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Aug 2021 · 64
I'm a senior.

it hasn't hit me how little time I have left.
I can't imagine that after this year, I have to choose what to do with the rest of my life.
How do I determine how much I like something if I've never tried it?
I can't fathom that I have to try to meet new people after this, that I won't be surrounded by the same faces I've had for 13 years.
How am I a senior?
I feel like I'm still just starting middle school.
I'm a senior.
You are possibly the greatest thing to happen to me in a while.
I have written about you before, but the longer I get to be yours, the longer I look forward to the future.
For the longest time, I felt as if I was unlovable.
That I was destined to be somebody's second choice,
their backup,
their least favorite.
But to you, I'm your's,
and you, luckily enough, are mine.
We're getting close to a year of you loving me,
and everything is completely polar to how it was back then.
I was alone, isolated in my room for none to see and none to want.
And then out of nowhere came you.
You filled my quarantined days with excitement,
with inside jokes,
with secret smiles,
with love.
My darling, you are possibly the greatest thing.
Apr 2021 · 118
maybe i'm still longing and looking for the poem to end all poems.
i need them to mean something
to be great
to be moving
to be from me to you.
i want that recognition from poets
i don't want the attention, just to be told i'm good.
i love to write, and maybe
i'm still good enough right now
Apr 2021 · 569
Soft rains and sunshine
white clouds and blue skies

green leaves
shaking trees

pretty birds
close suburbs

tall mountains
low plains


our pretty Earth is filled with many things.
happy earth day:)
Apr 2021 · 67
How do we determine what is remembered of us?
How do we make it seem like we're kind?
How do we let our ghost linger for our loved ones?
How do we express ourselves on our tombstones?
How do we tell people new things we see?
How do you feel?
How is the rain going to sound and taste?
How do you let them move on without you?
How do we determine what is remembered of us?
i'm back:)
Feb 2021 · 119
I have not written in quite some time.
I have not jotted down my thoughts or committed to a rhyme.
But I think of poems each day,
of words spun with careful concentration.
I believe in the mind and its prowess,
and of the power I possess.
While I have taken a break,
I refuse to sit and stop,
for I am not done writing.
I have greatly missed this place and the people I have encountered. I have missed poetry.
listening to music with my friend Liam is cathartic.
I write poetry and he edits photos.
What the artistic pair we are.

We sing and laugh as we talk of hues of different edits.
We chill with my dog and we dance to the beat.
We sway and sway as the minute's pass, almost like they faded too fast.
We sing to popular songs, old songs,
love songs, getting over you songs.
The genre's as colorful as the sky in a midwestern state.
you name it, we listen to it.
I think we should all learn to  see the beauty in all genres of music and to realize
"It Ain't Over 'Til It's Over".
Sep 2020 · 31
It's the third day of my junior year and I am filled with an unchecked anxiety.
I feel the fire from my brain licking at my hands, so much so that they must fiddle with something.
I thought it had gotten better, but I am so afraid.
All the time.

But don't misunderstand,
I love school, very much.

But I still cannot get over the fear of the worst happening.
Thoughts eating away at my heart, intrusive as ever.  

Your hand holding mine calms me.
However, I cannot keep you with me all day.
Thoughts of you help,
how you called me pretty and how if I can just make it through this period,
I can see you after.

I hate being so dependent on someone,
it is so scary to think that you might change your mind and that you might not want my hand holding yours, but someone else's instead.
I push these fears deep down because I don't want to scare you with how crazy I really am.

