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Samuel Preveda Mar 2016
god stood by me, he hid in my pocket like a piece of amethyst
when i ran he turned into the forest to envelop me
his spirits became soft grasses, scented woods and colorful flower

The elderly woman in her garden in the early morning before the sun rises too high. She never sprays chemicals to get rid of the snails, instead she works and plants for and around them. This garden is to celebrate life, not to take it away. The wooden fence bordering her property is low and unoffensive enough to allow through woodland creatures who are never shooed away for taking a walk or a bite through the herbage. Perhaps she is atoning for a life of death and destruction. Or perhaps she is a saint.

They enjoyed things like making forts out of sticks and blankets and cardboard boxes and dressing up and going to the opera.

Memories, fresh like a wound.

Sometimes something so small. Going to the post office. A slideshow of post offices in my life. The disinfected paper smell, the lines of people waiting to mail a package, the solid colors of the interior, gray, black, white. A scrubby short haired black carpet, well worn.

I turned into a set of wings made out of crayon or colored pencil markings. As if pushed and pulled by the wind I stunned through the air, waving in the sunlight, pencil dashes of red and blue and purple. Like an animation from Reading Rainbow.

Thrown and tossed about like a lightweight wale in the sea. An enormous behemoth of grey and blue leaping like a kitten among the waves. It should be terrifying and would be if its teeth were any larger or sharper and if there was not such a happy gleam in its huge eye.
Yan Jun 2015
There were nights inside these walls I sleep in tears
Questioning why am I living, for what do I exist?
They say all I am is not what should it be
Who I am is wrong and I cannot be freed

I lay myself crying again behind these walls
They keep pushing me on trying, they wanted me to be like all
Helplessly I pretended that I am standing on their side
But I cannot be happy, I am turning black and white

I struggled to be like them and I was caught in the middle
I have been pushed, bullied and I found my self little
I am not like who they are and I know I will never be
Why they cannot it understand? Why they cannot see?

I started to live my life alone, away from creatures called people
They always make everything complicated when at the first place it's just simple
I hide myself away in obscure place where no one will find
Where I will be safe and no expectations that I will mind

I grew numb about hatred, being an outcast, and about pain
I'm living my life in silence and being nonchalant - I am trained
I walk alone by myself and I didn't even care
Better be off alone than with someone who won't even stay

They tortured me, they punished me not in my flesh but deep inside
Not using a knife nor a needle work but it can diminish a life
My soul is really hurt and they're leaving me half-heartedly
Their fatal words were lingering,I am bleeding unendingly

Why they are all treating me like I was never ever been belonged?
Is it 'cause I'm living differently and I am never like them at all?
How come I became any less when I am capable of doing more?
They're judging me based on their ignorance, they're judging me on what they do not know

I suffered, I have been bruised and yes, I cried
And yet these walls remain silent standing right at my side
It became my witness of all my heartbreaks, of how my tears burned me
It listened on my inner madness, it saved every pieces of me

Like these walls I'll be standing tough and high
I'll be strong, you won't hear any from me, you'll never see me die
I'll stay colored, graceful and I will make you realize
I am the most beautiful, my days will be immortalized

I may be destroyed, manipulated, grew up confused
I am who I am, to stay the same I will choose
I can show you I can be the greatest, and everyone will be amused
You can insist that I should be someone else, but I'll fight, I'll refuse.
For LGBT, stay colored guys!
Yan Jun 2015
Am I the rose? Or one of the thorns?
Can I be both? For that’s how I was born
Am I the sunshine? Or should be the rain?
Can I be that together? For there’s a rainbow in the end

Do you look like him? Or sometimes like her?
You’re so into him, and can live without her
Are you one of ‘him’? Or a part of greater ‘her’?
Living on both sides which sometimes you cannot bear

Can we be called the same when we felt so different?
We have the right to live, but to leave cause of their resentment
We keep on telling ourselves we are who we are
But sometimes ‘are’ has to be ‘were’, and change just for their arms

I tried to hide myself, but still I just can’t
Whenever I am in my best, they’re always there to comment
They always trying to put me down, or making fun of me
That’s their way of handling me, they’re questioning my reality

I just can’t defend myself, I know I can but maybe I’m just tired
My existence is like a game that I haven’t gone too far
Expecting any sort of disappointment, every night and day
Sometimes I have to sing these words, ‘baby I was born this way’

Acceptance is just a word, and sometimes can no longer be found
You feel so sorry that at times you just can’t hide your heart
You put your mask on, so no one will ever see
That you are a boy loving a guy, you’re afraid of enmity

This thing is a choice, they say, but inside of me it is not
There’s no man ever wished that he will be living in this life
Full of hatred, full of pain, full of agony and despair
You cry, you smile, but you still strive to be in fair

This is a tough world, and I should be a tough one
Withstand all the anguish, and don’t let them make my walls down
Please don’t get me wrong and talk as if you ever tried
How to love unconditionally, how to live in a different life

Oh yes! I am ‘pink’ at least I know I’m not fake
I know I am unique and this thing you cannot break
I am too much to conceive that you just can’t even take
Try to understand and there your soul will be awake

I do still have feelings, don’t judge where I should belong
I have all you have, and I have more, and that’s make you think I am wrong
I can do more of what you did, and start what you haven’t done
Being a survivor of this world, that’s how we measure a true man

Sometimes I am red, and most of the times I am blue
See, I am colorful and it is something that you cannot do
I have been burned and my wounds were the living proof that I survive
I’ll be fighting till I can make it, and my strength will be revived

I may be far away of being a real man
Or not enough to be a good son
But I’m still part of the brethren and of God’s plan
I’ll be the most beautiful flower, and I will not be gone

Am I the rose? Or one of the thorns?
Can I be both? For that’s how I was born
Whoever I may be, I know I’ll be proud of me, I will be strong, androgynously, with dignity
And there's no one can ever play the best part of me except me.
EPICENE - adjective (sometimes substantive) that indicates lack of gender distinction, often specifically loss of masculinity
Just the kid with
Rose colored glasses
Who saw nothing but joy
Till the world turn their back
& beat him whole

Glasses dropped and crushed
Beneath the shear weight
Of pure hatred and pain;
He'd never be the same

Glasses broken;
Now flame rules his eyes
Cynical ******* rises from the pain
Nicole Alyssia May 2014
Driven by rose colored illusions
That I could fix you up enough
To fill the ubiquitous void within me

I let you blindfold me with words,
Since your half-truths were sweeter
Than the sound of my instincts

Keeping your secrets
I began to lose sight of my dreams,
Once enmeshed in your nightmare

Shifting sands of worth and devotion
Reluctantly, I played my assigned role
A figment of your rose-colored illusions

The illusion fades into reality and I see
True love could never exist
Between two fictional characters
Francisco DH Apr 2014

E-Q-U-A-L-I-T-Y         X

F-R-E-E-D-O-M           X

I-N-T-E-G-R-A-T-I-O-N   X

S-E-G-R-E-G-A-T-I-O-N     ✔

O-P-P-R-E-S-S-I-O-N         ✔

I-N-E-Q-U-A-L-I-T-Y          ✔

I had a Sub the other day. She described how it was for her growing up during the Civil Rights Movement before and after mentioning her first spelling lesson was how  to spell "Colored" from her mother. The seed was planted and I kept thinking and this is what I got. Hope y'all enjoy ^-^

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