Miss Yon said,
Relax and just let it all out,
don't worry edit later.
Become the words on the paper,
and then it will be great.
Miss Yon Said
The fall is thick but,
winter is thicker.
In those months of thickness,
in my house,
with blurry figures and smiling faces,
I blow on a cake with sixteen candles.
Yet I do not know where I am.
A gypsy of sorts.
A house is not necessarily always a home.
And my heat is lost to a room,
with nothing to hold in it.
Should my father's home be a more suitable location?
but she loves me
Should my mother’s home hold more warmth?
but he loves me
To some their homes are like the sun providing comfort and warmth.
But to others like me,
our home is but an iceberg,
melting.
m
e
l
t
i
n
g
gone.
You know it's not easy to read a compass lacking north.
Constantly wondering where you're headed
is not fun.
My best dish is logic,
served cold.
I wake up half dead,
or alive,
to things easily confused.
But being cold is bitter,
stiff,
I am unbreakable.
I am what I experience,
I am what I see,
I am who I speak to.
I am cold.
I am unsure.
To others who underestimate me,
I am ditsy,
I am just a blonde,
I am warm,
I am funny,
not smart.
not anything that could be valued.
not someone productive.
Identity is a crisis
and we are all in it.
This is my page for English H.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 8:56 PM UTC
Miss Yon said,
Relax and just let it all out,
don't worry edit later.
Become the words on the paper,
and then it will be great.
Miss Yon Said
The fall is thick but,
winter is thicker.
In those months of thickness,
in my house,
with blurry figures and smiling faces,
I blow on a cake with sixteen candles.
Yet I do not know where I am.
A gypsy of sorts.
A house is not necessarily always a home.
And my heat is lost to a room,
with nothing to hold in it.
Should my father's home be a more suitable location?
but she loves me
Should my mother’s home hold more warmth?
but he loves me
To some their homes are like the sun providing comfort and warmth.
But to others like me,
our home is but an iceberg,
melting.
m
e
l
t
i
n
g
gone.
You know it's not easy to read a compass lacking north.
Constantly wondering where you're headed
is not fun.
My best dish is logic,
served cold.
I wake up half dead,
or alive,
to things easily confused.
But being cold is bitter,
stiff,
I am unbreakable.
I am what I experience,
I am what I see,
I am who I speak to.
I am cold.
I am unsure.
To others who underestimate me,
I am ditsy,
I am just a blonde,
I am warm,
I am funny,
not smart.
not anything that could be valued.
not someone productive.
Identity is a crisis
and we are all in it.
This is my page for English H.
