"automatically" poems
Right person, wrong time
When we met
I knew, exactly
You automatically had my heart
Resistance as they say was futile
Our chemistry and cosmic friends
Were making more plays
Than our hands could play against
We sure as hell couldn't bluff
We were both in pain
After finding ourselves somewhere confused
We had planned for the rest of our lives
And been abused
Wrong time
We both have too much to fix
Right now, but we will
When it comes together
Will we be together?
You took my pain away
As I did yours
I know this is true
I saw you smile and heard you laugh
With me
It was the most sincere
We had both lost that for so long
I won't promise that I will wait
I don't expect you to either
But know that I will think of you
I know better than to say something
Ridiculous
Like, you were the "one"
Or something like that
I know better
I think you are a good catch
The best yet
I am not throwing you back
But I do believe in possibilities
And the future is ours
Should we take it
You made me feel special
Like I've always wanted to feel
I can't throw that away
Absolutely not
What we have is one in a billion
One way or another
You will always have a place in my heart
Because you're special to me too
I feel better just for having met you
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 10:35 PM UTC
somewhere between the fourth and fifth
load of laundry,
sometime after breakfast~lunch,
now served in the USA at home,
as an all day meal, per the edict of Mcdonalds,
start fixing dinner, take a break, walk to the mailbox,
retrieve the post and quick retreat back inside,
ah that Texas sun, bilingual chili hot,
toss the unopened on the prior weeks pile,
cause everyone loves company
the home-cold-brewed ice coffee needs a filling
for the fridge has decided not to help
by automatically refilling the pitcher
even if it could
I, busy folding,
needing two hands
and all my teeth
for folding my master’s rocket ship
sheets
my master observes with one of his alternating demeanors,
this one, super silent watching, announcing that I need a nap:
*“don't you always say, baby,
take a nap when you can, baby,
for when you need one, baby,
you probably won’t be able, my baby”*
with selected-hand-led fingers,
he lays me down to sleep,
bids me to slow slide to dreamland, dinner will keep,
curling inside my frame, hands a-cupping my *******
telling me a drowsy tale, inherited from his mother’s womb
and his granddaddy’s tongue, mindful of his family’s history
there, is where, they find us,
dinner fixings burnt,
me and my five year old baby boy,
still sleeping fast, around 5pm, bodies enwrapped,
tied by blood and entwined in old nursery rhymes,
Texas tall tales of Pecos Bill,
me and my very own
nap-ster master
<•>
p.s. and they call me by my other name to wake me, momma
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 1:14 PM UTC
It kinda ***** to be hispanic.
Because apparently,
my ***** tastes like salsa.
and my calves are not strong as a result of exercise,
it’s because I’m hauling pounds of marijuana across the borders.
and I’m automatically dumb,
you know your people have been brainwashed when even they start to believe that they’re dumb.
that’s what I learned when the Mexican girl next to me in math class leaned over to me and said,
“You’re really smart for one of us.”
if a white woman has my skin color, it’s beautiful.
when my naturally tan skin is pictured, i’m now wearing “too much bronzer.”
I’m a fake.
I “don’t belong in this country.”
Because my ancestors looked up to this country as a place of refuge and stability, but I tend to disagree,
I gotta leave now?
Take a moment and live in my home. Live in my country. Know how my life works.
And then tell me oppression isn’t a thing.
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 3:39 PM UTC
Sports have rules
Down to every little detail
Zoned in and ready to go
You do this and this happens
There are memorized plays
Your mind reacts automatically
Rules
Every game has them
I'm good at body control
Now, controlling my emotions
That's a different story
I wish life was as easy as sports
In life, theres endless possibilities
You do this and you have no idea what happens
Baseball, volleyball, and hockey
I can play all day long
Life
I'm sick of it already
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 11:05 PM UTC
I love being Chicana because it gives me a sense of belonging.
I hate being Chicana because I am not a true Latina, nor am I a true American.
