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Mary Alexander Aug 2014
Here is my story:
I'm not Snow White.
Don't sing with any birds.
 Not afraid of
Dark woods and scary trees.
Because I like the adventure.
Sorry, but that's just me.

I'm just not meant for you, my prince.
You've got those perfect
beautiful eyes.
You like the pretty ones.
Songbirds with beauty
So I don't know why you think
I'm right for you.
I used to fake it,
Where sweet clothes and shoes,
Listen to your words,
only to feel guilt.
'Cause I wasn't listening,
Thinking about
All the fun and risk involved
With things that I really I love.
Not you now.
I see you looking at her.
Her with her soft hair and light spirit.
Perfect.
I'm laughing to myself.
That took so long.
I sigh walk away.
I knew that you'd leave,
That you'd realize,
That I'm strange.
That I'm no princess.
I grab my boots and jacket and run,
laughing all the way.
Vulnerable
Like the small turtle crossing the road alone.
Confused
Like having Christmas lights out in mid-July.
Self-conscious
Like the dock that seemed to be hiding under the water rather than conquering it.
I dreamt about being lost
Like the people in apartment 66 who have been evicted
Free to be the person I want to be
Like the wildflowers that sprout along the road.
Independence here
Like the only pink house on Hoffman Street.
Real friends
Like being part of a flock,
Like being part of a town,
Like being a part of my Poughkeepsie.
Walk-around poem, a poem i wrote while in Poughkeepsie New York which incorporates both feelings and unusual things i had noticed
Elizabeth P May 2014
There are so many aspects of a person to remember
Their face, eyes, weight, voice, their name...
The things I remember the most are
Their eyes, face, name, and...
Scent
If it was exotic, comforting, addicting, sweet, spicy...
How odd is that?
Anyone else like this?
دema flutter May 2014
The silence, becomes too unusual without having you around.
Anastasia Webb Apr 2014
My blood runs cold
My heart beats slow;
and I can see the world
groaning as it spins
upon the point
of a finger.

My pupils dilate
I fear it may be too late;
and trees are twisting
mouths are yawning
open to swallow
the stars.

My veins contract
Life no longer intact;
so far from the horizon
and that burning bright sun
dazzling my blind
creamy eyes.
Xyns Mar 2014
Can't we just be us for a second?
And stop the conformity
End the uniformity
And become people

Can't we just be us for a moment?
And stop the yes ma'am
End the yes sir
And become equal

Can't we just be us for a while?
And stop the judgement
End the competition
And become simple

Can't we just be us for a day?
And stop the cushioning
End the lying
And become real

Can't we just be us for some time?
And stop the worrying
End the fearing
And become gleeful

Can't we just be us for today?
And stop the striving
End the climbing
And let ourselves free fall

Can't we just be us?
And stop the normal
And show we're
Exceptional
i Mar 2014
an illusion,
a superior mirage,
one that is complex and
unusual,
is often the most beautiful
of all.
complexity is stronger,
more beautiful and more powerful than you
because you're just
simple and ordinary,
nobody wants that,
nobody wants you.
harsher, deeper.

— The End —