In her eyes the world started off small and to her surprise
it was a sin to grow old
Age wasn't the purpose of her discovery, rather than the wisdom that came with no recovery
What once used to be a mind of many shades, began transcending to grey after she murdered her rose
colored glasses
Ashes to ashes, she is unable to express or remotely stress how horrifying the rest of the world is
Dust to dust, these forms of beings are resorting to feeding on trends that’s ultimately eating into a
dead end
We justify every reason no matter if it’s ****, slander, or treason- each person is free and
Now we wait for the inevitable
Equality for all- murderers just came from a broken home, a man that beats his wife was just feeling alone
Do you feel sympathetic? For lack of better words, the writer calls that pathetic
Innocence and ignorance is bliss, what you don’t know, you won’t miss
Here lies a society of fearful, sensitive ******
Who watch out for themselves, and call the rest hypocrites
What about that could you miss?
This was the last that the writer wrote, but before she ended her note
A red fingerprint placed gently in between quotes

She used to trace her eyes with a path of black
I assumed it was to grab attention
She would perfectly fill in her acne scars’ gaps
Maybe it was to be the best addition
Barbie dolls, and Maybelline models
would make her feel inferior
but between the shadows, glosses and makeup bottles
She’s forgotten her natural exterior
The beauty flows, and young age glows
No filter is needed
Hashtag “woe” nobody knows
but she feels less conceited
Caked on lies attracted some guys
and made her act a certain way
she has those perfect laugh lines around her eyes
that will make anybody’s day naturally okay
perfect imperfections, aren’t meant to be hidden
makeup’s deceptions, needs to be permanently forbidden
She was born with a face that describes her
Flawless, nothing can replace what is her

She traveled for days, in a maze with no direction destined for an escape from depression driven by disaffection
By fate she felt a connection
They ran until he was cuffed into oppression
Later she had a baby on the way
Going through her mind she's beginning to think that she made a mistake
Her heart aches, my poor lady
Don't be ashamed my poor lady
There were many attempts repeated
Her child is now three and
In a need of an education to intrigue him
It is in her mind to try again
No mas tristeza Mi Amor
Said mother when we walked out the door
My soul grew old and I walked with strength
So by the time I was ten I knew how to think
This was me, I made my personality
The world was a wonder, and I wandered with many
Some men and women, names weren't our thing
The blood on the feet were all the same
At the end, countless tragedy
Don't worry my poor lady
Once we're there it might be better, just maybe

Behind this false face, remain flawless conflictions
A mask of such wrath, and endless contradiction
Good deeds are unseen, Anger is routine-- never in between, because bliss is obscene
Clouds keep me in but soon, pours me out
into an unkind world
where i can’t even shout
These shards of obstacles whirl like a tornado, it’s throwing up the pieces,
watch them twirl like a dreidel
I endured predictions, but i stood my ground
suffered addictions, but made a turn-around
My heart stays with God, my mind is working hard, to finally understand now
that i won’t be forgiven until the day i can forgive myself
Foundation can crack, and still support a tower
my structure may lack but that does not oppress my power
I shall not cower, when my future over-rules my past, because I’ll be the person with the last laugh
In fact, my life was one big conviction, but what the jury doesn’t know is that the world molds intentions
This mask of complexity distorted my vision-- finally it deteriorates
revealing ambition

To whom it may concern,
Yesterday I took a walk and I saw a bird
He flew in the opposite direction
so I followed
My legs became weak, my head was so hollow
He led me directly
to a well
I reached in for a swallow
then the bird became
smaller and smaller

On days of satisfaction I embrace the lights that illuminate our urban lifestyles
But on days of frustration I am capable of bending that light into fragile
reflections, which shed the truth amongst all creations
Because I'd love to compile a breed of hostile intellectuals
Who, I'd imagine, to fall on their knees begging for mercy from their own knowing
I am an ineffectual
Elitist.
Don't mistake my rage for power, as my power no longer exists
If you can believe it
If that’s how you see it
This environment constructed and was destructive towards the continuation of my ego and I am clawing my way out of a pit
A time ago I was the terrorist of my own self worth, and now I torture the weak- minded to nourish the hole in me to finally be a whole
It's a vicious cycle of how low a being will go to reach a ****** in time
The final stage is to reach self acceptance to show, lo and behold
silence.
where tranquility will obliterate greed
and intelligence will revive the need to be free from everyone else's thinking,
Morality.

i've watched 677 fortnights,
and got bored 'til 678th came.
today i might see the merry lights,
dance, as it tells me it's strange name.
show wonders; of depths and heights,
no blunders, just spectacle or same.
to clear and flush all those petty spites,
watch betelgeuse get engulf with flame.

At the hapless poetry event
I thought I’d have a splendid time
But as a poet I should know
That life has the habit of being cruel
So immensely cruel

So I had to avoid the debris
Of classical poetry
And suffer from the boundaries
Put upon my creativity
My poor creativity

And I felt useless, since it turned out to be punless
They didn’t see the point of puns
And I felt pointless, for I could not rhyme
No, I would not rhyme
Such a horrid time

And people dressed in ironic ways
Tried to evoke the nineteenth century
Pretending that complexity
Makes for better poetry
Oh, my poor, simple poetry

So I stood there, with my glass of wine
And my pun-filled collection of wit
No rhymes to hide behind
And no gravity to my humble words
Oh, poor, humble man

And a lady in red, with blue hair
Awkwardly grabbing me by the arm
Asked me if I had suffered enough
And if I ever wanted to **** myself
God, how I wanted to **** myself

But the irony always wins
As words poured in my mind
With puns in abundance
So finally suffering inspired me
At the hapless poetry event