When did I become like this?
Where all I can think about is what you would do or say?
I'm afraid, so very afraid.
a little rant, sorry
Sep 2020 · 31
Being through the screen without you is hard.
I want to hold you and see you smile in front of me.
I want to brush your hair away from your face, even if you like it that way.
Your eyes are just so beautiful,
and I get lost in them so, so easily.
Even if you're not mine.
Still, almost 5 months later.
Looking through the screen and wanting you is the hardest thing I do.
Aug 2020 · 23
Here it is,
one final day left of my peaceful, expectation-less existence.
Don´t get me wrong, dear reader, I´m quite excited for a new school year to begin.
However, I cannot help but to reflect on the time spent away from school in hopes of ending the pandemic.
My peers and I grew significantly during this time.
We faced being alone, like so many of us fear.
We sat and had tea with our demons in the dark.
We dressed like we wanted to and said what we thought.
And we became the children of quarantine.
And while we hated every minute of it, we knew it was necessary and we took the precautions some of our parents wouldn´t even take.
We defied the government,
we spoke up and decided we were done being bullied by those who demand our respect due to age.
We painted and sang and didn't care if it sounded atrocious to others, because it was ours
and ours alone.
I reflect on our final day,
and am a bit saddened by our loss of freedom and I do hope we don´t revert back to the facades that we put forth during school.
I have hope, however.
We are done hiding,
I believe in us.
Jun 2020 · 43
I am starting to feel a little bit misled.
I wrote you a paragraph of how much we share and how much you mean to me and you only said you too.
You flirt with me and say all these pretty words about how I´m beautiful and I´m different.
But how does that compare to the heartbreak I feel when you didn´t say anything but those two words.
I pour my soul on words meant for you only to receive the most unenthusiastic response.
You asked me on a date yesterday after talking in quarantine for two months.
Does that mean you like me?
Or does it mean that you expect more from me than I am willing to give,
even when I told you I wanted that to be for someone special.
Is it different for you?
I know you've already given that to someone else, but do you expect to be mine?
And is that the only reason you're here?
I know I´ll never show you this as I write it close to midnight, but it hurts more than you´ll ever know.
You made me feel something after feeling numb for so long and am I expected to push those away when they´ve made me feel so human?
What should I do now?
With my broken heart and a text left on read?
How do I go about this now and not upset you?
It´s funny how I still don´t want to hurt you even after you've hurt me.
I will try to keep them at bay, but my walls are crumbling again and I just don't know what to do.
a little rant, sorry
Jun 2020 · 42
Though I never really knew you before, I knew of you.
The boy that was forbidden to me by a girl I no longer see.
You added me on a social media that I had no idea you had.
You called me cute and we started to talk more and more.
It made me quite curious, and you the same.
You asked me how my day was instead of for pictures.
You told me I was classically beautiful instead of just a normal pretty.
I didn´t know boys like you still existed.
And while you may never see this, I sit here and write to you as if you will.
I´m talking to you right now and you wonder what I´m doing.
I tell you nothing much, but this, this is everything to me right here, at this moment.
You make me feel infamous and I am quite enjoying this new person to talk to.
I thank you Thomas, you´ll never know it, but for the past few days,
I haven´t gone to sleep crying.
It was smiling.
You tell me you hope to see me as soon as this mess is over and I am so excited,    
I´m looking forward to something for the first time in a while.
You inspire me anew and make me feel that the person I use to be doesn´t matter.
I love that more than you´ll ever know.
Oh, look at that!
Another text, and one of you being ever so cute!
You feel the same way, and that is everything.
I am quite taken with you, my new person to talk to.
update: its currently October 5th and him and i are dating:)
May 2020 · 63
I see the reflections of me in everything I do.
If I cry, the pages of my book become smudged.
If I get angry, I break things,  
whether it be promises, hearts, or actual things.  
If I´m happy, I see my mother smile more,    
She´s so beautiful when she smiles, but I always see her beauty,    
but who couldn´t when it´s so apparent.      
If I laugh,      
my brother laughs at my laugh.      
If I say I love you,        
I see their smiles and I´m happy to know it´s because of me.        
I see the reflections of things I do,          
But we all have to learn to see the          
reflections of things we don´t do.            
The reflections are part of us and part of what we do.
And I think that is so beautiful.
May 2020 · 46
Stevie Nicks is known for being a witch.
She simply makes us curious.
Her vocals and lifestyle so rich,
shes truly glorious.

Lana Del Ray is, in fact, all the same.
She reminds us of a stormy coast.
She is an inspiring dame,
who always makes us feel the most.

Amy Winehouse was a true enchantress.
She sang chords of old times and new feelings.
A true soul huntress,
She gave us some great new meanings.

