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Marisa Lu Makil Mar 2016
She is gray outside.
But her heart is blue.
She loves to smile
But she forgot how

He is black outside
But his mind is yellow
He loves to sing
But they tell him he can't

She is white on the outside
But her thoughts are red
She is a genius
And they hate her for it

He is brown outside
But on the inside, he is pink
He loves to dance
But they tell him he is girly for it

We all have our own colors
We are all different on the inside
We are all beautiful
No one is ugly
Discriminating against someone because they look different, sound different, or are less fortunate than you is not funny. It's just mean.
Kambry Wilson Dec 2014
I don't understand how people treat depression like a joke.
It isn't funny.
It isn't something small that someone can just "get over".

Depression is a very serious and very real mental condition.
It isn't okay.
People who suffer from this condition aren't suffering for attention.

These people spend every day of their lives trying to overcome it.
Is it still funny?
They don't get the privileges other people get.

They wake up each morning wishing life would end.
Is it still okay?
When will humanity come into play so we can get some respect?
Just feeling really down right now...
JP Goss May 2014
The sun, so lover-like, ran her fingers
Through the glistening leaves,
Movements soft, so full of intention
Their waxy dew, shuttered in response,
A low moan played in the breeze,
The light of sonority contrasts the electric
Disharmonies in the stormy afternoon.

Though I could feel a forest now eased
The river that runs through
Carried the blood of a plural heart
Beating with a passion akin in power, though enemy in fashion,
As its waves beat the banks
Eroding them into, eating up the aridness
As though slaking were its due, muddying the sky’s blue
From its surface, piercing the eyes from its reflection
Discouraging, this turbid froth, from worth of further inspection.

It rages and rages over rocks so violently
Picking at its slimming walls, making and claiming
Detritus along the path so that all the beauty a river is
Crashes, collides, and disfigures—a chaos growing
Bigger and bigger—the speed of its wrath
Bespeaks of its wake, blasting the earth (Watch it dissipate!)
Out of my sight it runs its due course south
Spitting the detritus that arrives
At the mouth.

— The End —