My mother always said to get along with people.
I made allies, I worked with people, and I stayed away from
Fights that were not mine.
My allies and I have had fights, but we worked it out.
(WWI and the treaty of Versailles)

It all changed though, when nearly everyone around me
Began to hate each other.
One of the kids I knew, but never played with,
Began to bully the others.
He said he hated Jews.
(Germany/ ******)

He was a part of a promise my friends and I made,
Because he was a part of our fight, before.
He broke the promise
And he began to... Collect.... My friends
And take over their lives. They were controlled and
Manipulated and suppressed by him.
(Taking over Rhineland, Poland, etc.)

We decided to leave it alone. We didn't want to
Get involved again. (France/ Britain appeasement)

He promised that he would leave a few kids
Alone, but he lied. He controlled them, too. (Italy and Japan)
He had his friends that helped him,
But I think they were just scared of him
And acted like they were his friends.

When my other friends got involved, I wanted out,
But if they needed my help with some things,
I would help them if they gave me a cookie (cash).

After a while, I started to help my friends more,
But I wasn't really fighting... I did, though, when one
Of the bullies friends (Japan) threw a crayon at me.
It hurt really bad and I got angry.

Pearl flakes, delicate shards scatter,
shatter. Woven silently, heavily softly, slowly, wafting. Swirling into sparkling sundials.

Pearl swans shatter
the ice,
and glide swiftly through the
stars sparkling
on the mirror lake.
Twilight falls to the night
and the air
creates glistening
twisted crystals which climb
up the trees and freeze
the antique summer remnants.
The spindled sprigs of silver
birches drape their lustre
wantonly, forming long
ripples in a lengthy cascade.
Then the darkness retreats as
the pale blue haze of dawn approaches
where the robin's breath
sighs tangibly on the air.

I could punch myself in the face
or I could grow up.
None of us, or any of this
is perfect; it's okay to not
measure up. Measure to what?
The beauty of life is
that the definition is all my own.
No one can tell me what it is.
I am sitting in the sun.
I can smile.
I forgive myself.
I love
myself.
This is the best poetry I could write.
The beauty of poetry is
that the definition is all my own.
No one can tell me what it is.
I am a pearl, however misshapen
I may be the world is my oyster.
It's mine. It's mine. It's mine.
I could get used to that.

I'm sat in a pearl 
on your lips
Mouthing sweet hymns
Of the lemon pips
That you spit from your lips
 
I'm stood in ruby
In your hair
Hearing bitter chorals 
of beetroot stalks
That you hang from your ear.

I'm struck in amethyst 
Through your pupil
Tasting great lilacs
And smelling supple, 
Subtle lavender.

I see Steinbeck through a new light.
I am a pearl.
But not just any pearl,
I am The Pearl.
The Pearl that changes lives
And changes hearts.
I am Steinbeck’s pearl.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Until some is just lucky enough to find me
Hidden in my shell.
And that person was you.
I didn’t look like much,
But you knew better.
You chose me anyway.
And you were in awe of what you found beneath the surface.
And you were instantly rich.
You knew you were blessed to have found me.
But you knew you had some new troubles too.
You knew that men knew of the treasure you held.
You knew that they would try to take that from you.
You knew you could stop them.
But not for long.
When trouble came and you took me and fled.
But I was not safe.
Nothing was safe.
Because you would not let me go,
Trouble took the one thing you cared about more.
And because it was too much
To look me in the eye.
Because everything had started when you found me.
You let me go too.
You threw me back where you found me.

beauty in and beauty out,
its what makes the sirens pout
cascade of falling locks of pearl
in the water they will twirl