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Amber K Jan 2015
Hey look, it's the new English *****

I didn't dare look up
The same words for 2 weeks now
I only just transferred here
And already I had a nickname

I hate it

Eyes stared at me during class
Words exchanged about me
Not the kindest ones either
I was different... an outsider

Why didn't I get a nicer class..?

I was bullied
Alone
No one even referred to me by name
Just because I was from elsewhere and rumours travel fast

I hated my life... everything and everyone.

I was crying in the bathroom after school
Locked the door as tears streamed down my face
My thoughts finally got to me
I started to believe what they said

No no no no no...

I walked out wiping my eyes
No one was at school anymore
Except maybe a few teachers here and there
"Hey..."

I'm shocked... no one was supposed to be here

A boy stands in front of me
Asian, looked exhausted and he wore glasses. He smiles.
I vaguely remember him from class
He sat by the window in the back

No... please don't hurt me...

"Amber right?"
I'm confused. "Yeah... Amber [---]."
"Amber [---]... mind if I tell you something?"
"Not really... what?"

I wipe my eyes and wait for him to speak

"Don't cry alone here.
I know it's rough...
But nothing they say is true.
Besides, I find the British to be awesome."

I stare at him, dumbfounded.

"Um... Thank you..."
"Hey, no prob. It's late... you should get going."
Another smile.
"I'll walk with you if you want."

I feel really warm inside. And before I realise it, I'm smiling too*

"I'd like that."
A series of poems I'm doing. I reveal parts of my past experiences with love, hate, confusion etc.

*Update:
Yeah ^^; also part of the "snow-kid" series. But I'll explain the whole meaning later ^.^
oni Dec 2014
you always
tell me
to let go
of the past,
but what you
do not realize
is that
i already have;
i am just
waiting
for it
to let go
of me
Olivia Sica Dec 2014
I can imagine no stillness more perfect
than a winter night
When the snow has caressed the barren landscape
to purify it in white in preparation for the approaching spring
The trees no longer teem with chattering cicadas
only the sound of descending phosphorescent flakes
Cars dare not brave the treacherous streets as they once did
when the sun shown high and mighty
Like a doughty king
Lest we forget the encroaching tides upon the shores
that he shown over
He blinds us with his vivid blazes
reflected off the frozen ground at morning
but for now it is the time of night
when everything is still
An era we like to pretend will be infinite
Could we stay a little longer?
pondering how to articulate the sound of snow falling
Let us make this a grand masquerade
of feigning to be more than what we are
In this one moment let us be
As grand as the whitewash of winter
Although we are but little things
to the biting chill of an arctic storm
let us at least be drifting snowflakes
Intricate and lustrous for a time before the thaw
Where we will once a again
be returned to the earth
For N
NicoleRuth Nov 2014
KLN
We are just a blur
of emotions, feelings and art.
We don't walk but float
from place to place.
Drifting in our own little bubble of
memories and stories.
this is just a  little something I wrote about the two most amazing and talented friends I've met in college
I thought having this done would change me. But, all I have understood now is that I made a scar to myself, a scar that would always remind me that I was so deeply into someone and it was gone. I thought it would make a change in my life, a new beginning. Instead, I would always be reminded of what happened because of this. Thus, this would always be a part of my story, a story to be told to someone who would accept me and would wait for me whatever it takes to be by my side.
While I try to figure
Which is the trigger
And which the consequence,
A battle breaks out
Externalities cave in.
Simultaneity takes on a horrid meaning.
Anticipation becomes the catalyst
Of a demon that I created
But know not *******.

I forget where my comfort zone lies
In the sphere of my inability
To face, to do things all these years,
Or the realm I wanted to leap to.
There's no single-leap shortcut though,
I've been crawling all the while
With my head buried in the sand.
P.S. My stubborn mind preferred the stagnant familiarity. I don't. I had to distinguish between the two till I won the war.
ryn Oct 2014
It's a dance
It really is
Skip and prance
Lifelong practice

Loop of songs
Never ending
Of various genres
Life is playing

There's the spotlight
World is awaiting
Pressure of eyes
Silently watching

Take your place
Assume your position
Execute with finesse
And flawless precision

Spin your pirouettes
Don't get dizzy
Maintain your poise
In this revelry

Along comes a partner
Present as a duo
The game now altered
From when you were solo

Two bodies now
Move in unison
Reciprocate and reply
Through steps made in heaven

Flighty feet
Intertwined bodies limbre
Sweet little performance
Elapsing into forever

With grace of ballet
Each other you'd catch
Intimate display
Think you've found your match

There'll come such time
Both will not be in sync
Episodes of missteps
Push you to the brink

Alone again
Or switch of partners
Find solace in groups
Still dancing for answers

Dancing with others
Much you can learn
From hip hop to the waltz
Together or in turn

Try to adapt
To different styles
Soak up all you can
May take a while

I've danced all my life
Can't say that I've mastered
Fair share of jeers
And accolades I've garnered

Always clumsy
Exceedingly awkward
Tripping and falling
Barely proceeding forward

It's just this dance
One with syncopated beats
It's just this prance
That my gait can't meet
It's just this stance
I often use as retreat
I realised in a glance
That I have...but

**two left feet
As they say
Words fall short to describe experiences.
Photographs are still pixels away
From being a reflection
Of one's memory -
A refracted reflection,
Of the experience itself.
So what about hopes
To capture, treasure memories for this lifetime?
What about people
Who love to imagine,
And spend their lives
Living on memories
Of those imagined sights,
Scenes, smells and people?
How much more real is our world from theirs', I wonder.
Hannah Beth Sep 2014
If only life were as romantic
Come day
As it seems to be at half past three
Seen through a clouded haze
Of early morning mist
Faded street light
And a plume of cigarette smoke
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