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Bunhead17 Jan 2016
Really..?  R or Top hat or Woody or James
who ever you really are.
.........
r commented on my poem ''Poetry'' and said....
''I don't usually respond to children or little nuts that fall from an oak tree, but since you addressed me specifically, I will. You are apparently clueless about the true character of your daddy woof. If you want to be a little fly buzzing around his piles of Chihuahua crap that he calls poetry, feel free. Leave me out of your juvenile postings.  You don't know me fallen acorn, so I choose not to respond.''
....................
You blocked me, cause I called you out and you knew that I was going to respond to your comment.
You called me a child, I'm 16 and I'm way more matture than you...
hint hint: fallen acorn..... Really...? Come on r you could have done better than that. Thats was corny and so unoriginal. :)
I really wasn't trying to get involved with this. But I was going to defend my friend and let you know what was good.
........I'm leave it right here. But come at me again and we (just me and you) are going to have some really big problems. <--thats not a threat either...its a promise that I intend on keeping.
I'm sorry guys. but this is my mood. I'm not trying to be hateful or anything...just trying to calm down.
Leyla Aurora Jun 2014
The blindness that I live inside
Cuts my dreams like an acute knife.
There's no escape from being lost
Between the values of life-cost.
Once I have tried to find the place
Where I belong, define my race,
The disappointment sinked in my
Yet not matture, but still held high
My childish head, my simple thoughts,
My being, daydreams. Barking shots
Have killed my hopes of joyful youth.
I have been prisoned in the truth,
Cruel reality of wars,
Unbreakable and racist walls.
Why does the World still keep its silence
While orphaned children sink in violence
Of the unknown enemy who came
To their land, but they're the ones to blame?
This enemy has broken heart;
He says that he was teared apart,
And now the shadows of the pain
Turn to a fire-pouring rain
That falls on the heads of those
Who have never stepped that close
To death, that they have never caused,
But to resistance are now forced.
My dear enemy, I have found myself
With serial number on your "victims shelf";
I have found myself between the lines
Of ones whose lives have been turned to lies
By social media of yours,
That eats your food and wears your clothes.
The World is now controlled by the charming sound
Of tingling money in pockets of the croud,
This greedy power leads to blinding ray
Of darkness that cuts my dreams every single day.

— The End —