I love being Chicana because of the authentic food my family brings to the table.
I hate being Chicana because people assume that all I eat are burritos.
I love being Chicana because I was born with the ability to move my hips and dance in a way most white girls can’t.
I hate being Chicana because I look white and not Mexican.
I love being Chicana because it gives me a reason to embrace a beautiful language.
I hate being Chicana because people automatically think I can speak English and Spanish perfectly.
I love being Chicana because I have the most caring family.
I hate being Chicana because I was raised in a lower-middle class household.
I love being Chicana because I was raised to learn and appreciate the value of everything.
I hate being Chicana because I am expected to bear children and marry a hard-working man.
I love being Chicana because it sets me apart.
I hate being Chicana because I am expected to know American history as well as Mexican history.
I love being Chicana because I was born in a free country.
I hate being Chicana because I feel out of place when I travel to Mexico.
I love being Chicana because I have created goals for myself that no one ever expects me to me reach simply because I am Chicana.
I hate being Chicana because people don’t believe in me or my abilities.
I love being Chicana because I have the strength and willpower to prove them wrong.
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 2:17 PM UTC
I always suspected electricity
Ran rampant through my veins
To make me dazed and dizzy
But unable to sit still
It made me prone to flights of fancy
So I left giddy trails of sparks
Blazing proof of my restlessness
That once brightly caught your eye
Once your gaze had found my own
My moods came in swooning flares
And you crackled alongside me
Filling my aching, empty silence
With shiny, blessed noise
We burned so beautifully
With my electric fire
And your trilling declamations
Light and sound intertwining
Like thunder that had finally caught up with its lightning
It seemed like Nature's order
A completion of the whole
Two halves that followed each other
Unthinkingly and automatically
So one day when I found silence
It felt like Earth itself was splitting
Panicked, I burned more brightly
Stoked the fire just in case
I feared that I had dimmed
And been the cause of this new quietness
So when I still heard nothing
I thought my efforts insufficient
And I ran my highest currents
Until my wires nearly melted
Thinking the sun and I were comparable
And anticipating a response
And still I heard no trilling
No crackling at my side
So I wondered if perhaps
I had shined beyond your limits
Swiftly, I contracted
Reined in my flares and doused the fire
Thinking sudden darkness
Might just shock you into sound
I finally heard the faintest popping
Not quite the rending that I wanted
But a break from quiet all the same
Afraid of spoiling the moment
I leashed my electricity
Kept myself dim so I could hear you
Though I felt the writhing beneath my skin
It finally became unbearable
So I flashed like wild lightning
Lashed out and struck the ground
Hoping for your thunder
A dark and roiling storm
Swirling raindrops and clouds colliding
And deep, ugly noise
All I wanted was your thunder
But in the end
It was only me yelling
Screaming out for downpours
Alone
Listening to my own echoes
Waiting for you to harmonize
In the end
I was always waiting
Wondering when you'd chosen silence
Wondering why I'd let you dim me
Wondering how it was we'd ever burned
Nov 27, 2010
Nov 27, 2010 at 1:45 PM UTC
I know that I will never marry Jimmy Fallon or Donald Glover or Joseph Gordon-Levitt.
I know that despite the myths, Brussels sprouts taste awesome.
I know that one too many tequila shots will automatically turn you into a philosopher.
I know that the sun sets in the East and rises in the West (or is it the other way around?)
I know that I am most happiest when I'm surrounded by amazing friends in the unseasonably warm March sun and a banjo is playing.
I know that a smile straightens everything out.
I know that although you can't forget the past, you can't let it dictate your future.
I know that having *** for the first time is weird, and so is ****
I know that my hair is golden, my eyes are blue and I will never be stick-thin as hard as I try.
I know that there are 24 hours in a day, 7 days in a week and 12 months in a year. But it never seems to be enough time to figure out who you are.
I know that people come and go but those that love and care for you will stay glued next to you no matter what.
I know that as much as it hurts, you will get over love.
