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I am not deem to be a judge
Whatever I read
Screams back at me

And I can't tolerate the screams
They are too loud
For my ears to hear
The firmament held
true against the
rockets sent
by man.
Heroes aren't perfect.
They are broken pieces placed together to form a beautiful mosaic and yet they don't give up.
Their heart hasn't always known the 'right' choice, for they too have felt anger, doubt, pain and in the midst of those negative emotions they choose happiness.
Heroes aren't fearless.
How do you think they became heroes? By facing their fears head on, looking them in the eye while saying, "you do not control me anymore."
Being fearless means that you have never loved anything so much that losing it could break you.
Heroes are brave.
For when the final battle comes, they look at the world with bloodstained teeth and tears behind their eyes with a crooked, sinister smile and say,
"is that all you got?"
 Dec 2016 Mishael Ward
mrs kite
my stomach revolts often
and then sometimes not
food is appealing sometimes
but then often not

my heart stops sometimes
pushing sour saliva up my throat
bile pulses through my veins
but not often enough

I shower too much to be sad
sleep sometimes, too often enough
smile a little, but
too often to be anxious

brushing each tooth, carefully
I thought you were supposed to be depressed?
walking the line between too much
never enough
My father is a traitor
of the sacred promise
he made to us.

I mean he didn't harm us
on tradditional ways,
maybe the modern pain is worse,
maybe we'll be in pain forever.

My mother is a leader
of the chaos our lifes have become.
I don't remeber when we didn't organise
every step we made, because we are afraid
of falling into the deep space of our feelings.

My sister is a fighter,
protecting us for becoming nothing,
fighting with my darkness
even if it invades all of our room.

I don't know who I am,
I don't know if I'm the enemy
everyone tries to warning me about,
I live in that chaos, on that pain,
on that darkness, I became that,
an spiral of little destruction.

I become the witch in that story
with a costume of observer
because I'm just to paralised
to show them the inside,
of the darkness that'd  eat us alive.
It pleasures me
That she reads me
Inside her serenity
Parked on our bench of antiquities

I, whom gazes over there at her,
Later in the dusk of candlelight
Shall remove her pink dress
Tiss then
I shall see she derives her pleasures
As I read her
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