Some will call you names
Let them call you what they want
It doesn’t make them right to shame
It doesn’t make them strong to taunt.
It just makes them bigger fools,
And for that we all grieve.
That they don’t play by the rules
That they profess to believe

Some days bring us rain
Other days will brightly shine.
Sometimes the cookies burn
And others will come out fine.

We all know people who cry
If other people get more than they
Who find fault with almost anything
Some other people have to say.
It seems to be a lifelong thing
Said by overgrown adolescents
Crying because someone else got
What they wanted as a present,

If we never learn to count the ways
That we have had good fortune
How can anyone ever clearly tell
The butterfly from the cocoon?
How can we not look at the moon
And then enjoy a starry night
If we spend our time in tears
That somebody else isn’t right?

Some days bring us rain
Other days will brightly shine.
Sometimes the cookies burn
And others will come out fine.

people left me with a need for a new place
where touching skin no longer felt like a fear

i wanted to stay and get past my broken feelings but there's fear even in happy moments

voices of disapproval followed me
slowly and quickly
day in and day out
on land
and not even the sea could cast away those demons

warmth quickly became a burden
my scars i tried to return but faces came forward to form more

so the gods shook their heads
and said
"play with fire if you want to."

The way you can't look at me,
'cos I'm not the little girl I used to be;
your tired recollection
of each gene in recession;
your knife heart, sad heart,
raised by a bad heart--

but I decided it’s worth battling your
droopy-eyed disapproval;
but I want to run into this fog
with my arms open wide;
but I always thought I’d rather burn in the fire
than die in my sleep.

When I think of you it’s cosmos, the worlds in perfect harmony
Then I think what’s the point if you don’t think of me?

The sun shines through your eyes I swear they’re made of gold
Blue stained with crystal, leading to stories of the soul

I think of you almost every hour, nothings really changed
I get scared sometimes though that we will stay the same

The story in the dark, untouched and left untold
Letting our feelings drown, frozen and shattered in the cold

My father doesn't approve, but it seems he never will
If you’re going to run I’ll run as long as we don’t stand still

Seems most of this is terrifying, using words in a mine field
I seize to understand, what’s the big deal?

I’m 17 now, I am not young a naive
Some things I speak you must trust but still you don’t believe

I prove an I cry, and hopelessly wonder
Why am I in a low, with such rain and thunder?

He’s the one I want don’t you get it, can’t you see?
I’m not such a child, let me be free

Seeing you will never change, I’ll wait for him you’ll see
And if it’s truly love, *what’s meant to be will be

I didn't understand
because I thought it didn't apply
to
me

The disapproval that comes
subtly but surely
from the woman
who raised you

And in so many ways
Because of the person
I have grown to
be

Because I didnt become a replica
Because I didnt fall a slave
to every
silly idea or claim that bled

From her fangs.
I'm not sorry
however
for setting my own morals

For finding a part of myself
That I could not
change
I am not sorry

For growing to be the Hercules
to your
Hades
I am not

Sorry

For being the one to find and point out
the wrong
the wrong
In ever claim of your


**"Right"