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Like a thousand nights before I'll sit here
with music in my ears.
Thinking of you, what could have been...
What should have been?
No, if it should've than it would've but it wasn't, so **** it.
But I can pretend.
I can imagine,
I can dream.  
My thoughts drift away and suddenly I'm someone else
in a land far away, living a different life.
Slowly events unfold of stories untold
and I'm lost living a life inside.
Behind my eyes I've lived hundreds of lives
with no one to judge me but myself.
Yet you're here to make another appearance.
No matter how far I run,
I just can't get away.
So, here we are again.
From a fewple years ago.
The girl steps onstage.
She picks up the microphone,
looking at the hundreds of people sitting
in front of her.

The music plays
softly in the background.
The young girl opens her mouth,
her heart.

She sends a message,
her words drifting sweetly through the auditorium,
to the hundreds of people sitting
in front of her.

The girl steps into school.
She looks around at the hundreds of people walking
in front of her.

She runs a hand
through her
dark, inky hair,
smoothing it out.

She remembers
checking her outfit,
her hair,
her smile.

that she wasn’t good
for the hundreds of people walking in front of her.

The girls steps into her room.
She is alone.
She doesn’t have to pretend
for the hundreds of people who were
in front of her.

The girl steps into her kitchen.
Her mother looks at her disapprovingly.
The young girl sighs,
aware of her mistakes.
The hundreds of expectations her mother has for her
are too much.
Is she a disappointment?

The girls stands in
the shadows of
her older sister.

Her beautiful,
older sister.

The girl tries
to step out of
the shadows,
but everytime,
she gets
engulfed again.

The girl steps outside,
gazing at the hundreds of stars spread
out in front of her.

She closes her eyes,
wishing for the hundredth time,
that this time,
her wish will come true.

The girl steps into school again.
She looks around at the hundreds of people walking
in front of her.

She stands with her hundreds of friends,
holding on tightly.
She is not ready to let go.
She will never be ready to let go.

The girl walks with her crush.
She gazes up at him
the way she gazes up at
the hundreds of stars.

She opens her journal
and flips to an empty page.
Her pencil bursts on the paper,
as she writes about
the hundreds of people,
hundreds of stars,
hundreds of friends,
one love.

The girls smiles for the hundredth time.
She knows the smile is fake,
but nobody else does.
She tries to stay happy,
because her friends happiness
is more important
than hers.

The girl is like a
Once somebody lets go
of the string,
she drifts
farther and farther
until she is

She needs her hundreds of friends
to hold tightly to
her string,
so she doesn’t
float away.

The girls steps outside of the schools.
She waits
for her mother to come,
gripping a test
with 90% written
in red ink.

She smiles excitedly,
hoping her mother will be proud.
One of her hundreds of expectation.

The girl reaches home
and sits in her room,
alone again.
She wishes for her hundreds of friends
that she isn’t ready to let go of.

The girl decides to do what she does best.
She pulls out a pencil
and opens her journal to a fresh page,
and begins to write:

“The girl steps onstage.
She picks up the microphone,
looking at the hundreds of people sitting
in front of her.”
this is one of my first ever pieces of poetry...
I know you won’t read this
and I know you won’t care
but I will tell you what it was like.

It was blurry.
it was slow
but time was running fast.
It was dusty feet
and dusty souls.
It was feeling nothing
and then all at once.
It was hating you
to drown the urge of hugging you.
It was writing a poem
and post it
wishing you will relate to it.

But who cares,
you don’t.
May 2017.
I wrote this instead of telling you, even though you were there, dancing next to me. And we were made out of poison, finding new ways to hurt each other.
I see you there
In the rearview mirror of my life
As I move forward
we'll never ride
side by side
Cornflower blue covered capsules
They turn the axles now
I know that you’d be scared too
If you surfed a furrowed brow

I could love the rain more if
I wasn’t made of wooden bones
And I would love me more if
I didn’t have such a fragile soul
I'm someone.
You're someone too.
Even if you're broken.
Because if a broken crayon can still color,
and a broken clock can still be right,
a broken person is still a person.
You just have to find your way
out of the darkness and into the light
The majority of us are trapped in the sediments of our memories and will never be able to escape from there for the rest of our lives.
Swiftly fading even in

The shade of a little white lie;

Of all the rarest gems

Innocence is first to die.
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