Dear Society,
How does one recover?
After panic
After seeing friends you knew so well
Get a bullet pierced through their ribs and fall to the ground
After running constantly to try and save yourself
Save others
My brother wrote a poem
On the back cover of his note book:
Falling rain does not remember
All the feelings that I had
With a gun in my hand
I felt as powerful
As I did powerless
These automatic weapons
Are the easy way out
We are angry
Yet if you fight with violence
I see you as a coward
I shun you will silence
And non violent protests
Falling rain did not remember
Falling rain came flooding through the sky
I will not stand alone tonight.

you shattered me
and you broke me
into pieces
but still somehow
i'm still alive
but sometimes
i wish other wise

I kept chasing
you, as if
you were
a distant dream.
But dreams
are not always
dreams.
Sometimes, we have
nightmares too.

Oh boy, time for another poem.
What should I write about?
The meaning of life?
Some deep metaphor?

Eh.
Scratch that.
I'm not deep.
Oh sure, I totally pretend to be,
But I'm not deep.

I like reading other people's deep thoughts
It's fun to think about stuff like that.
But I'm not deep.

I'm silly and bubbly and a little shallow.
Sometimes I'm sad, so I write about that,
Or sometimes I'm anxious, so I write about that,
But it's all skin-deep.
And I don't go deeper.

It almost feels like I've been leading everyone on.
Because a lot of the time,
I sound deep.
But I'm not deep.

I'm just a kid,
Barely starting high school,
Whose biggest concern in life is currently an overdue Chinese project.
Yeah... I'm not deep.

Sorry about that, everybody!
I know I try to sound deep,
But really.
I'm not deep.

:)

I love her.

With her dark brunette hair,
always down over her shoulders in cascading waves,
Or ******* behind her head so that I can see her eyes.

Oh, her eyes.
Bright and alluring and sweet.
Alight with a smile that compares only to the one on her lips.

And her lips.
Always tilted up in a bashful smile.
And one side always goes higher than the other,
But I don't tell her because I think it's cute, and I don't want her to stop.

Someday she'll kiss me.
Because I'll never be brave enough to try myself.
And the lips I love so much will touch mine.

I love her

For her hair and her eyes and her lips and her mind,
Which is logical, but with a hint of romance and a vast imagination,
An artistic eye and a sweet, flustered girl just beside that.

She's perfect.

And I love her.

I love her so much.