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Twenty six alphabets swirling around
but this soul only has twenty four hours to wander.
Thousands of words
and there is only one of me,
deciding which word should sit next
to the other stranger.
So that it makes sense
to give the whole stanza a reason.
To let it sing a melody
but it just sits there
staring blandly at endless dreamers,
wondering if they would understand
the reason why these words
were stringed next to one another.
Or if they would give up
thinking the poet must have been
some clever mastermind
and the whole art piece needs to
be re-examined word by word.
Decoding each line
that unveils itself and
gives a whole new meaning
of it's existence.
Then again, what if I told you
As you read this
That there is no reason
To my creation.
There is no rhyme or rhythm
No rules that can set these words on fire.

What if I told you, I exist for no reason?
I am not governed by an external force
That is in need to tell a story
Or deprived of a reason to live
Or just to breathe.
Just like how the falling autumn leaves
Falls from its old roots-
Silently.
Without needing a reason to fall
Without anyone telling - its time is over.

Surely words were created for a reason,
To converse with impalpable creatures,
But words didn't ask for it
It didn't plead to have a reason for its survival
In the lonely throats of the dead.
But the universe came together
And did it anyway.

So today, the warrior words formed together,
In a battle that was long forgotten,
In silence, when it was once thrown into every page,
Forced into the mouths of the filth
And sometimes the lovers
To create romance and never endings.

Today, the words stand here tall
Within the screens and papers
In bold it speaks-
That it holds no reason,
It does not take the blame for the hurting
Nor for the joy of the fresh bonfire
in cold winter.

It stands tall for its own victory-
In its own reality.
For no reason or rhyme,
For it was only meant for those
Built with sovereignty,
Who knew words were only meant to be free.
It belonged to nobody, nor will it ever.
And with no reason,
All the words in the world,
Cease to end right here.
Why do I care so much about my physical appearance?
You think it's because I actually give the slightest **** about what you think of me?
Ha. No offense but I couldn't care less what other people think of me. I mean this in the nicest way possible but if you don't like me, ***** your opinion. You're beautiful and you don't have to think I am.
You think I would act like I was thrown into a ceiling fan as a child the way I do if I cared what people thought of me?
No. By all means, please. Feel free to find me ugly!
Write poetry about it!
Etch it into bathroom stall doors! Put up posters for all I care!
I don't care about BEING beautiful!
I DO care about feeling beautiful though.
Feeling like I'm not hideous.
Because it HURTS to feel that way.
Don't you dare comment about my inability to leave the house without lipstick on unless you have BEEN me for a day and felt this pain of inadequacy.
Please.
I really don't care if I am pretty.
I just want to feel like it.

Repost if this is you...or if you just like, feel like reposting.
Please comment! I love to read interpretations of my work and really anything else you have to say!
Repost if this is you...or if you just like, feel like reposting.
Please comment! I love to read interpretations of my work and really anything else you have to say!
I've had enough of being alone,
I got my fill of that years ago.
I've had enough of empty hands,
So put yours in mine and tell me your plans.
I've had enough of the cold,
So put your arms round me and keep hold.
I've had enough of singing your favourite songs on my own,
So let me hear again that beautiful tone.
I've had enough of being in the year above,
Just 5 months means they try and obstruct our love.
I've had enough of writing poetry like this,
I count the hours until I return to bliss,
*And remove as many as I can with sleep.
Your blood paints the walls
Intestines spill everywhere
Don't take my chocolate
I'm THAT person.
You know the one.
The one you want to impale with a blunt object.
You will be texting them and you will disagree on something.
So they will tell you why they are right
And you will send them all these brilliant arguments about why you are right
And they will respond...
By correcting your grammar.
Yes, THAT right there, is ME.
Is it REALLY that hard though?
There is:
There, their, and they're.
Your, yore, and you're.
My friends and I.
NOT my friends and me.
If you're going to upset me, please,
Just kick me in the head or slam a hammer into my face but PLEASE do not say oxes. It's OXEN!.
And don't even get me started on it's and its.
When you mess that up... just ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.
It hurts me! Really!  Agonizing torture!  
One day I'm going to snap and vandalize a billboard.
When I get arrested for that, the sad part will be that
It will be because I was correcting the "Got Milk?" Ad.
Got milk.
Got. Milk.
I'm sorry, GOT milk?!!
Did you mean do you HAVE any milk?!!
But police don't feel that improper grammar is a good  excuse for the defacing of property.
Yes, yes, yes I KNOW I'm a grammar ****
But do you know what? I wouldn't have to be one if people would quit MURDERING the English language!!
So please, before I spontaneously combust.
Get. It. Right.

Repost if yous Is one of thoses persons whose bothereded bye theses stuffs and badder grammar makeses yous madder then any others peopleses on earth.
Please comment! I love to read interpretations of my work and really anything else you have to say!
Repost if yous Is one of thoses persons whose bothereded bye theses stuffs and badder grammar makeses yous madder then any others peopleses on earth.
Please comment! I love to read interpretations of my work and really anything else you have to say!
I'm either always second choice
or not even a choice at all
I'm the girl who fights tears during slow songs
at the dances no one ever asks me to go to with them
while my friends go off and dance
in the arms of guys who asked them to
but I never get asked to dance
so I watch silently
because nobody wants to dance with me
I'm the girl who has never looked in the mirror
and felt beautiful
or even pretty
not even half decent
never even average
not even just plain
never felt ugly either
but every. single. time.
I feel hideous
and worthless
and repulsive
and ashamed of my face
and my body
and then I feel ashamed all over again
of my vanity
and pathetic obsession
with being beautiful
with FEELING beautiful
because roses are roses
and weeds are weeds
born a rose, you're a rose
born a ****, well, you're a ****
like me.
and roses will be beautiful
but weeds won't.
End of story.
Tick tock. Tick tock. The sound of a clock, the sound of finger nails on a chalk board adds to the ticking, a sound like rushing air but no breeze enters the chamber and then ringing silence and pitch black darkness cloaks the dim lighting and an atrocious familiar scream issues from below your feet and the lights flicker back on.

How it feels when someone you love is hurting...

and you don't know how bad they were hurting

until it's too late to save them.

Repost if you are one among the few of us who recognizes this feeling.
Repost if you are one among the few of us who recognizes this feeling.
Please comment, I love to hear feedback!
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