"miranda" poems
tulungan mo 'ko sayo ay muling magtiwala
wag mo na ko bigyan ng rason upang magduda,
hindi naman masama maging tapat diba?
hindi rin masama magmahal ng isa.
kung si Eba ginawa para lamang kay Adan,
si Adan ba ay ginawa para sa dalawang Eba?
nagkamali ba ang Diyos sa disenyo Nyang ginawa?
tulungan mo 'ko, sinta na sayo ay muling magtiwala.
sabi nga ni Chito Miranda,
"ang tiwala parang tsokolate"
pag natunaw na, di na mababalik
sa dati nitong itsura, sa dati nitong sarap.
***babalik ako sayo, hindi dahil bumalik ang tiwala ko
babalik ako sayo, dahil tumitibok pa ang puso ko
babalik ako sayo, sana tama ang pinili ko
babalik ako sayo, dahil pinili kong magtiwala ulit sayo.***
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 10:09 PM UTC
I Will Never Give Up on You
By: Miranda Martinez-Perez
I've been to a place "they" would consider "the top,"
And it felt great... that was.. until I fell.
It was a long way down. Would it hurt? I thought not;
And I was wrong, cause it hurt like H*ll.
I've hit rock bottom with an awful THUD.
Took me a while to realize I was still alive.
I wondered if it'd even be worth it to get back up..
Then pondered if I should just accept this is how I would die.
But something inside of me wasn't ready to fail.
I wasn't ready to give up the fight.
In my mental prison, I chose to make bail.
I can't change my wrongs, but I can make them right.
So I got up, though it took all that I had left inside,
Went to that place that for so long I feared.
I knew the first one with whom I had to make things right,
that one was the one looking back in the mirror.
"I'm sorry," I said, "your expectations were not too much.
I admit I've just let myself get in the way.
I never took it into consideration that I alone am enough.
And all the extras in life were only for show and play.
You are perfect, I love you, and I am going to change.
I don't deserve for you to believe me, but I swear it's true."
The response I got.. I never expected to hear MYSELF say..
That was, "I will never give up on you."
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 4:22 AM UTC
Listen to my words
the kids they going crazy
Getting locked up
All they can clutch,
Miranda rights
at the same time
alright
Miranda writes
Our thoughts put to paper
Play it out on the stage
Never know the difference
Its a turn of the page
Some use their bullets
some wield a knife
Others preach the dollar
Is How they take our lives
Grab you by the collar
And break you down with lies
Don't matter what your searching
Only what you find
This is our misfortune
Blinded by distortion
Someday we might wake up
As we struggle to align
You cannot be free
all that blood in your eyes
Round and round in circles
A place I call my home
Just a lonely misfit
With the strength of a stone
Wonder round these valleys
While you sit upon your throne
Sometimes it's hard to admit
The scale of this dismay
Indeed we are alone
Some use their writing
The bullet is a pen
I killed oppression
Does that mean
That I'm insane
I killed oppression
What's left to be?
waiting in vain
I killed oppression
a fury made of fire
Brought down all the people
We were never equal
I killed oppression
Standing on the sun
The flames
You can keep em
They killed oppression
Shot it right between the eyes
Third, you may see
Lead you to your destiny
They killed oppression
Look at the world
Crumble let it be
No one really cares
About the people
No one really cares
About the people
They killed oppression
The wars about a dollar
Corporate oversight
Disguise pain with laughter
Gotta feed the horde
Seduction is their nature
They killed oppression
Read between the lines
They. Have drawn for you, as
We **** oppression
Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 11:44 AM UTC
Lipstick cigarettes and the empty soul of modern rock n' roll
laid in ruin amongst my collection of black soul addictions and sultry benedictions.
MIDI saxophones and an ex-girlfriend on the telephone
directing me to find my home, to rebuild the comb, to banish the bartender and the Reverend ******
Alamo idiot stand and a neon Jesus
waving newcomers into the whitewashed port town known as "Cuba North".
