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Samuel Evan Feb 2015
This world has a lot to take in.
It turns and turns stopping for no one
While I just sit and take it all in,
Take turns, take turns. Waiting for the next one.
No, this first-grade paradigm
That controls how I think and see what's fair
Doesn't really apply this time.
Cause first-grade knowledge isn't for just anywhere.
It's for the classroom,
The safe room.
The place where I sit and wait room.
I'm dying just to break through.
But I can't. See they hate you.

They take what they think is theirs.
Never waiting for the rule of turns.
Never thinking how the world fares.
When every bridge they cross burns.
What about the rest of us?
How are we supposed to move forward?
When none but the "very best" of us
Move on past our story's fore-word?
It's horrible and grueling.
Cause the "special ones" are ruling.
They ask, "Who you fooling?"
You'll always be a normal.

Why can't we all be special ones?
Why can't we all have that privilege?
Why must we all be the fretful ones,
Always worried about our image?
Worried that we won't look right.
Or that we won't be up to *****.
Cause when we take off our makeup each night
We no longer feel like enough.
No, it's too much.
Our minds are filled with thus and such.
But thus and such are just a crutch.
When we aren't enough.

At least, that's what they tell us.
Make us think we have to be gods.
Cause honestly that's the best way to sell us.
It doesn't matter if they're frauds.
See Humanity longs to be sufficient.
Able to satisfy itself.
So we do what we can with vision.
But leave our skills up on the shelf.
It doesn't matter or make sense.
To make some sort of recompense
When we never lost our innocence
Except by failing ourselves.

See, we fail to see our potential.
That special thing that makes us us.
But in the end it's the most essential.
It's the only thing we can trust.
Whether it's our brain, or our brawn,
Our very will to survive.
It's the very thing that let's us press on
The only think that makes us alive.
We have talents, our gifts.
But our spirits they need lifts
That come through paradigm shifts
From what's fair to what's real.


It's a hard disparity to master.
But in the end it's always alright.
Cause it's only part of growing up.
Seeing the changes that came overnight.
I wrote this poem cause I had the overwhelming feeling like a lot of people don't do themselves justice. So yeah.
Sarasenia Jan 2015
Some people show their gifts as badges
They put them on their foreheads
They put them on their jackets
They put them next to their hearts
Some people hide their gifts as plagues
They put them under the carpet  
They lock them in a cage
They lie and say they have none
They convince other people of their inexistence
Some people hide their talents so well
Some people eventually forget they ever had a talent at all
elizabeth Jan 2015
vs.
it's a shame
that we cannot
appreciate
what others have
without comparison
word: shame
I love to watch you play
Hear the sweet notes drift out of your saxophone
A lovely melody

You don't always see me
I listen all the same
Such lovely skill
escaping in the form of sound
coming out
of that wonderful saxophone

Maybe it's not the sound
That enchants me so
But the handsome player
Whom I get to call my own

My gorgeous love  
Smart and talented to the end
<3
I love my saxophone playing boyfriend, It's nice to date fellow musicians, even if the instruments vary.
Hannah Jade Dec 2014
Once, I was a singer.
My voice never fluttered soft enough for anyone to listen.
I was an artist, too...
But my lines did not lay correctly after I drew them.
I loved recitation.
But I felt the writers words incorrectly.
I was a dreamer.
But my goals never made it past a thought.
I was a musician,
But my notes faltered just as weary hearts do.
I was someone's dearest.
It lasted like a match's life.
I was a mother.
But my body gave up on me.
I am a writer,
Just as all things, that will end too.
...
Lena Bitare Oct 2014
There were those things
By which we had naturally
Without someone teaching us
Words just rhyme unintentionally

They came to our hand
And then, there we came writing
I believe they came from a Being
I ll those things - natural gifts

In which I am thankful for
julius Oct 2014
sometimes i paint
sometimes i write
sometimes i do what i think i might
sometimes i play piano
sometimes i play guitar
sometimes i steal from the cookie jar
sometimes i dance
sometimes i sing
sometimes i try to do everything

yes, i am a jack of all trades--
master of none, but better than
a master of one.
could be longer.

— The End —