A little bit of witch,
can go a long way.
It can truly make us a devoted kitsch,
So let us begin to be mysterious and try to be our own way.
Just some admiration of a few wonderfully witchy ladies. Also sorry for the great gap in posts, I needed to work on myself for myself.  Also sorry for the kinda bad rhyming, I haven´t really tried rhyming before.
Apr 2020 · 53
As I lay, staring at the ceiling dreading the day,
I reflect on how this is ¨normal¨ now.
Two months ago, I would have never guessed that I would be made to stay inside, rather than my usual complacency to stay inside.
I miss the feeling of the sun shining on my friends' faces as we laughed and walked home from school.
From seeing my friends laugh alongside an inside joke in the school cafeteria.
I long for the day of comfort where painting was my escape, and not my excuse from my house.
I feel completely, wholly trapped in a creation of my own.  
I decorated my room to the brim to take some space from the walls and to make my life feel like a fairytale,
now my paintings and drawings and pictures and trinkets suffocate me, and it is my fault alone.
My brother, however, seems to be thriving from this.
He´s always had more online friends, and from this, he has only been allowed to spend even more time with them.
I see him only when we have to do our schoolwork and at meals.
4 times a day, for 30 minutes a piece.
I feel alone in this house.
My only solace my dog and my backyard.
It is true that we are all mad here,
i feel as if im going insane, do any of you feel that too?
Mar 2020 · 54
Beyond the veil is a place to marvel,
where a dream can find a place.
With columns made from marble,
it´s like a slap to the face.

With pleasure as far as the eye can see,
and little nooks to behold.
A wonderous land of make-believe,
And where our minds and hearts never grow old.
I would like some feedback for this one please, it´s the first rhyming poem I´ve written
Mar 2020 · 65
I want you to take me to the river we visited as children.
I want to catch crawfish and play with rolly pollies.
We can talk about our dreams we had and how close we used to be.
If not a river,  what about the creek behind the house I used to live in,
the one where we cried when it was torn down.
I see you in the halls of this empty, full school.
I see you and I know you see me, but not even a nod is exchanged.
I want to go back to the beautiful times of our childhood where we played in the grass and fought over dolls.
I want to go back to when the biggest things on our mind were when we would get to see each other again.
I want to relive the jokes and revive the laughs.
I miss the river when you would take me there.
Feb 2020 · 29
How I adore the odd ends of time and the weird night hours that accompany them.
In the waking hours of just before sunrise,
and the blissful night quiet.
The things we think, and how we dream.
The odd ends of time are truly, in the purest form,
Feb 2020 · 186
There are many things I find beautiful:

Boys who love flowers,

children laughing,

flower crowns.

Drawings on wrists,

shimmery eyeshadow,

dainty jewelry,

worn pictures,

hands covered in acrylic paint,

but all the while,
nothing can compare to you, love.
For you, are the greatest beauty of all.
Feb 2020 · 31
All I can give,
I've already given to you.
But our love isn't storybook, it's friendship, and a platonic one.
I know this may seem as a bit of a surprise and unorthodox,
but it is ours nonetheless.
I gave you my secrets in exchange for yours.
I gave you my ear for a hug.
I gave you my heart as a token of my favor towards you, and you gave the same.
We are each other's best friends, and that is bliss.
And though I may only show you this on your birthday, maybe, and I sit here writing this as you sit next to me in history, I know you feel the same.
I gave you all I could give,
and you gave me all I could ever want.
I love you Lily Elise Ivester and our friendship is very special.
I love to dance among the wildflowers and hear their voices of beauty.
Their swaying in the wind as they dance alongside me
is quite inviting.
They weave in and out if the wind,
winding down into petals adrift.
I pick a few and feel the weight of a life on Earth taken by my hand.
So, in turn, I weave a crown of flowers, one of many colors.
I place them on my head and call out to the faeries and they Fea.
I hear giggles and feel their presence.
I scream to take me away, and they do.
But only in my mind do they come to me,
and then I open my eyes.
I'm not in a field of wildflowers,
but in a dream all my own.
Feb 2020 · 40
"I will give you my glory if you promise to give me your heart."
I sang these words to you through fervent texts.
Fingers danced rapidly trying to make you understand the position you put my feelings in.
My fickle feelings are a thing to be hated.
A thing to love nonetheless.
You said you only wanted a good time, nothing more than a silly summer spree.
Nothing more to you, so it shouldn't be more to me.
Oh lover,
This is not my intention but I must lose you,
for my glory is worth more than a knowingly ending bliss of nothing
that would cost everything.
Feb 2020 · 33
Listening to raindrops is oddly soothing.
The loud claps of thunder through a murky sky a melody from the gods.
Lightning a fast portrait of fire.
While I sit and listen to the lazy rain run to meet the thirsty ground,
I ponder aimlessly in my mindscape.

Thoughts of loved ones long gone and new crushes to caress.
I stare at the drawings on my hands and wrists and wonder if I might become something for art by art.
I write this and feel like I want to be a writer.