At the Caged Gorilla, Linda, the waitress,
laughs through yellowed teeth, while my bloodshot eyes crawl up her red gums.
Binge'd and my brain keeps parallel with the ceiling fan
while a plain clothes cop tries to give me the reprimand for nostalgic mischiefs.
Handcuffed and looking for that old fiend, Freedom,
while Miranda spews on the back of my skull, slides down my shoulders, dots the cement.
Out the door and tourists with cameras looking for evil behind my irises,
but I can assure my handshakes feel the same, I'm front pew tame, and I blend with the parade.
Jan 12, 2012
Jan 12, 2012 at 7:13 PM UTC
we had been mopping
the kitchen floor all day
and the dirt never
stopped coming back
and earlier we had sprayed
the entire front porch
down with the garden hose
and now it was still wet
which made it feel as if
it had recently rained when in fact
the grass was a crunchy
brown carpet of regrets.
the night before we had
drunk orange smoothies
laced with lime and something
aged sleek and dark
(i think it must have been
the reason we couldn't
sleep that night
lay awake in my parents bed
and i told you why i
wouldn't go swimming
until the sun rose
the dog barked
the birds screamed
their morning songs
and my body stopped its
nightly spasms of fear.)
and the next evening
we put on a miranda lambert song
(the one we drank to
in your mother's van last winter)
sat on the wet
porch swing
and cracked open
our first beers
they were
really bad
i gagged
because it tasted
like carbonated
banana bread with
too much stale
baking soda
and we poured half of them
into the flower beds
the next morning
was sunday
and we had milk and muffins
in the kitchen with
simon and garfunkel
then went back out to the porch
drank iced coffee in the
eleven o'clock sunlight
and you said
"if this were a normal sunday
i would have been up at six
at church by eight
and done teaching my first
sunday school class by ten."
(is beer as much
of an acquired taste
as coffee is?
because i can't ever
remember not liking it
i used to think it was
bitter but i always
liked it anyway.)
i didn't say anything
because i didn't want to
say what was on the tip
of my tongue
that this kind of sunday
had become my normalcy
and our variety of saturday night
no longer felt like underage
drinking and more like
the way i was meant to be.
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 3:15 PM UTC
Shannon, Mariah, Serena, Maria
Meridia, Midian, Sharon, Alliah
Rochelle, Camille, Rose, Halo
Trenna, Jessica, Ashley, Georgia
Marla, Olivia, Sofia, India
Daniella, Diana, Christina, Caroline
Isabella, Amelia, Amanda, Matilda
Nadine, Haley, Bailey, Francine
Eliza, Annabelle, Kathryn, Sandra
Melinda, Audrey, Aubrey, Emily
Tara, Emma, Ginny, Kathleen
Josephine, Helena, Charlotte, Laura
Chelsea, Arkady, Megan, Kelsey
Kayla, Karliah, Moana, Vivien
Kaysea, Macy, Stacy, Lorraine
Theresa, Felicia, Cecilia, Darlene
Holly, Brianna, Alexa, Ariel
Marianne, Miranda, Jennie, Coral
Korra, Daisy, Penelope, Rayne
Zoey, Cassandra, Grace, Stephanie
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 12:34 AM UTC
What happened to the beautiful boisterous screaming queens of the 80's full of Gloria Gaynor dancing on bars & pianos & teasing & strutting & grabbing life by the *****
Every time I go to the Op Shop & see a pair of size 11 patent leather red pumps I think of you & put them on & walk around the shop just to remind me of the fabulous times.
Are you making lounges in the shape of Cadillacs or corsets or sculpting **** - tail glasses delicately gold leafed - centre table?
Back up x 30 in the Botanical Gardens at Mardi Gras & remember the good times, the sad times, the Carmen Miranda, feather boer, wig, **** & lipstick times my friends........
smooth jazz grand piano
.......
Dec 30, 2017
Dec 30, 2017 at 4:58 AM UTC
Unwillingly Miranda wakes,
Feels the sun with terror,
One unwilling step she takes,
Shuddering to the mirror.
