Ghosts of toads still haunt my dreams
Scratch my cheeks with desperate nails
Leather lips still jeer and scream
And mouths drip blood on muddy trails

I'm tried of this, I've gone a little mad
You've stolen my self-confidence
I come in as a storm, and come out like a little rain
You make me feel small, you make me feel useless
From when we were kids, we've been told
"It's good to be special."
But in the real world, is it really?
You've made fun of my culture and religion
You made fun of my nationality
I'm just as American as you.
I was born here, and I act as you do
I dress different, but that means nothing
I speak English too, along with others.
I'm the exact same, just with values and morals
You may not have any, but...
DOES THAT GIVE YOU ANY RIGHT TO MAKE FUN OF ME!!!!??

Your hate for her
Her eyes try to be happy
You don't realize what she's been through
You're inconsiderate jerks
She talented and beautiful
If you don't see it
Then you are blind
Her beauty is within
Take the time to see it
Don't judge her by she talk or walks
Or the scar on her neck
Don't be an inconsiderate ****

I'm ashamed of who I am
I know you're ashamed of me
You abuse me with your words
I sit in a corner everyday
Thinking of the ways you can ****
But sometimes when I dont think about you killing me
I think about the other ways I can die
If you hate me so much
Just make your pain and mine end
**** Me Now

The old city is beneath our feet—
buried ruins of the pioneers, our ancestors.
For thirty blocks in every direction
we walk, our everyday footsteps like knocks
upon the doors of their empty, abandoned homes.
Just as one hears the sea inside a washed-up shell,
so, too, the streets roar with echoes of the past.
The cracks in the concrete are windows
thrown open to a lost civilization.
It takes a jackhammer to unearth the treasure.
Drilling through the concrete,
like opening a rusted chest of drawers in the attic
in search of relics.
Beneath the asphalt and tangled steel—
a yellowed photo,
a scrap of moth-eaten fabric,
a handful of dust.
The memories of our grandparents
recalled in our walking.

Early in the morning, I open up
But not completely- no one would understand
Only I, no one else
Not even the people closest to me
They think they know me the best.
But aren't you forgetting you're the ones who let my sprit down
The pain you gave me was for the best
The day was done. I cried it all out...

I went inside my lonely little bud
And I sat in a dark, lonely corner-
waiting for something to hit me
Everyone abuses me- emotionally and physically
They don't care how they make me feel
For all I am is a little flower
Opening up to the world