I know that I will never have the courage to rap publicly.
I know that Kim Kardashian's *** is most likely not real.
I know that travel truly broadens the mind.
I know that I'm insecure and over analytical and anxious and easily frustrated.
But I know that I'm also passionate and determined and a hopeless romantic and a picky eater and a restless sleeper.
And above all:
I know that when I look at you I see past your eyes.
I know that when you're around I smile wider and laugh louder and flip my hair more often.
I know I dress nicer to remind you how beautiful you think I am.
I know that I forget to inhale and that the butterfly on my shoulder has to fly up to my ear and remind me to breathe.
I know that I care about you more than anyone.
I know that I let you into every pore of my body, every opening: my heart, my head, my...
I know that I am willing to jump in with my whole body and risk being drenched in water for you.
I know that I can make you as happy as you make me
But I know that you're scared and vulnerable and hurt
But if I'm sure of anything (and mind you, I'm not sure of much)
I know that I will hurt and be afraid and breathe with you to make you love me.
Apr 24, 2012
Apr 24, 2012 at 2:53 AM UTC
The smoke traveled through my throat all the way to my lungs.
With cloudy thoughts and smelly clothes
I sat on the back row.
Teachers and classmates wonder alike.
I wish I could push the smell inside my Hello Kitty backpack
But I cannot, so instead, I pull myself aside.
I keep telling mommy to quit.
But does she listen? I wish she did.
A couple of years later I discovered a marvelous thing!
Although I had promised myself I would never touch a cigarette, I do.
It happened in the backyard where my volleyball fell.
I simply bent down and picked up a cigarette **** instead.
The skinny, now small cigarette- still blushing with mom’s lipstick.
I put it in my mouth, automatically.
Just how I’ve seen her do it millions of times.
I inhale and exhale my worries away and become my mom.
Next thing I know, the stench disappears
and it’s me who blows little puffy clouds
into my daughter’s mouth and lungs.
I pass the sickness on.
Later on we go visit Doctor Nguyen.
As we step inside, I can smell the infected air of the hospital’s hall.
And I know.
I know what the doctor will say.
While I see myself on my daughter’s head
I can hardly breathe.
I am choking with the smell of smoke,
The smell of sadness,
The smell of tears and of cancer.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 1:16 AM UTC
She walks into school
and it starts again
the shaking,
it rips through her like a wave
She hears the sound of the voices
in the hallway
yet she cant make out what they're saying
She thinks all eyes are on her,
everything is just one big blur
She hears laughter and
she automatically thinks its
directed at her
She waits in the bathroom
like she does every morning
for the halls to be clear
She walks out
and wipes away her tears
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 12:44 AM UTC
*Religious discrimination sells, it's all the rage!
If a Muslim wants office, we automatically get
Suspicious, some pandering to the public's fear,
Deny our own constitutional laws and values,
And never elect a Muslim whether far or near.*
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 3:56 PM UTC
it's almost two in the morning.
i toss and turn,
roll around--
nothing.
sighing, i sit up,
and think to myself,
"This hasn't happened in a while."
my mind automatically goes back to that time,
when i was younger,
and our family went to the capital.
slept in some fancy hotel
with some fancy people
with their fancy clothes.
on the second night we stayed there,
i couldn't get a wink of sleep.
i don't know whether if it was because of exhaustion
or something else.
naturally,
the next morning was hell.
i was pissy and bored
as we waited for father in the lobby.
i couldn't take a nap in public because, well,
i had my pride, of course!
chewing a gum quite aggressively,
i observed my surroundings.
my gaze hopped from one person to another.
a royal from a country i haven't even heard of.
an important figure in politics.
a celebrity.
a kid.
white blonde hair?
i haven't seen hair of that shade.
it was quite unnatural here.
i whipped my head to the left and saw
two beautiful people.
the taller was around my age.
he had the same mop of hair as the kid i saw (the shorter).
the child, on the other hand,
was most probably no older than six.
they were both awesome.
the light glowed on their figures,
and it looked like they were godsend.
i haven't seen anything more beautiful.
and who knew that who knows how many years later,
i would find myself looking back on that vivid memory.
as if it had happened yesterday.