Miranda in Miranda's sight
Is old and gray and *****
Twenty-nine she was last night;
This morning she is thirty.
Shining like the morning star,
Like the twilight shining,
Haunted by a calendar,
Miranda is a-pining.
Silly girl, silver girl,
Draw the mirror toward you;
Time who makes the years to whirl
Adorned as he adored you.
Time is timelessness for you;
Calendars for the human;
What's a year, or thirty, to
Loveliness made woman?
Oh, Night will not see thirty again,
Yet soft her wing, Miranda;
Pick up your glass and tell me, then--
How old is Spring, Miranda?
4.1k
Mirror Mirror
On the wall
Who is the fairest of them all?
It’s certainly not me
You tell me that much
But can you at least tell me
Who the world wants me to look like?
Is it Miranda Kerr, with her flawless skin
Or Megan Fox, with the perfect figure?
Mirror Mirror
On the wall
Please tell me
Who is the fairest of them all?
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 6:11 AM UTC
The Annual POCU Fashion Show held by the campus organization “People of Color United,” was held in the Student Activities Center on Saturday, April 18. The fashion show is the final activity of the year held by POCU. Junior Martell Prayear and senior Miranda Jackson were the show’s hosts and announcers.
The fashion show is a competition where various designers, or teams of designers, are required to create outfits that adhere to a general theme, but also incorporate the designer’s unique, personal concepts. This year, the general theme for the fashion show was: Thrift Shop. Each designer, or group of designers, was required to utilize clothes purchased from the local Goodwill and maintain a $50 budget. Preparations for the event, Jackson said, were very short. “I was really surprised how well it turned out, because we started practicing for the show at four o’clock that day,” Jackson said. “They typically start practicing way a head of time.” Despite the delayed preparation, the fashion show was an overall success. The first designer to present at the fashion show was Victoria Webster.
Webster’s fashion line was inspired by professional work attire. “I think it can be hard transitioning college wear into professional wear, on a budget,” Webster said of her outfits. Webster was able to find three models to wear the clothes, which she said was a combination of the model’s personal items, as well as those purchased through Goodwill. The second fashion line presented at the fashion show was designed by Iyana Lynch. For her personal theme, Lynch designed outfits that were inspired by the different seasons. The third designer to present that evening was Alyssa Nieset. Inspired by 90’s menswear, Nieset designed a line of androgynous outfits. The final clothing line presented was a team effort from: Jeanita Blue and Angel Powell.
Their theme was considered “90’s Reloaded,” and featured various throwbacks to 1990’s pop culture such as TLC and The Spice Girls. Blue said that most of the outfits in their fashion line were inspired by “eco-friendly fashion,” and were intended to decrease hesitation toward shopping at thrift stores. While the judges finalized the scores for each designer or team, the Urban Dance Association entertained the crowd with a quick performance. The judge’s scores resulted in a tie between Jeanita Blue & Angel Powell, and Iyana Lynch. Despite the general tie, Blue and Powell were awarded first place, while Lynch was granted second place. There was an off-campus reception held in Cleveland after the event. Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/purple-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/green-formal-dresses
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 10:36 PM UTC
The once timid
Shores of my resistance.
Fearing an inundation of the sorts
of Flotsam and Jetsam that can cure a man of loneliness,
Were trampled like soccer fans in Venezuela, when you appeared on my shore.
Certain that the fraughting souls within, were to cover me in stinking pitch.
I retreated to the hills and played the wait and see.
Waiting and watching and hoping to pray.
And when you legged your way
onto my beach,
I cried like a gangster on new years eve
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 12:48 AM UTC
My dear one is mine as mirrors are lonely,
As the poor and sad are real to the good king,
And the high green hill sits always by the sea.
Up jumped the Black Man behind the elder tree,
Turned a somersault and ran away waving;
My Dear One is mine as mirrors are lonely.
The Witch gave a squawk; her venomous body
Melted into light as water leaves a spring,
And the high green hill sits always by the sea.