Then I fall back into my consciousness, and realize,
Raindrops brought new radicle and raking thoughts.
I or one, am grateful to the rain for letting me listen in on its raindrops and dewdrops.
Feb 2020 · 46
Lovely poets are among my favorite types of people.
Truly fascinating, however, is how many reside here.
Warm comments and personal add-ons to all my poems.
They make me feel as if my stories spun have impacts on them,
and a truly wonderous feeling it is.
Beauty is said to be in the eye of the beholder.
I've beheld beauty of natures unimaginable,
but this,
is truly something to be revered.
Lovely poets
are truly underrated.
I am friends with my demons,
for they know me better than most.
Swirling black masses,
of contempt and understanding.

They know the pain,
and the places it takes me.
For they see,
the disdain.

I am friends with my demons,
for people are scarier.
Feb 2020 · 31
They called her a witch for she was charming.
She wore black lace and old perfume.
She had a black cat because she knew they didn't cause bad luck.
She listened to Stevie Nicks and Fleetwood Mac.
She had a collection of big hats and feather boas.
She had candles and books galore, filling the empty spaces in her heart with fantastic stories of make-believe places.
She smelled of sandalwood and roses.
Her favorite season was fall, her favorite flavor pumpkin spice.
She was a child of the moon, and she knew it.
She found peace on this website with other children of the stars, one being you.
Feb 2020 · 44
Roses drawn on hands, on arms, and on cuffs of jeans.
Stars encircle wrists,
like constellations.
Little quotes and lovers' names.
Small remembrances and inside jokes galore.
Vines, plant and meme alike.
But little drawn roses are my favorite.
Jan 2020 · 43
Fictional scenarios are a dangerous matter.
They warp the minds eye into a fake reality.
Giving false feelings or exaggerated real ones a sense of security.
A bit of feeling turns us all into dreamy-eyed wishers.
We let them take hold in a time of boredom, sadness, or as a form of escapism.
However, it is not a bad thing to be a wisher.
These scenarios have given us new meaning.
We see the potential and feel the intriguing ambrosia of what could be if we just try hard enough and take a chance.
Fictional scenarios are a work of our mindscape, but they don always have to be made up.
ivé been having weird dreams and got inspired.
Jan 2020 · 44
         I always knew
         But I still wanted more
         And yet, you stick
         But it was fake
          Now, I'm ok again
Jan 2020 · 46
music is part of the vitality
to which we stand
on hollow ground.

it's a sweet serenity
so let's listen and
get lost in the sound.

this sense of unity
is a vast land
to which we're found.
Jan 2020 · 33
As the new year comes around, I look on the dreadful past and the hopeful future.
I look into the forest that houses these creatures, venturing in further.
Armed with my shield and my ever-full heart.
I slice through each one, daring to face my monsters head-on.
After the battle is won, I stand victorious, yet tired.
My brain and heart weigh heavily with my experiences re-experienced.
I bury them, my demons.
They deserve to be out to rest.
Then I venture home, to my bed,
to sleep away and reflect on my self-help.
Jan 2020 · 48
I don't need to be saved.
From myself,
my perils,
or, you.

I don't need to be told I'm broken,
for I know that better than most.
I am aware I am hurting,
and that there are fake smiles that never reach my eyes.

However, I don't need a great love to be better.
Not romantically anyway.
Though it would be nice,
I value self-love above lust.

I am getting better, day by day.
By myself, for myself.
Though I still hurt and let tears run rampant,
I am me, and I believe that to be poetic of sorts.

I feel pretty with my makeup,
mysterious with my clothes,
experienced with my heartache,
and alluring with my inner demons.