(i feel like i'm still stuck in that time.)
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 2:15 PM UTC
People Say They Respect,
The Stength That I Own,
People Say They Respect Me,
Because It's So Easy For Me To Put Up A Smile,
Respect Is Something You Earn,
Not Something That You Automatically Get,
I've Busted My **** To Be Respected,
But I Am Slowly Crumbling,
From The Alliance's Change In Wind,
I Hate Pretending I'm Perfect,
I'm Human,
You Gotta Respect That,
Do You Respect The Pain?
Do You Respect My Name?
Who Ever Respects Me,
I Respect Them Back,
You Can't Be Respected,
If You Don't Respect,
Let Be Your Teacher,
I'll Teach You The Ways,
The Ways Of Getting Through The Rough Days,
I'll Teach You,
If You Don't Have A Clue,
How To Respect
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 8:47 AM UTC
Love isn't a word
I throw around foolishly
Simply because I've been denied the opportunity
Of being held , filled with the possibilities
That one touch can carry
A simple caress
That serves as if to say
You're perfect
I wouldn't want you any other way
No such touches have came in my direction
Causing me to pick apart my reflection
Imperfections, one after the other
Become apparent
Because of one thing that was said
Even if I wasn't supposed to hear it - I did
and those words?
they haunt me
I'm sorry I don't believe it when you say you love me
My head pounds and my knees start to tremble
As a precaution I ignore whatever
It is I'm feeling, burying it so deep
It'll need a shovel
and a rope to emerge
You think it's unbelievable the extent I go to so I won't be hurt
I think it's unbelievable that you claim to know my worth
When I'm not sure myself
Fearing you're just one more of many
Attempting
To take advantage
Of the self image I posses that's in shambles
I'm sorry I can't believe your compliments
Those sweet words you say with honesty
sincerity, unquestionable truth
A rarity in itself, especially coming from you
Inside me there's a girl smiling
Next to the one crying,
bruised from years of being used
poisoned with sugarcoated I love you's
And promises made
With fingers crossed
I'm sorry I don't believe I'm enough
I look in the mirror and I hate what I see
Automatically I think of other girls and the joy they may bring to your life
While I sit happily alone
And I know
I can't possibly love you if I don't love myself
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 6:23 PM UTC
It was a rainy night. He took out his umbrella, opened it, and it soon engulfed the both of us. "Hey, you're getting wet," he said. He pulled me closer to him, his arms like the umbrella protecting me, protecting us from the drizzle.
I snapped out of my daydream to find him weirdly staring at me, and asked him, "What, do I have something on my face?"
"No, it's just... why are you staring into space?"
Our footsteps made little splashes, puddles reflected a thousand images of us. These pictures from nature will not last for a lifetime but the rain was our witness, as if the skies were crying at a matrimonial ceremony.
I took a step away from him to let the memory of him soak in me. He stands there in the rain innocently, with umbrella in hand, waiting for me to respond. Breathing out, I told him: "Ask me what I think of you right now."
"Wait, what? Are we going to play a game?" That usual what-is-going-on look still stupidly plastered on his angelic face. "Well, what do you think of me right now, then?"
I didn't hesitate and the first word that automatically left my lips were 'umbrella'.
"Umbrella? Do I look that thin to you, really?" He said dryly as he gave me an uninspired look. He shook his head in disbelief and pouted. "And I thought you'd relate me at least to the rain."
"Umbrella: definition for a protecting force or influence," I told him as I stood in place. I side-glanced at him to find a spark lighted up in his eyes as his shoulders loosened. "You're my umbrella because I need you in rainy days and sunny ones. Literally because of your stature to block the sun or cover me when it rains," I laughed. "And it's not because you're thin like one, silly. But how you comfortingly stretch out your arms to me when it's a bad day for me. How you guard me from others' icy remarks. It feels like a need to have you around wherever I go."
