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Sophia 7d
if all of us are beautiful
then we
must
all
be
the
same.
Lori Nov 24
she climbed her golden throne and sat with power clinging at the tips of her fingers and anger pouring out of her sight. She took a breathe and you could see from the way she was moving that she was an embodiment of strength and that the roses that covered her kingdom were just beautiful thorns hidden behind a diversity of colors. And she was a reflection of those roses, fierce but hidden behind her miscellany of beauty.
She was beautiful but she was even more strong
Anna Grace Nov 10
It was a bag of prejudice ******* with strings of judgement. I would know it anywhere. The chill of its indifference never failed to give me nightmares.

Curious thing this is, never curious about the things that tie, a strange fascination with the catabolic, breaking down bit by bit, every standing bridge, till in loneliness, paranoia takes seed.

You call it religion, I call it fanaticism.
You call it ethnicity, I call it a lack of humanity.
You call it antisemitism, I call it disparity.
Diversity versus equality: we know who always wins.

It is always easier to pull apart.

We pull apart a country, a society, sometimes a family just to fit into boxes that do not matter. Whatever doesn't fit we scatter till we are surrounded by blood splatters.

Cannibalism is bad. It is bad to consume but when you destroy the other when you take away their means of life and livelihood, is it any different from taking their lives?

You notice diversity by the differences, not the radiance of their smiles, that does not depend on colour or creed. It is simply a bunch of basic human need.

But you would rather take than provide. You would rather push everyone aside who is not from your own box and then you put yourself behind locks to protect from those you deprive.

Why not for a change simply be alive, appreciate another life?
Why not smile at another smile, irrespective of race, colour or creed?
A new day starts with a new cry for life, every day, around the world, a new beginning.

Let's open our boxes. Let's give away our prejudices and exchange them for compassion. Let's untie the string that ties us to our antiquated narrowmindedness. Let us spread our wings and fly.

(c) Anna_Grace
Leah Lost Oct 24
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder
I can appreciate the beauty in everyone now that I'm older
When I was in my young teens I marvelled at cookie cutters
But my eyes now crave to take in all sorts of shapes sizes and colors

That girl doesn't look a bit like kim k
but her smile is so genuine it takes your breath away
She isn't a perfect hourglass and her eyes aren't baby blue
But in the light her brown eyes look like flowing honey and her body is soft and true

We learn to label certain things as better than others to the point of a fault

People will call a girl **** because her nose isn't small enough or her ***** aren't the right size
I only regret that sooner I didn't open my eyes
Sean M O'Kane Sep 12
Robert Frost once talked of taking the ‘road less travelled’.
Well, I didn’t.
When the time came, I blindly went and took the safest road.
A very long path where the pitfalls were plenty.
I stumbled in the bracken. Stymied by the darkness that fell quickly as I ambled along.
The soul bruised, battered and exhausted at every infrequent stop.
It was not apparent then that in this venture there was a bleak dead end ahead.
I plowed on even though something inside was telling me again and again to turn back.
But, slowly, a gleaming light of hope crossed my vista beckoning me home.
I crawled. My strength regained as the light intensified.
Then the end was in sight - the portal was within grasp.
And so, yes, I now take that road less travelled.
Standing tall and proud as I gleefully stride down its glowing thoroughfare.  
Smiling at the diverse and playful changes that cross my pathway.
All told, it’s never too late to trust your instincts and make a difference.
Just ask me.
And Robert Frost.
Sean M O'Kane Sep 12
We are the kids – beautiful blank canvasses ready to receive the joy of life.
We are the kids – hope & love consuming our souls, grasping at the shiny & new.
We are the kids who played in the fields and danced in the sun.
We are the kids with innocence in our hearts and a cheekiness in our soul.
We are the kids who believed in a benevolent *** and the generous teachings of Jesus.
We are the kids whose imagination was an infinite resource - bounteous, diverse and effervescent.
We are the kids who reveled in the fancy, the nonsensical, the romantic and the wild.
We are the kids that couldn’t wait to grow up,
We are the kids who believed in our future.
We are the kids who never saw it coming.

We are the kids who lost our innocence as soon we walked through the big school gates for the 1st time.
We are the kids who were told to “think of your future” and to suppress creativity.
We are the kids who were forced to grow up very quickly.
We are the kids who didn’t know we were “different” but there were plenty out there who did.
We are the kids who had to pretend to be what “they” wanted us to be just to survive.
We are the kids who came home with scars every day – both physical and emotional
We are the kids who endured the obscene words of Neanderthal hate every single day.
We are the kids who were screamed at by our parents to fight back even when we really didn’t have the capability to do so.
We are the kids who were told crying was a sign of weakness.
We are the kids whose so-called classmates stayed silent when they did their worst.
We are the kids where the school gates were no barrier to their lynching.
We are the kids who turned quickly from being wide-eyed & hopeful to being terrified & desolate.
We are the kids who dreaded every single weekday from first term to last.  
We are the kids who fruitlessly prayed to a *** who had deserted them.
We are the kids taught by teachers who were found wanting.
We are the kids who suffocated in sheer hate.
We are the kids who took our own lives or at least tried to.
We are the kids who self-harmed.
We are the kids who sometimes never came home.
We are the kids who survived but never really left the school yard behind
We are the kids.
Your kids.

June 11, 2018.
Ekuu Aug 8
Here's a story of fading Art.
Women weave it with their own hands.
Stronger is thread & the bond.
A heritage comes alive,
A culture starts to breathe.
Making it isn't a child's play,
This takes many days.

Art is immortal, Art is priceless.
Skillful people never say,
That they're been hardly paid.
Time has time n so has the outfits,
We prefer any trend that hits.
Not giving a thought of vanishing Art,
Totally breaks my heart.

With all this blend Bandhani is made,
Hindu makes & Muslim wears...
Diversity stays.
This rich Art might fade away,
I request each of you...
Do not let it happen this way.
I was requested by a friend to write few lines on "Bandhani" fabric for her documentary.  This fabric is popular n made in Rajasthan. How's it's special and difficult to make n is also vanishing with time. This was an attempt by me. It was quite difficult to write about it...but somehow came up with this.
Blake Jun 23
If you wish to call it blindness,
Then yes I’m blind.

If you choose to call it submission,
Then I am whipped and kneeling.

If you’re convinced to call it pathetic,
Then cringe because I’m woeful.

If you desire to call it a sin,
Then send me to the pits of **** my ***.

If you pick to call it silly,
Then I must still be a immature child.

If you preach to call it ****** up,
Then I am surely deranged and crazy.

If you need to call it chemicals,
Then I’m definitely severely imbalanced.

If you need to call it all of the above,
Maybe spice it up add a few more words

please go ahead.
But I will always call it


L   O   V   E
Shoval May 29
A wooden puppet with a perfect present.
His nose is broken.
He wants to be sold at a high price for his owner to be happy,
so he hid his broken nose.

He knew he was broken.
Costumers were seeing him as a toy,
while he was a display puppet.
But unfortunately no buyer fitted his needs.

The broken nose made him a display puppet.
He knew if he would be bought as a toy his
broken nose will break his everything.

He wished to be bought by a display buyer.
But he lived in a toys store.
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