At his crossroads, too, the Ancient prayed for me,
Down his wasted cheeks tears of joy were running:
My dear one is mine as mirrors are lonely.
He kissed me awake, and no one was sorry;
The sun shone on sails, eyes, pebbles, anything,
And the high green hill sits always by the sea.
So to remember our changing garden, we
Are linked as children in a circle dancing:
My dear one is mine as mirrors are lonely,
And the high, green hill sits always by the sea.
3k
—Flash Forward—
A day of reckoning.
A small boat crosses
the Hudson River,
no warning horn.
Destination New Jersey,
of all places.
A. Burr isn’t warned
that Hamilton will not
fire his pistol.
Destiny predetermined.
“Death doesn’t discriminate
Between the sinners and the saints,
It takes and it takes and it takes.
History obliterates.”
—Flashback—
General.
Colonel.
Aide-de-camp.
Immigrant.
“Don’t engage, strike by night.
Remain relentless ‘til their troops take flight.”
“We escort their men out of Yorktown.
They stagger home single file.
Tens of thousands of people flood the streets.”
“Took up a collection just to send him to the
mainland.
‘Get your education. Don’t forget from whence
you came.’”
—Stepfather of the Union—
Treasury secretary, author of the Federalist Papers,
lawyer, speechwriter, confidante, opponent of slavery,
member of the Constitutional Convention.
“History has its eyes on you.”
“I’ve seen injustice in the world and I’ve
corrected it.”
“The Federalist: Addressed to the People
of the State of New York.”
“Goes and proposes his own form
of government.”
—Family and Marriage—
The Schuyler Sisters – Eliza.
Maria and James Reynolds – adultery and bribery.
Philip Hamilton – successor son and victim.
Philip Schuyler – father-in-law.
“And if this child
Shares a fraction of your smile
Or a fragment of your mind, look out, world!”
“I know you’re a man of honor,
I’m so sorry to bother you at home.”
“I’m only nineteen but my mind is older,
Gonna be my own man, like my father
but bolder.”
“Grampa just lost his seat in the Senate.”
—Why, How, How long?—
Why not?, biography,
genius, rapid-fire rap,
hip-hop, historical vertigo,
Lin-Manuel Miranda at the White House,
a cast talented beyond measure,
the Great White Way,
2017-18 and forever….
“…13 percent of the population is foreign
born, which is near an all-time high;
that one day soon there will no longer
be majority and minority races, only a
vibrant mix of colors.”
‒Jeremy McCarter, from Chapter I of
Hamilton: The Revolution
*© Lewis Bosworth, 12/2016
With credit to the book:*
Hamilton: The Revolution
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 11:35 AM UTC
I scattered my wife
in an array of bedside ashtrays.
I wore my shoes out
trying to find a pure form of love.
When love found me,
it arrived late and carried a fee.
The ashes of my former life,
crawled, cradled and spliced.
Until the wife I burned through,
became bright, became beacon.
It didn't hit me until the third month
of "freedom".
I laughed while laying beside Miranda's
milky twin.
As the copy sputtered with barnacle conversation,
I walked free. I walked home.
I felt washed clean in a gleaming sea
of finding the past me.
Aug 4, 2011
Aug 4, 2011 at 12:19 AM UTC
I look up at the stars at night, and wonder why they’re all so bright.
I look up at the stars at night, and wonder if they have to
fight, have to fight for all their might, for their special place in the sky
Oh my, I wonder why, oh why they have to die.
How many could there be in the dark night sky,
how many could there be in the humans little eye.
I try to count yes count them all, the souls
of the fallen, I hear them call, to their
families the ones in their homes.
All their voices go at once, all their voices quiet and mute.
They fall, and fall, and fall at last, they fall and fall, fall so fast.
The difference I kindly see is that they only
want to be, with their families safe and
sound, but sadly they are tightly bound.
It’s wrong to say they’ll be okay, It’s 1855
you see, when all the blacks were sent to sea,
to work as slaves they didn’t want to be.
