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Juin Dec 2017
Not too tall,
Not too short.

Not too fat,
Not too skinny.

Not too pretty,
Not too ugly.

Not too smart,
Not too dumb.

Not too loving,
Not too hateful.

I don't know where,
Where is my place.

That's why I am stuck,
Stuck in the middle.
02/12/17
Jean Sharlot Nov 2017
I can do anything
and I can easily adapt to it's nature
but I'm afraid
something is still missing
I was totally complete and incomplete
how can find out
what I was meant to be
how can I be somebody
if I don't know
Who Am I.
Jason Cain Nov 2017
I saw a picture of peace, in a simple kitchen
scene, hair in dark ringlets a face of middle
age, and eyes as deep as wells.

A humble home, a woman of peasant stock. A
glance so dull, yet deep in cost, in this I saw
peace in trade a life of cost, for this single
scene.

What price those eyes, what price such depth?
A simple scene, a lifetime made. One
glance and then, it’s gone.

By Jason Cain.
Currently posted on my website: http://zeropointman.com/peace-in-trade/
Walk up to a girl
Wherever you're at
Whether it's a club or a flat
Approach her convivially
Don't state any word trivially
Ask if she's the middle of the month
Because she's a ten out of ten
Tell her you dislike the rating system
Later on.
Smoothness is key
Ella Sep 2017
They drew tiny sketches

On eachother journals

Ignoring the video

In my 8th period spanish class

No words where even spoken between them

Just side eye glances and smiles

I gave then disappointing glares

To get back to the lesson

They rolled their eyes

And got back to the notes

Who would guess

Such a small moment

Would be the last they had together

Before the man in a mask walked in

And stole their childhood

With the pull of a trigger

Maybe if I had known

I would have let him keep making her laugh

For her last time
some people wont understand but some poeple will.
Mims Aug 2017
I walk in the middle of the road
This is how it goes
Passing cars wonder
Is she on her phone?
Walking backwards now
If only my mother knew
And she'd ask me, "why?"
I just laugh and say
"I couldn't tell you"
Jocelyn Robinson Mar 2014
America needs a poor, ***** mother for president.
We need a Muslim for vice president and a feminist to lead the army.
America needs a homeless man with no health insurance and AIDS to allocate food stamps,
gays to run the senate, and lesbians to run the house.

America needs a president who’s been shot at,
*****,
and ****** on his whole life.
A person who has held their dying child,
losing a battle that cancer has already won,
buried up to the knees hospital bills.

America should be run by a person that wakes up every morning with no heat or air conditioner.
Who has fought in a war,
shakes in the night,
and lives on minimum wage.
Someone who takes the bus,  the subway, and owns one pair of sneakers,
There is no time or money for anything else.

We need an inner city teacher for president.
Someone who spends 4 hours on Sundays preaching for president,
Just to go home and put on his wife's dress.

America needs a straight talker and a street walker to head the FBI.
An illegal for the CIA,
And a transgender for the DOJ.
But that will never happen.
What I have realized is that there is no longer a distinction between what is right, and what is real.

Real, is a leader is one that has been to the free clinic,
waited in line at the DMV,
and buys clothes from Walmart.
Real, is a president that is no stranger to violence.
A vice president who has been to county.
That has been fed jail food,
strip searched,
and wasted years that they will never get back.

We, the people do not fly around in private jets,
Puffing on Cuban cigars.
We, the people do not solely consist of old, rich men,
Making decisions for young, poor women.
Telling us what we can and can’t do.
Who we can and can’t love.
Widening the gap between the haves and haves nots.  

We the people know hard work,
We know blood,
We know sweat,
We know tears,
But what we do not know,
Is how to engage ourselves in the goings on in the world around us.
Take responsibility,
hold your own,
and question everything.
A capitalist will
weave English twill
though Shia blight;

fight in field wield might in fire
an ocean green in Ali
with foothills swath his yield where
love wins an incremental station of cause.

While his mind occupy law
a founding father intertwined
at a religious melting point heath abound.
Brianna May 2017
We find ourselves always stuck in the between- the middle of a breakdown, the middle of a fight, the middle of a decision.
In the grey's instead of the blacks and whites of life.
In the undeveloped part of the film; the damaged part of the film.

Have you ever sat in the middle of your living room with a bottle of wine  and the windows slightly open in the middle of winter thinking about life?
I have.
Have you ever sat in the middle of the street in the middle of the night and wished silently to yourself this would all end if one car just turned that corner?
I have.

There's that word again... "Middle"
Which is such an ugly word the more I sit here and type it.
I want to be at the beginning of something.
I would even settle for the end of something just so I could restart again.

I have a hard time focusing on the present, which is also the middle of your life.
I'm always stuck in the past or wishing for the future...
Then again... I am the damaged part of the film.

I am the negatives that will not get developed for another couple years.
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