If a girl has stolen your heart,
try your hardest to steal hers.

I'll make you a doll of clay;
I'll fire it and paint it for you.
You can love the doll or break it.
Take the doll instead of me,
so if the doll gets broken I'd still be okay.

Hello dear friend.
We just met, but you seem so familiar to me.
How are you dear friend?
You seem as happy as happy can be.
Are you like me dear friend?
Do you hold in your aches so others can't see?
Are you strong dear friend?
Do you put on a brave face to be a safe-house for the weak?
You are like me then, my dear friend.

I try not to think of the past, but it always interferes with the present.

The best of authors can't write poetry.
The best of poets cannot sing.
The best of anything has weak points.
There is no best of everything.

Yes, please do ignore me.
My life's better without you.
Yes, please do avoid me
I like having power over you.
Sometimes I get tired of acting indifferent,
but it's not like you actually care.
I hope you continue to ignore me,
because I'm better off this way.

Don't cry pretty girl,
you're sweeter than tears.
Lift your head up pretty girl,
let laughter be near.
Laughter is desiring your company pretty girl.
It wants to be your friend
Don't worry about me pretty girl,
I'll be fine when you are.
Please stay my pretty girl.

You walk through your garden;
I am standing tall.
You pick up the lilies,
the daisies,
the honeysuckles,
and the petunias.
You put them all together carefully
and place them in a vase.
Then you return to glance once more at me.
You rip me out by my roots and throw me into the trash.
The bouquet is on the table mocking me while I rot alone.
I die fast, but the flowers slowly whither away where all can see.

Dare you leap off this limb,
into a world of unforgivable sin?
Where lust is love and love is lust.
Where your feet will tread, do you trust?
Every corner unearthing a new depth.
Long ago, there I have crept.
No one hears your cries any longer,
for the world is cruel and oh so somber.
Demons walk among you as your own,
in the place you live in which is not your home.

Pushing my bike up the hill as others ride up it.
Their eyes both laugh at me and judge me.

She walks behind the pack
so no one can see her stumble.
She walks behind the pack
to console the ones who fall behind.
She walks behind the pack
because she isn't as confident as the front man.

She stays strong for others.
They are more important in her eyes.
Her eyes that only cry alone.

There was a thing with nothing,
No form,
No gender,
No name,
No home,
No diety.
It roamed by itself with no one.
No girl,
No boy,
No anything,
No direction.
It bumped into another thing who had,
No form,
No gender,
No name,
No home,
No diety.
It felt a feeling it never had felt.

The feeling grew the longer it was near the other thing.

The other thing felt it too.

A light flicked on and showed the two things' true forms.

Did the feeling stop?

I hear the yells for war,
people are screaming them daily
while the rest of us lie on our backs
crying because we're too lazy.
We're too tired,
we've got too much to do,
too much to stress for.
Meanwhile we're living big,
living rich in a land that's already been paid for.
Paid for by all of the original owners' blood.
The ones we felt the need to sacrifice
felt the need to ****** and **** just to get a land we could have shared if not for our big glorious dream,
a dream that nobody else can be included in.
It's a dream that has no resolution,
after all who really keeps their New Year's resolution.
Well another year has passed and we're just getting worse!
In the words of John Brown before he was hung,
"the crimes of this guilty land will never purged away
but with Blood."