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Maybe When I'm dead
People Will know of my heart,
My fate, my words and my mind.
Maybe they'll finally care -
Finally read my words.
For my poetry is my eulogy.
Maybe when I'm dead,
People will know of my pain.
With my tears and blood
through these lines, rhymes, and stanzas -
May they see the true me.
And maybe when I'm dead,
I may finally be called a poet.
You were once.
Her most favoured dreams.
That's slowly transforming.
Into her worst nightmares.
It captivates the mind.
It reveals untold secrets.
It speaks for the heart.
It searches within the souls.
It brings back the memories.
It expresses hidden feelings.
It exposes the truth.
It understands the pain.
It transforms your thoughts into words.
Not everyone comprehends it.
It carries with it relatability.
The amazing feature called Poetry.
Here I describe how I see poetry in my eyes.
She started studying the stars.
Hoping that she could.
Find a way to.
Brighten her darkest days.
When you are smiling in your dreams.
I am here crying myself to sleep.

When you are having a good laugh.
I am here practicing a smile to hide my scars.

When you are enjoying your day.
I am here wanting the memories of you to go away.

When you are having fun and getting wild.
I am here cooped up in my bed loosing my mind.

When you are there experiencing.
I am here regretting.

When you are having the time of your life.
I am laying here wanting to end mine.
Be your own sun shining in life of others.

Be your own flower that beautified ones dried up garden.

Be your own bird the soars high above in the sky.

Be your own moon that allows the night to bloom.

Be your own star that lighten the way of a person's dark path.

Be your own person and appreciate being you.
The more she thought
You could save her
From drowning
The deeper she went
Underneath.
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