"But despite my juxtaposition to society's critical assessments,"
Jasmine Marie 

I dream of a society
Where the ideals of beauty
Are less focused on superficial concepts like one's waistline
Or how decrepit their smile lines made them appear
But rather one where the focal point of unanimous adoration is,
As corny as this may sound,
One's morals and where they land on the gradient of human compassion

In this utopia,
The elderly aren't seen as catalysts for repugnance and a wrinkling of noses
But rather as symbols of eruditeness and beauty
The type of beauty that influence or money can't obtain

And it may be conceivable that instead of wasting my days squandering over my physical appearance,
I can just fritter away the days
Strumming my ukulele along to the tune of my American dream

For I have yet to actually awaken from my adolescent slumber
Breifly enough to grasp my dream from the bubble floating above my resting head
And nestle it securely in my pocket
So it doesn't forgo me
In search of someone less complacent with bewilderment about their future
Who dreams of social and economic prosperity
Instead of someone who's apathetic at best about whatever career choice they've chosen for the week

Maybe that's just it
That maybe I don't want the conventional American dream of fame or fortune or recognition
Is it feasible that maybe my American dream isn't to rise from sqaulor into a soulless mansion
Whose corridors boast success
But lack warmth and presence?

I suppose that my American dream encompasses more than just America itself
It lives in the eyes of every human being on the face of the earth
It's nestled in the gaze of a starving child
And the stare of anyone who's ever felt a tongue's razor edge
And all I'd have to do is delve into their eye sockets and plant a seed
A seed of hope and compassion
Or whatever I deem fit

Perhaps I just want to shield myself
From the world's disapproving glances,
Those fleeting moments of eye contact that convey condescending judgement
Maybe I'd just like to make a difference to things sans the media’s snide opinion
But despite my juxtaposition to society's critical assessments,
I know that I can't run away from my fears or problems

So maybe I dream of a society
Where I can remain headstrong even in the face of opposition
Because I'm aware that not everyone's going to love each other
And spout sweet nothings about peace and understanding from their hind quarters
So maybe I'd like to help be a driving force
That wards off the world's shadows
So the sun can continue to shine on my American dream

My friend helped me write this for my Language Arts class, and so I thought I'd put it here.
"are the juxtaposition to my quaker pallet"
mûre 

rolling in the rosy dish of my tongue
it returns in my mouth to
its most basic elements
a primordial alabaster foam
of corn syrup and gelatin
and unpronounceable would-rather-not-knows
i think: marshmallows
are the juxtaposition to my quaker pallet
microwave tap water&Fry;'s Cocoa
awash and dissolve
my saccharine oral fixation
in jealous slurps of heat
that radiate down
down down
heat, you see-
(as a sakura flush
blossoms 'cross the
pale of my throat)
-has always been the key
here's a secret:
in solitude i
i'm a homunculous girl
all lips and all hands

"Juxtaposition apparition myriad avarice"
Toreinss Pinwinkel III 

Extravagantly exorbitant mentality panacea
Pretentious eidetic’s ubiquity mnemonics
Extraversion embezzlement extortion mens rea
Endergonic laconic cacophony phonics

Preterite rendition enclitic equilibrist motion
Mystic symbiosis dharma spiritual sky
Brusque macabre abjections the gist of the potion
Straight up forever ontology on high

Obdurately abstruse vituperatively vociferous
Juxtaposition apparition myriad avarice
Orotund sonorous diction obliquitous
Multifariously versatile nefarious nemesis

Mirador bartizan phantasmagoria aesthetics
Guidon gyration excursion integration
Sorcerous alchemizing interstitial endemics  
Chaos charisma objectified tribulation

Conjurous apothegms clitoral apomixis
Exude emote surrogate extrapolation
Astral projection littoral hypotaxis
Kinetic supremacy homogeneity gravitation

Coercible coalescent cohesion dexterities
Adjunct conjunction conjecture acuity
Platonic pragmatic prosaic austerities
Extemporaneous impromptu innuendo fortuity

Propinquity habitation harbinger spectra
Perplexing paradox tenacity rostra
Intensely cogitational abstract mantra
Penumbral exigency , umbrage per contra
Theoretical incursion grandiloquent ne plus ultra
Exogamy of homoplasy sic itur ad astra
Quiescent serendipity surreal anestra

"This juxtaposition fills my veins with anxiety,"
Katy Laurel 

These autumn sunrises bring a remnant

Of cool spring mornings we spent
In 
moments of content, encompassing silence.

What is the foundation of this feeling

You once claimed to brand me with

Inside other lips?

The truth comes out,
coated in masks,

And unknown hopes,

That we have already proved to be wrong.

Can we rewind?
Can I bring your mind

To understand the beauty of the present?

Will ghosts always follow the trace of footprints

You left when you took flight from me?

But this language of bloody magnolias dipped in salty water

Recognizes the impossibility within her pleadings.

How selfish I become with the possibility of magnificent love.

Perhaps all I do to you now is inflict pain upon the

Wary navigator who sails the ocean of your soul.

I feel the weight of your ship sink into the water well of my mind.
I let it sink into my numb mind.
This juxtaposition fills my veins with anxiety,
For all that places itself in my hands
Quickly dissipates, melting under my overbearing love
And insecure need to be fully loved.

This has led to a natural novocain,
Which I am unable to keep from filling my blood,
And infecting the dear heart within my ribs
With nothingness.

I sink into the comfortable, encompassing black
With a blank stare and shiny scars.
Reminders that this abyss,
Often leads to insomniac slicing.
Watching my own blood leak out with happiness.
Sickfully joyful to see my liveliness,
Praying the physical will call upon frozen passion.

This is the secret.
This is how I could bear to look at you for years without emotion.
Your love sang too true for my many masks to survive,
And my fear of feeling became cold, guilty friendship.
Perhaps, my guilt hoped for your understanding.
I just couldn't commit you to my own insanity.
Too many times have I tried to find fulfillment in lips,
I would never permit inside the lost water well.
You were better off without my tactless attempts at love.
Perhaps, that remains the reality…
Doubt haunts determination.
My difficulty in recovering our old language
Begins to overshadow my bright hope.

So now I contemplate the truth in my journey.
Am I merely chasing down your ghosts
Fighting to show you the value of your own love,
When you are so pridefully aware of its worth.
I wonder if you have ever truly observed my own love?

It existed, long ago, once within childhood
And then transformed into trapped, teenage hubris;
Prideful of my naivety, and what I then called fate.
But almost all evidence has been destroyed,
Out of selfish preservation.
How could I expect you to understand,
I only continue to breathe to rebel against these violent memories.

Yet, my fearful pride continuously tears at my honest ambition.
So, I call upon rhythm to release me.
Bon Iver breaks all my honor,
Evoking all memories of my murder.
Moments of time I keep deep in my silent sorrow.
Only this particular pain,
Allows me to isolate my words,
And continue singing.
I realize I have become lost in the water well.
When will this precarious ego finally shatter?

The silence returns to the mountain night.
Frigid, soft breeze breaks my blank stare,
As I fight with my twisted nature.
I continue to hold out my hand,
Shaking and trembling,
As you stare at me with shocked confusion.
I am no good with promises of the future.
So, I remain in the present,
And believe,
In the vulnerable emotion,
You unconsciously paint upon me.

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