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through
the
eyelids of
the
golden sun
we
witness
the
daybreak unfolds
 May 2017 archwolf-angel
Lote Do
Do not control me, mum
I am not a robot
Or your play toy thing
I am a human
With emotions
and free will.
This poem tells about how my parents  constantly try to control and manage my life instead of trying to let me experience life on my own.
A downtown
queen,
She finds solace in being
seen.
The loneliest of
birds,
she doesn't like it when
these feelings are
stird.
Would it have helped
if I had more
beauty?
Four foot something,
but I don't like myself
with dark hair.
Would it have helped
to have been a little more,
or a whole lot more,
trusting?
I'm sorry,
I know it's a continues
recycling of things that
didn't, doesn't, and
never will matter.
But memories, ideas
and impossible dreams
like to come back as waves
in the form of
dark blue scatter.
i'm incredibly naive.
Like blood from an open wound,
the words flow of their own accord.
Pain there is, but no wish to get rid off.

An unbridled power has taken over,
Can't stop, don't wish to stop.
Have got to write, to tell this story mine.

It's a journey long, meandering through phases varied.
Going through forests deep, stopping at falls sweet.
Looking for answers, to questions abstruse.

Being termed obtuse, for not relenting in the worst of time.
Have been told that  I would lose,  but the choice is mine.
So I surge ahead, with only a dream to lead the way.

A dream to find worlds new.
To know the answer to questions abstruse.
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