I don't need to be saved, I need to do the saving.
I'm in a very good place right now, and I believe I can make it even better. I believe, truly, that each of us can find our own slip of happiness. As one who has struggled with depression and OCD, I know the full extent of the ain. You have all helped me through my pain by, loving the darkest parts. With deep regards and happiness, thank you. I believe we can ALL be the princess, the knight, and the dragon all at once.<3
Dec 2019 · 135
Oh, God.
I dreamed of you and you promised to return.
Even through your uninterested replies, I still believed.
You had tod me you were coming back on a Tuesday.
So I waited for Tuesday.
It came and I dressed for the occasion, but it went by unnoticed.
So I dressed for Wednesday, thinking you were just late.
But Wednesday went away too.
So Thursday came and I prayed, it too bore the same outcome.
So I did the same for Friday,
because just maybe it was going to be a dramatic entrance, befitting of you.
And you know what happened?
Nothing, nothing in the slightest.
Oh, God.
When did I get to be like this,
I never cared before.
So I texted to make sure I wasn't wrong.
I wasn't, you just changed your mind.
And even to this day,
it shatters me inside.
Well, I have moved on, I think.
I will dress for me and my happiness.
I will no longer be better for you, or anyone for that matter.
So this is a thank you for showing me I'm better.
Oh, God.
I wrote the first one quite a while ago
Dec 2019 · 147
I have begun to be uninspired.
Little pieces of poems with a blank, surrounding screen.
I do not remember when writers block set in.
I do feel, however, that I can escape this listless typing.
With a little help and a lot of research on new words,
I can become un uninspired and unlost.
Dec 2019 · 62
One single act has changed my whole viewpoint.
As I wished for you for so long, I lost a little piece of myself.
All it took to reemerge to my former glory was one person noticing.
As we talked, he noticed m crying and asked what I felt to be true.
He knows of my wishes for you and I told him of the hurting you had brought.
He whisked away my tears to show me how I was special.
While he doesn't know this, as I sit writing next to him, he helps me see the beauty in the world.
He is truly special and all it took was just one single act to see it.
Dec 2019 · 85
The letters never sent are the hardest ones to write.
They burn on shelves where or they sit and radiate emotion from drawers.
We fill them with the things left unsaid or to clarify those opinions voiced.
We either cry or smile or feel fear as we pen them,
much like how we write our collective stories in poetry.

As we write, we are taken away.
We may be in a coffee shop,
or our rooms,
or like me, in the middle of school.
But when we display our feelings on paper things, we go into our mind-space.

Our letters never sent dripping in passion.
Saturated with our shared feelings and remembered embraces.
Of the feverish past and the heat-wrenching present.
They can be poetic and charming, but have a sharper edge of a fast mind and slow hand.

Our letters never sent are precious, so I think we should send them.
Nov 2019 · 86
We all have a little bit of historical context backing up our stories.

   It is what he did in the past the effects the present,
or it is what she said the controls how I think and feel.
It is past poems and songs and writings giving fuel to new ones,
it is the memories of people who only exist in our minds and hearts.

   There is truth to the stories told from both sides of the mirror.
There are intricately spun lies to help rather than hurt.
There is that little bit of peace and love that has shaped you and me and us.

But there is also no historical context at all.

   Maybe something is caused by nothing and it is rather unexpected.
Maybe a new friendship, a new place, a new feeling or maybe it is even a new person that invokes all listed above.

   There is an old past and a new present to each person and their own story, we just need to learn how to appreciate them.
Oct 2019 · 83
As we draw our little lines in the vast space of sand, we also step over others, worn away indentions.

We hurt and we break and we cry.
Then we rebuild and repeat.

Always keeping time and cutting ties.
We just keep crossing lines.

We just need to erase these lines in the sand
and wipe away to start again.
Oct 2019 · 181
A little bit of nothing can go a long way.

A little bit of quiet remembrance of the lovely past,
or perhaps a little bit of silent, spinning thoughts.

Maybe a little bit of everything that feels like nothing.
Could it be the little bit of music as we paint pictures on the canvas' of our minds?

Let's have a little bit of useless thinking to drown the white noise of our collective consciousnesses.
Indulge me in the little bit of pretty moments.

Perhaps we all need a little bit of nothing with just a touch of everything.
Oct 2019 · 159
Whether it be the ceiling tiles in the classroom or the hospital tiles in hospice, everyone has a memory of tiles tied in.
These little square pieces that can trigger a violent vision.

However, it might not be physical tiles either.

They may be tiles your run across as you try to escape from the monster your mind creates.
The pieces falling out from under you, giving way to an immense fear.
These tiles are background characters, always looming.

The tiles we see are mere placeholders in our minds for our most substantial moments.
Do you have memories of tiles?
guess whose back
Aug 2019 · 106
Beauty doesn't begin to describe your stained glass eyes.
Full of wisdom shaped by deep cuts of sorrow.
Yet, they are light, almost airy, and full of love.
Those eyes have caught mine from across the room and have countlessly captivated my conscious.

But behind those stained glass eyes, is also beautiful.
So intelligent and kind is your mind.
Not sorrowful, but thoughtful.
That mind understands the world and its paper-like people.

