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Mansi Mar 2020
The world tells me
That I need to be tough
And cold
To make it in this
Ruthless world

I don’t want that for myself
Cause I know what loneliness
Feels like
I have no intention of
Going through
That again
Michael Stefan Mar 2020
Cassie Lane Gray, ever so slight of frame
Hit harder than a train, playing her martial games
Cassie ran eight miles a day, and she never strayed
Her routine was tough as iron, her boxing gloves were frayed

Her momma put her in ballet, but later on, she disobeyed
Strapping wraps to wrists, uppercut finisher each day
And when she said she wanted to box, her momma turned away
But she was gonna fight, with no one in her way

Cassie Lane Gray grew up poor in San Jose
Never had much to say, just wanted in the fray
Her ballet, in a way, made her opponents pay
As she moved with dancer's sway, they later would convey

Cassie's family prayed that she would portray
The sweet and simpering visage of a classy dame
But it wasn't in the cards, for Cassie Lane Gray
The "Bantam Weight Ballerina"
A strong young fighting woman
Was in the ring to stay
This poem was inspired by a filthy ragtag tomboy friend that I spent a lot of my youth with.  She was tough as nails and loved to box.  Her parents had tried to put her on the pageant circuit every year, and every year they would find her in a ripped and muddy dress, fighting with the boys.  She was such a wonderful person and despite several state boxing championships, her parents never loved or appreciated her work and accomplishments.  Follow your dreams and don't let anyone try fit you into their mold.
alexa Mar 2020
been through too much,

dealt with too little.
i cant cope with much anymore. i’m almost numb; desensitized, if you will.
Patterson Feb 2020
I am still me.

Still me.

I want to shout it from the highest places, just so that you can hear it and understand. Hear it and believe it. Hear it and trust me.

Still me.

Because that girl who dug around your garden and nearly ate night shade berries still exists. The one who crawled around on the carpets, playing with toy cars, she's still here. The child who sat cross-legged on the counter tops licking icing off her fingers is still alive.

She's still in here. Waiting for the day she sees the entire world. Pretending that she can fly even when the world has clipped her wings time and time again. Watching rain streak down the windows, admiring the ladies who traipse around in Victorian dresses when we watch those films you love.

She still awws at every sweet thing she stumbles across. And still hopes against all hope that she will live in an ancient forest. Who still adores Joan of Arc and loves to read poetry out loud.

Still me.

Still over watering plants because I have no idea when to stop giving.

Still up in the middle of the night dreaming.

Still singing.

Still here.

Still me.

That simple truth shouldn't change your opinion of me. Because it doesn't change who I am.
I came out to my mother in a bit of a reckless streak. Mostly because I didn't want to keep the girl I like a secret. And well, my mother wasn't very happy about it.
I still have to convince her that I'm still human. But now that she's had a week, it's starting to get better.
KMarie Feb 2020
My phone rings
I see your picture
But I don’t know who you are
I wonder if you’ve gone far
I saved you from the fire
But you just want to burn
You keep saying you’ll try
But you never learn
You called to say you’ll change
But you never do
The stuff you always take
Will end up killing you
You called to say you’re sorry
And that you never win
But you never try
You cry
I wipe a tear from my eye
I have to go
Good luck staying clean
And finding the guy I used to know
Whoever you are
When you find him
Tell him I said hello
                            -kmarie
Cynthia Jean Feb 2020
Character
is developed
in the tough times
when you're
not
getting your way
but
you keep on doing
the right thing.

Cynthia Jean

copyright 2.8.2020
i'm sorry that i'm not enough
i'm sorry you thought this was love
i'm sorry my walls are too tough
i'm sorry i threw down the glove
i'm sorry my edges are rough
i'm sorry when push came to shove
i'm sorry was never enough
Angela Rose Jan 2020
when he used to talk down to me and make me feel invisible i would dig my nails so deep into my hands that I bled

I forgot I did this, I tried over and over to repress that

I thought about doing it again today

It's been 9 years.
Amanda Kay Burke Dec 2019
Riding home in a hellbound car
My lover by my side
I tried to steer a different way
But it seems by rules I can't abide

So I rest my head against the glass
Scenery a pillow
Whooshing noise a bed
Led towards a house blanketed in snow
Wishing I could stop time instead

The drive is such a neutral place
It doesn't hurt to be alive
Between the nosedive and the pole vault
The steady up and down I survive
I say hellbound because home is hell
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