He cleared his throat jokingly and added, "Might I say I also take you high like Mary Poppins' umbrella." He burst out laughing as I glared at him for his poorly done innuendo.
But right there and then as I rolled my eyes at him, he dropped the umbrella, grabbed me by my waist and kissed me as light as the raindrops kissing our skin. He broke off after a while and said, "Getting wet, are we?"
Before I could claw at him for his second pun, he released me as I chased him down, not caring if I would get a fever later. But sometimes I just wonder how did I come to like, fall in love, and love him-- basically feel every emotion with him. In all truth, he wasn't just my umbrella, but also my home whom I'll always return to at the end of all my days. Umbrella or home, he is my shelter.
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 7:46 AM UTC
Hello.
Welcome to this poem written by a strange poet.
Here we will get to know the story behind the poem.
True.
He had actually created his own Taj Mahal.
Not just the telephone I refer to here in this poem.
But.
There is his Taj Mahal which we all remember daily.
Not just the telephone I refer to here in this poem.
His.
His girlfriend's name was Margaret Hello.
Do not we say Hello so many times daily?
Alex.
Alexander Graham Bell even got future generations to remember his love.
Each time when we're on a call then we almost automatically say Hello.
No.
He didn't **** or impair any of his assistants,
Totally opposite to what Shahjahan had done.
Yes.
Alexander Graham Bell was the greatest among lovers who immortalized his love,
The other one is Me! as I write all my poems without her thought escaping my mind.
;-)
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 3:52 AM UTC
I’m not lucky, I’m blessed.
I don’t know about you.
Don’t call me lucky,
call me blessed. There’s
a difference between the two.
Luck comes around from
time to time.
Blessings are there every day.
They’re staring you right
in the face.
Luck is something people
seek to find.
Blessings automatically
come your way.
Luck is something that
happens by chance.
Blessings are God’s works.
They’re a part of his plan.
Blessings are things that you
carry with you. They’re there
every single day.
Lucky is something that comes
along, but then it goes away.
Blessings are things that
are permanent.
Luck is something that
is temporary.
Blessings are things which
are heaven sent.
Luck you can’t count
on. Luck you can’t depend on.
Unlike blessings, which you
know they will always be
there. You never need worry.
Luck is something you anticipate,
something which you wait for it
to come around.
Blessings are things that are
automatically there. Every day
of your life they can be found.
Luck is basically good fortune
that happens from time to time.
Blessings are things you are
faced with every day. You
carry them with you for
a lifetime.
Luck is something you consider
to be good that happens
unexpectedly. It may come
around at a time of need.
But what you consider to be
good luck, events can happen
to cause you to see it is just
opposite. It may turn out to
be that what you find to be
good luck, isn’t always what
it seems.
Blessings are that which is
sent from God. They are not
disguised.
Blessings are brought to the
light where you clearly seem them.
They do not hide.
Blessings that are sent from
God, they do not lie.
Blessings are something you
can believe, something you
can have confidence in.
You carry them with you
from the moment your life
starts, up until your life on
earth comes to an end.
You shall carry them with you
even after death, should you
make it to heaven.
I’m not lucky, I’m blessed.
There’s as difference between
the two.
I don’t consider myself lucky.
I consider myself blessed.
I can only speak for myself.
I can’t speak for you.
I’m not lucky, I’m blessed.
That’s all I have to say.
Don’t call me lucky, call
me blessed. God is the way.
It’s not luck but God, who
wakes me every day.
It isn’t luck but God, who
gives me eyes to see the way.
It isn’t luck but God, who
gives me a voice and mouth
so that I may talk.
It isn’t luck but God, who
gave me legs and feet so that
I may walk.
It isn’t luck but God, who
gave me hands so that I
may touch.
It isn’t luck but God,
who does so much.
It isn’t luck but God, who
gives me everything I need.
