass,

Ground,

In out,in out,

I’m flying, free,

Go go go go

Says my heart to me.
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