As the water touches my toes I begin to slowly sink into the large puddle
Slowly swirling around my legs coming to my waist
Goose-bumps cover my arms and legs
I begin to walk further into the cold puddle
I emerge my goose-bumped body
I sit  breathing in the air
I sit slowly open my eyes
The murkiness around me  consumes me....
I I sit
   I sit

You there sitting in that window aimlessly thinking
Like the thought bubble in a comic you sit
You there with the darkened eyes
That show your soul bright as day
You there with the shaking leg
Take a break from what ever your doing and think
You there speaking to the class
Stand up tall and don’t be afraid
No one can judge you by the way you talk or your opinion
Because what you say is yours and you own that
You there sleeping all day
Get up make your restful life unrestful
You there listen to these words
That I say for today might be the last day you hear
You there open your eyes
For today might be the last day you see
You there with the sewn mouth
Speak up for today might be the last day that you speak
You there holding the hand of your child
Tell them you love them For today might be the last day you hold their hand
You there with the depression and sadness that drowns you
Smile like you have never been hurt and nothing matters
For today might be the last day that you smile
You there with the excuse for everything
Just do it because today might be the last day you do anything
You there yes you
Everyone of you live life like it was your last day

I am from willow trees and Black Eyed Susan's
From pealed wallpaper bedroom walls and Barbie Dolls
I am from small night lights and late night terrors
From Shepard's Pie and yellow American Cheese
I am from the Victorian grey and half green painted house on a four cornered road.
From T.V. tag with my brothers and cousins.
From Veronica, my only day care friend.
I am from Disney movies and The Wiggles.
From The Game Of Life and Spyro
From baby sized microwaved pizzas and slumber parties at Grandmas
I am from my Grandmother silver roster hair
Her eagerness to make everyone happy, and her thoughtfulness.
From field hockey games and fudgesicle’s
I’m from every possible place in my dreams and reality.
From not knowing what will come next.

I have 111 photos on my Facebook wall
I have 13 albums that tell my secreted past
A profile picture that hold my personal record of 63 likes
I have 111 photos on my Facebook wall
Yet not one shows who I am
Not one can depict what I'm going through
Hidden in the picture a message
My body hidden away for no one to see
The photos only holding my face
The face that is being but online for people
To like and comment
Oh your so beautiful they say.
But then I see
The half naked ******* my home page
Showing how confident they are
Yet I know, they are seeking for something
They want the feeling like they are worth something
But when I see these body standing half naked on my home page
I want to cry.
That a girl has to unclothed herself so much just to be call beautiful
But is that her fault or the pressure from the other girls.
I have 111 photos on my Facebook wall
These girl I see are much like me
Except they crave to be called beautiful
Theses pictures holding a message that no one can depict but them
The pictures making more okay to call them names
No matter how many times she gets called a ****
No matter how many times she gets called a **
No matter how many time she gets called a *****
No matter how many times she will get bullied for posting these picture
She will not stop
She will block the bullies and keep posting
She will never let other think she has won
She will never except herself as beautiful
Even though she is and everyone knows it
She will finally get to that point
I have 111 photos on my Facebook wall

Camron street.
The boy will the vile tongue.
His mouth spewing nasty words.
The blue bike with the white tires.
The boy riding circles around me.
You can’t do this.
I was eight

Sitting on the bike I picked my feet up.
Slowly pushing myself forward.
Feet resting on the pedals.
Propelling myself forward.
Forgetting the brakes.
I was eight

Knowing the pain.
The sharpness of the rock protruding from my knees.
The road rash bleeding onto the tar filling in the outlines on the ground.
My tear soaked cheeks flushed red.
I was eight

Getting up from under nether the pile of metal holding me down.
Getting back up and finishing my ride.
I was eight

The boy looking irate not knowing what to think.
Proving him wrong I had thought.
The boy still showing his vial tongue.
His mouth still spewing nasty words.
You’re a girl.
Girls can’t ride bikes.
I was eight.

I laughed.
Riding circles around him.
Angrily he left me.
Slamming the door to his cousin’s house.
The house shuddered with anger.
I was eight.

As I rode home with a smile.
My leg still bleeding.
My rode rash still burning.
The scar scabbing from where the rocks protruded from my eight year old knees.
I was eight.

The path I take depends on my fate.
The path I take is built from society and my privacy.
I strive to create my world, and the adventures I seek.
Life may hold me down but my path was chosen for me.
Not that path I want, but the path of the world.
The path that everyone has to take.
Like a conveyor belt we fallow the path of what we are supposed to be. 
We do not find ourselves, we have our ourselves found by someone else.
There is no adventure in the path we have no life beside what the path someone else has chosen for us.

As I walk these halls full of kids
I feel as if i'm the only one
Aimlessly wondering down these yellow halls
I don't even notice my friends as they try to get a word out
My head held high & strait...........My eyes only looking towards the end
Keeping my distance from the overly large windows
Like you could just walk out of it to the ground
Alone, you would fall
In reality you would fall with many.