It isn’t luck, it’s God.
I say it unashamed.
I say it proudly.
It isn’t luck, it’s God,
who gave me a brain for
thinking.
It wasn’t luck, it was God,
who gave me a heart which
keeps me breathing, keeps
me living.
I’m not lucky, I’m blessed,
in so many ways.
Don’t call me lucky,
call me blessed.
That’s all I have to say.
I’ll leave you with that
thought and I’ll go about
my way.
Aug 1, 2020
Aug 1, 2020 at 1:10 AM UTC
#*Worship is the soul’s feasting upon that which it believes will fill it up
and we perpetually worship whatever we deem most worthy
of our attention and affection and sacrifice.
It is so firmly set in our very nature that at all times
we will be worshiping something
for the soul knows no other recourse.
There is only One worthy of such devotion
but if we aren't continually looking to and bowing down
to this One Who alone has the power to satisfy, heal and free us
we will automatically default to worshiping created things that then
have the power only to disappoint, damage and enslave us.*#
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 10:40 AM UTC
I should be sorry for being white.
but I don't look down upon others,
still I should feel bad.
for what happened in the past
somehow, I am responsible
they put me down
telling me I can't understand
all lives matter.
but only if you are part of a minority.
I should be sorry for being white.
I should apologize for the things I never did,
things I never said and never thought.
because just the fact that I was born with a different skin color makes me unsympathetic and evil.
the fact that I am white means I am stupid,
means I am responsible,
automatically places me in the wrong.
I am constantly reminded of my inability to empathize.
all because I am white.
who are the real racists here?
Feb 18, 2018
Feb 18, 2018 at 11:41 AM UTC
Women are Human,
When you utterly feel
the power of this one line,
World will automatically turns so divine!
By; Nida Mahmoed
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 6:20 AM UTC
“I don't know how to take this
I don't see why he moves me
He's a man, he's just a man
And I've had so many men before
In very many ways
He's just one more“
<•>
ladies
you know ~ I know
these lyrics and the deep cut
and the familiar rut,
they unsecret in our inner chambers
and there is no bandage to
rip off, which/why the cut
never heals
despite your careful care to never
actively seek out the
irritant
but it finds you
in a rom-com
a particular intersection
a advertisement for half zip sweaters
when saying no to a
particular restaurant automatically
and the emotional shake,
not a smoothie,
part horseradish sweet sad,
part bitter herbs, tasteless bread,
spiced with a blend of
angry, self-loathing, regret,
and rage that your emotions
abduct your composure,
and that it still happens
way too often
a pale of regret,
that it was a lost chance,
the kind that come more infrequent,
and you mourn
the building up inside,
an intolerance for risk taking
which once
was your
most favorite
single characteristic
you liked,
about yourself
Dec 21, 2024
Dec 21, 2024 at 3:07 PM UTC
Rhythm flow but caught me unexpectedly,music but the essence of soul taken by heart beat, bit by bit it beat healthy cause of its flow ......The Violins called it the food for the soul....
My emotions turn to be emotional, yes I cry ,My Heart beat gentle then I turn to be gentle with my wearing fashion,My passion is where I'm passionate but to The Violin .......
Halls and concert full crying emotionally,automatically by hearing the sound of The Violin The Violin created the wearing fashion of Gentleness and personality.....black and white suit with bore tie,ladies with beautiful dresses and shining shoes with a movement of tales but of Violin
We love ,cry ,caring and showing kindness on each other because of the sound we heard from THE VIOLIN.......
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 5:15 AM UTC
Pretty (adj):
1. pleasing or attractive to the eye, as by delicacy or gracefulness;
"Pretty" is a word that's been spewed at you since the day you were born,
A social standard set upon you that you had yet to even hear, but it was being used to describe you instantly;
A "pretty little girl", a "pretty face", "pretty eyes", "pretty smile", "pretty outfit",
Did anyone ever stop to wonder if you'd have a pretty soul?