So look up at the stars tonight, and wonder
why they’re all so bright, because you see
they’re all the souls, of the ones you wrongly chose. ©
2009 - Miranda Mack-Jackson
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 8:35 PM UTC
No matter the charge
Having your Miranda Rights
Read on the Gallows
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 11:21 PM UTC
What the hell is wrong?
What do you think I'm on?
I'd prefer a downer,
And that you forget about her
My hair is longer and golder
I look like a mermaid when it falls over your shoulder
My waist is small, I could give it all
A bad baby with an always broken heart
When you tell your stories I listen to every word
And I love your shampoo and your sadness
And you know how to read the method to my madness
And how to talk me down when I'm freakin out above this
And all the weird things you do, I do too
Since I was a little girl I didn't think I'd find it
A shooting star that knows how to rocket
Rock it, rock it, dance with me
Smarter than Miranda, prettier than Maddy
Darker than Zoe, sweeter than Bella
And I know it's true cause you always want more
I never get old, you never get bored
Make the smart decision boy, you're a genius
Here's a quarter and a scratch off ticket
Ill be under the first layer
You'll know when you see it
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 6:24 PM UTC
She’s the type to eat a bowl of ice cream,
shoot a gun, and be fine. I’ve never seen so many pieces
under someone’s rug before, but she keeps
herself in cookie jars, in ink cartridges, in book binds,
anything she can find. I’m surprised she even looks
in the mirror anymore. It’s not possible that she’s herself whole.
But she braids her hair back when she rides her horse,
she channels old Miranda Lambert
and pumps that kerosene melody through her veins
like it wont’ catch fire. I’ve seen her
poke her head through old sweaters like she thinks
it’ll be something new this time. I’ve seen her paint
her skin in expensive body washes, the washcloth
like sandpaper as she tries and tries to smooth
all of the uneven edges she’s collected.
I bet you could watch her memories in a wishing pool,
like in a mini mall, with all the pennies heads down.
They would spin themselves around the surface,
suffocating one another so that only the good ones would shine,
but she dare not pour herself into something that reflective.
It would only reveal what she ties into the waistband
of her old American Eagle jeans every morning,
and that would just be too **** hard. It’s easier
to venture ******** with a crummy perspective
and a realistic approach than it would be to even consider
that maybe this time it wasn’t her fault
for expecting to much, and that maybe people just ***** up.
That maybe, for once she wouldn't blame it on it getting her hopes up
that made her fall, but that no one was there to catch her.
I’d rather watch her cry herself to sleep for months
than to pretend I admire the harsh falsetto she bites back
in all of her lullabies. But she’s the type
to burn old pictures for fun, to delete contact names,
to swallow all her sadness and paint her bedroom a new color
than watch herself come undone.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 12:05 AM UTC
A wild fire.
Dripping paint on an open canvas.
Colorful, inspiring, vibrant.
Breathing life into art.
Bold. Strong. Straight forward.
Her words powerful. Her thoughts matter.
She was born a leader.
Her eyes deep pools of water,
far more lies beneath the surface.
Silent laughter, searching eyes,
she is tough as nails,
but her compassion runs deep.
Socks her best friend, and food her true love.
She is beautiful and she knows it.
An unforgettable character,
beloved like an old classic.
Challenge her, support her,
she carries herself without conflict.
A memorable person, and a best friend.
