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There are three constants in life
And happiness lies in their acceptance

The first is time,
Which has existed longer than us, and will outlive all of our problems

The second is ourself,
The only one you can truly know

And the third is death,
Which is something I haven't quite gotten figured out just yet
Drowning in the sea of misery
Trying to clean up the messy
Fake smile pretend to be happy
Wearing make up for not to be pretty

If you really trying to looking in me
You'll find something deeply
The ache through every part of my body
Every scar smashed out just makes the room looks like *****

I thought everything is really heavy
Or i'm just over thinking, maybe
All i need is just set it free
Even i know it drive me crazy
With every
Detail
Ridge
Swirl and lines
This makes us one
Of a kind
For fingerprints are unique
And delect
And people should be treated them same.
As I hear
The roar
Of a jet enegine
I look up and
See a Boeing 777
Take off
The ultimate freedom.
If I was
A ghost
I would be free
To be me

If I was a ghost
I would be free
Desire
And possible romance
That causes suffering

If I were a ghost
I would be free
From my
Background
Even though I was good looking

I would become
An exotic butterfly
Appreciated for its
Beauty.
Have
You
Ever
Cried
Because
Hated
Whites
And undeamed
Unattractive
By your own
Because
Of your
Background

I have been many times.
Moving the Himalayas asap.
Stuck in Ottawa ****** up Canada .
I hate it.
I hate everyone.
Everyone but my parents
And workers
For I am not free
What the **** is you ******* problem?!! I know you have a ******* job and need to eat. But make it an obsession??

What the **** is your ******* problem??! Sweet nothings and empty promises??!! I am not a **** psychiatrist so you better ****** off.  

What the **** is your ******* problem??!! (To the Tibetan guys) you have bad taste in women’s ethnicity. Have we traveled to the cononial USA where it’s wrong to be ethnic.  

Up yours.
A flutter, then two, then airbound
It’s beastly, the flock, and takes form
White feathers, chaos, they rain down
Pretty shapes, patterns, so performed.
Its white wall taunted her, the poor green dove
Her poor tears stain one more, she doesn’t see
And every bird she passed, she dyed with love
Her very tears blinding, only pity
She drowns herself, so never gets to see
The massive green flock that’s now following
Lively and bustling and never stopping,
Here's filled with shadows I will never know.
Hitting and yelling as I sit watching,
it killed me before parting utero.
Explosions create when behind a screen.
Fooled into believing the romance lie,
all shadows nod, they don't seem very keen
until the sky falls and the oceans dry.
These poor shadows, victims of their own silence
pass through justice under the feet of gods,
smile disgustingly at the sight of violence,
shadows of gods, who pretend they are not.
All shadows are black, old and new and dead.
Are short eternities with humans wed?
An English sonnet
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