What about the way you could be brought to tears at the thought of shaming homeless people or victims of abuse, how your heart felt like it was ripping out of your chest when you heard about someone who was struggling,
They didn't seem to care that you tested highest in compassion, they just wanted to know where you got your dress from.
As you grew older the adjective turned from an innocent compliment to what seemed like a snide remark,
The word "pretty" began to eat you from the inside out every time it was said
like you should measure your worth in how delicate others find you;
You stopped accepting "pretty" as a compliment when it turned into an adjective that was only associated with girls that were more than average but less than beautiful,
You stopped accepting "pretty" as a compliment when it became an antonym of strong,
like "pretty" girls were things that would break if you talked too loud, as if loving a "pretty" thing could never be synonymous with loving a durable or sturdy or resilient thing.
D.A. Sharp once said
"You weren't meant to be pretty; you were meant to burn down the earth and graffiti the sky. Don't let anyone ever simplify you to just "pretty"."
And so when someone kindly placed the word in a sentence referring to you you learned to automatically put it into quotations because they were just trying to be nice,
They didn't know they were reducing you to outer beauty, that "pretty" seemed less like a compliment the more it was said, like people couldn't figure out another way to describe you,
As if God hadn't already intricately woven the threads of your DNA, as if he hadn't perfectly tinted every hair on your head to be its crisp burnt color or hand painted the irises of your eyes,
No, "pretty" could no longer cut it.
Because you had been made for bigger and better things,
Those "pretty" eyes of yours will one day see things that God hadn't originally intended anyone to have to see, and those "pretty" hands of yours will have to pick up the pieces of a heartache that God had never wanted you to know and put them back together, and those "pretty" lips of yours are the same lips that will stand in front of sin and tell it that you have chosen Jesus.
Because "pretty" is fine,
but you have been fearfully and wonderfully made, a masterpiece of the Creator.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 7:26 PM UTC
We're not allowed to mention Christianity
A Muslim man discusses Allah, we can't judge.Black people have pride in themselves, so do white people .We're automatically racist and unaccepting. A man gets hired for a high paying job instead of the women.This is a case for feminism because it's injustice. A man cheats on his partner, he has hormones.A woman cheats on her man, she's a ***** A woman is ***** she's making it up.A man is ***** no one believes him. A gay person is disliked by a certain individual .It's homophobia, a black man kills someone and the whole race is blamed, a white man kills someone he's just a ****** You say crusty old white men are making decisions about your body.Should he change his race then decide if you can reproduce? I'm eating Sushi and I'm not Asian, it's cultural appropriation and it's offensive so only Asian people can eat at Asian restaurants? That reminds me of when segregation was going on. We have a right to our opinion but I say something I'm instantly prejudice and you don't want hear it. I made the wrong assumption now I'm a horrible person because you feel that you can monitor my thoughts. You all think that you're all for social justice but it's really going to come back and bite you in the ***
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 5:48 PM UTC
And how happy you are thinking about someone
who is not me, but how happy I get whenever I see you smiling. How adorable you look.
I've been thinking about the way your eyes
automatically go down whenever you're walking
alone and don't want to look at someone directly in their eyes. How adorable you look.
I've been thinking about how your eyes shine
when you're playing and joking with your friend.
Your friend that I guess you're in love with.
How adorable you look
How happy you look
How unhappy
I feel.
But I'm not blaming you. It was my mistake.
For if I have looked at another direction
I wouldn't be thinking about you.
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 1:44 PM UTC
What is the meaning of a letter?
They resemble the severity of the talk
of the shame
of the crying
Or maybe they mean laughter
happiness
hope
What is the meaning of a plus or minus?
a plus or minus can ether mean life or death.
Ink.
You grow up knowing that red automatically means
F
in recent years I learn that its the colors like
yellow
purple
pink
that symbolize the F.
The harsher the mark, the better the grade.
Shouldn’t it be the other way?
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 7:19 AM UTC