Things return to the same,
Always as before.
Roads winding,
Insides grinding.
Putting too much touch,
In hopes galore.
I thought I saw signs,
But again I ignore.
That things will always be this way,
Always as before.

I am the same
The same as any other sixteen year old girl,
Subject to questioning glances and stereotypes,
Being controlled by expectations and society,
Taking and shaping my life, as if I were a mere puppet in the hands of a master
My actions are no longer my own; I conform to the status quo.

~ a poem : part 2

Same blood.
Same mother.
They don't
know me.
I don't
know them.
So far away
and miles
apart.
We live our
separate lives.
I will carry
them always
in my heart.

It's the eve before Christmas, the best eve of the year.
But I can't help but cry, and shed a tear.
Why you might ask, would I be crying on Christmas?
Probably because everything is so different.
I don't feel excitement, or happiness in the least.
It seems like any other day, but with a holiday feast.
I wish I could go back to when I was seven,
Where Christmas was basically one day of heaven.
But those days are gone, as well as the rest of them,
and now I am laying like baby Jesus in Bethlehem,
wishing that I could be happy again,
hoping that someday I will feel the same.

Even if he was the one who hurt me
I feel save in his arms

i thought putting aside my feelings will make things easier
i thought wrong
as i got to know you better
it was harder for me to stay away from you.

but i don't think you feel the same.

It's weird. It's weird.
I saw you again.
Always walking away from me in the same places.
Over and over.

It's a slow news day.
I'm talking to nothing.
I'm trying to convince myself that I know best.
Over and over.

Cos it's weird. It's weird.
That you should walk back again.
On a day when I knew I couldn't talk to you.
And I find myself hoping to talk to you.
Over and over again.