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 Nov 2013 Pooja Shah
Lizzy
I have been broken,
I have been shattered,
I am like an old cloth,
That has been tattered,
I have been stepped on,
Thrown on the ground,
I am like a shard of glass,
Maybe one day I will be found,
Nobody notices,
It's not like they really care,
Sometimes someone will say something,
If they have time to spare.
For now, I will hide behind my fake smile,
Laugh behind cursed lips,
Cry behind stained eyes,
Just moving along like silent ships,
Don't worry,
I'll be fine,
I am just another person,
Who stepped out of line.
Who will be my knight in shinning armor?
Maybe I won't have one...Maybe I will...
Will he have blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes? Or will he have brown flowing locks and chocolate brown eyes?
Will he be tall or short? Rich or poor?
            Will that even matter?
If I find my knight will he swoop me off my feet?
Will he stay with me forever? Will he be mine and I his? Will he come or will I have to save myself? Should I search for him or should he find me? Will he go to school with me or will we meet when I'm traveling the world...
Will he be my best friend? Will he save me from the darkness I feel inside? Will I meet him at all? Will we die in peace together?
             Do I have to change to find the love of my life?
Will he be my prince and I his princess?
Will he hold me when life crumbles down or will he be the reason I need to be held in the first place?

So where are you my knight? Where are you now? Can't you see I need you? That I need to be held, that I'm lost and need to be found?
I need to be brought back to life and that's where you come in...
             Will you come rescue me?
Do I have to save myself?
What if I'm not strong enough? Will I die alone and unhappy just because you never came? Will you break my heart? Can I be found... Can I be fixed? Can you mend this broken heart? Can you be here for me and I for you?
Will you EVER see me? The True me? If you really were my knight in shining armor wouldn't you see? My prince.. my love? Who will you be?

Will it be you?
 Nov 2013 Pooja Shah
Krista Anna
Ah! An idea! Bouncing neurons bump
frontal lob to ear canal, rushing down
veins, pulsing through arm muscles and finger
bones until the tingle erupts for a pen.

Arms scramble, books over desks
shoved onto their sides, French homework flies around
Mozart concertos swirling up towards
ceiling fans and floating down, down, down ,down
until landing gently on, of course, a pen.

A pen- the holy instrument that will
transfer innermost thoughts and emotions
into beautiful prose and poetry.

Held by fingers, the pen is power- but
wait, the pen has no ink. (Gosh-darnit-all)

— The End —