Your mind is not, however, like stained glass.
Rather, it's like a tree.
Strong and unwavering, yet dazzlingly fluid.
How incredible.

God, none other can compare to your stained glass eyes and fluid-like mind.
Aug 2019 · 107
You, whom I dreamed of and wanted for so long, is whom I have faithfully forgotten.
You, who no longer hound my thoughts with your words and pretty smiles.
I have taken back my mind and my heart and am ready to live for me and only me.
So to you, I say goodbye and farewell, because you have been faithfully forgotten.
Aug 2019 · 140
The cascades of rain fall silently outside my window.
The lights are off, music is playing, and it is peaceful.
I think back to the time I felt true peace.
When my mind was silent and my heart was full.

I believe I was a small child, around 5.
My grandmother was sewing in the little room at the back of the house.
I was coloring and writing stories of the future I wished to behold.
I had no further inclinations that she might fall into a deep sleep and never wake up.

I believed she was immortal because she never changed.
Though she wasn't societies idea of pretty, I found her captivatingly beautiful.
Her light blonde hair which I too possessed, was a gift only we shared.
Her luminescent blue eyes were the same for me as well.

We watched tales of princesses and their matching princes.
We performed plays that I wrote.
We sang along to Elvis and Sinatra.
We shared tales of school and her early life.

I wanted to live like that forever.
Always together and smiling.
Laughing and playing.
Loving each day as it was given to us.

I will never forget those days blanketed in warm sunshine, especially in the cascades of rain.
Aug 2019 · 84
What does it mean to be truly alive?

Is it the glittering tales of love and its rose-colored glasses?
Or can it be the solitary solidity that we find in special relationships, both platonic and romantic?

What about the stories spun to entrance us into their mystifying glory?
Or is it the memories of those who have so greatly influenced us?

What will it feel like?

Will it be the brush of delicate fingertips between lovers?
Or will it be the sacred, shared smiles of siblings?

What about the tapping away at a keyboard to express our bountiful desires and ambitions?
What about the feel of paper as our eyes dance hurriedly to finish a captivating story?

Even though I am young and have not experienced the world like the wise seniors before me, I believe I have captured in my mind what it means to be truly alive.

I believe it is the stories and the dancing and the singing and the smiles and all the little moments we have so much of but do not think are important.
These little momentous moments are what make us human.
The little pieces of others we collect that harm and heal us.

I believe being truly alive is what makes us human.
this poem was inspired by a webcomic called 'Winter Woods'. This comic made me really evaluate what it meant to be really alive and why we are human. If you have the time, please do read it, you will be greatly moved by this lovely piece. It's on Webtoons and it is free.

srsly go read it.

Also, if you have any suggestions to help me better my writing, pls share because I always want me to be better.
Aug 2019 · 131
I know it has been quite a while since I have written.
My fingers dancing lazily across the keyboard.

It has not, however, been quite a while since I've dreamed.
Much of my life has been spent not having the auspicious scenarios dreamt up by my brain, but by empty spaces lacking color.

For the past month, I've had vivid and vivacious dreams of the past.
Memories I didn't even know I had.
Stored away in a lifetime of experiences.

I dream of past friends and long past grandmothers.
I dream of friends and foes.
I dream of those who have been one but become another.

It has been quite a while since I have had a full nights sleep.
Waking in the odd hours and reflecting on these illustrious illusions.
Waiting for the presumptuous pieces to connect.

It has been quite a while since I've written,
but it has not been quite a while since I've dreamt.
what are some weird things you guys have dreamt?
Aug 2019 · 71
A recent, heartbreaking conversation with my father has brought me to realize something.
We are who others perceive us.

If we are wary of the world and its people from our past experiences, we are seen as closed off and rude.
If we have ore friends of the opposite gender, we are flirty.
If we are smart and aiming to help, we are stuck up and a teacher's pet.
If we don't have many friends, we are weird and outcasts.

But these aren't true.
They are mere assumptions based on the superficials seeing's of our "superiors".

If we are wary of the world and its people from our past experiences, we are looking for more genuine people.
If we have ore friends of the opposite gender, we are just making friends with people we are comfortable around.
If we are smart and aiming to help, we are kind and supportive.
If we don't have many friends, we are seeing the truth behind the pretty lies.

We are not what others see us, we are who WE are and who WE want us to be.
I just think that everyone has felt this and someone needs to say something.
Aug 2019 · 90
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