I'm a tomboy,
but a girl, too.
And just because
I don't show my feelings
don't mean I don't have them,
cuz I do.
I have those feelings,
just like you.
Only I'm better at hiding
them than you.
Sure,
I enjoy working on cars,
lifting tires,
playing guitars.
I can't stand doing my hair,
painting my nails,
drives me crazy, I swear.
But I'm not much different than you;
I have feelings and problems I go through.
I may be tough and have some muscles,
some knowledge in cars,
but I also have troubles.
So please don't treat me too rough,
because I like the feeling of love.

What is the point
being kind to those who are kind to us?
What is the point
being mean to those who are mean to us?
What is the point
hating those who hate us?
What is the point
loving those who love us?
For those who hurt us are those
who need our kindness the most.

If there ever comes a day
when we can't be together,
keep me in your heart
and I'll stay there forever.

I think our hair
tells a lot about who we are.
Like my hair,
which is curly, crazy, and wild.
Or my mom's hair,
which is short and puffy.
Or my friends' hair,
which is straight and thin.
Or my teachers' hair,
which is perfect and in order.
Or my brothers' hair,
which is just all over the place.

It rained today.
Not water, not just rain.
It rained bullets;
f l y i n g through the air.
The grass was dotted with red.
Not beautiful roses;
but with hearts that bled.
The sky was filled with stars.
Not ones that shine;
but ones that leave scars

It's been a while since I've seen
my Grandmother's hands.
Tough and rough,
some rest they demand.
Those talented, caring hands of hers.
Pretending to be so much, even a nurse.
Her hands have been so long on this Earth.
And they've done much more than their whiles worth.