Love,
Sara Ashley
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 5:39 PM UTC
//
if a woman
drops her clothing
and shows what is
too precious to
be shown even on
film,
she has her miranda rights,
her indecent exposure trials
and ever dollar used to bail her
out of a cold cell were they offered
her a hospital gown
but she also has the
eyes that follow her up
the street, asking, begging
to touch
and if that woman says no,
or says nothing
than the woman still has
control of what is done
to her body,
control of every hand that tries to
pry away her god-given
right to be safe in her own skin
//
if a girl decides to
wear a short shirt,
or fishnet tights,
or bright lipstick
that costs anywhere from ninety-nine cents
to ninety dollars,
and she applies it with a heavy hand,
like her mascara and eyeshadow,
then she is still
human, she is still
a valid human being
who does not deserve
your time and voice
to call her a ****
or say something along
the lines of
don't go out looking like that
*or you'll get *****
but **** is never,
ever, ever
the fault of the victim
//
if a woman
or girl
decides to cover her hair,
to abide by her
religion, the religion that
held the hands of every woman
in her family,
from sister to great-great-great-great-great
grandmother
she is not a threat
to our country
she is a member of our society,
a valuable and beautiful one, at that
who's culture can guide us
to be even kinder
in the name of god
and if a woman
or girl
decides to long sleeves
and a high-necked top
with a long skirt
alongside her hijab,
she is not matronly,
she is modest,
and modest is as beautiful
as a gucci crop-top
or a pair of sky-high louboutins
//
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
*there were men
who were there for us,
who fought for us,
and then now,
there is a man who will fight
us as we march,
so we need to be strong
and support each other,
remember the golden rule,
and know each of our gods
would want this for
our world*
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 8:31 PM UTC
Never again will I stay away.
I've always felt lost. Unaccepted.
But that was before I had a family.
I have so many people that I know and don't;
You are my family.
My mother, my father, my brother.
They aren't real.
They never treated me like family.
Never told me they loved me and
Sounded like they meant it.
They are not real.
But, Sage, my love, you are.
But, Caitlyn, you are.
But, Logan, you are. (Both of you)
But, Miranda, you are.
But, Connor, you are.
And I can go on.
And this is high school...
Will it last?
Or will my family leave me?
I continue to worry
As time passes.
I think and think and think
AND I CAN'T FUCKINGNG TAKE IT ANY LONGER!!!!
----
I wonder what will happen.
When all of this ends.
Because my real family are
The ones who kept me here
And kept me sane.
And let me reach past everything that
Ate at me,
Burned me,
Killed me slowly
And rotted me from the inside out.
What will happen.
Will I move on,
Or will the suspense keep building.
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 1:36 PM UTC
You have the right not to look into Miranda's eyes.
Anytime you do look into Miranda's eyes,
Anything you see there can and will cause you to fall in love with Miranda.
You have the right to counsel on how to write a proper love letter to Miranda.
If you have no pencil and paper, they will be provided for you.
Do you understand this, as it has been explained to you?
Jun 6, 2010
Jun 6, 2010 at 8:39 PM UTC
.
Though my boat is tossed
high upon these crests,
I fear not the deep sea
where the sailors souls rest.
Cast adrift, alone to float,
my mother Sycorax had planned.
But lo! I reach sanctuary
and dance ecstatic on the sand.
My grotesque form I treasure
but loneliness soon must end.
Yes! A monster I might be,
but Caliban needs a friend.
Paradise is mine and ripe.
Behold! A kingdom and a home!
The sun blisters all day long,
oh Muses why am I so alone?
“Hush boy! Careful of thy wish,
the scheme is so much grander.
For Prospero prowls the island
with his witch daughter Miranda”.
Run ugly Caliban. Run away.
Disappear, you must be brave.
For the Wizard has loosed Ariel,
your wretched body to enslave.
The girl holds you enchanted,
with promises of fair romance.
Feel her pull puppets strings,
watch her make You dance.
Oh Caliban! What darkness befalls,
a prisoner tithed with no trial.
Yearn, dear boy, for isolation
and the loneliness of your Isle.
© Pagan Paul (28/02/17)
Feb 28, 2017
Feb 28, 2017 at 4:23 PM UTC
Okay. I am going to talk now.
And I'm not gonna be poetic
Rhyme, or make lines or stanzas. I'm just gonna talk. Because this is MY life, and MY opinion and this is a website where I can get out MY feelings. And I shouldn't have to feel like putting up a filter. I don't feel all that special, not standing next to some people. I feel like, like I'm not someone that you'd say "wow I like your outfit" or "wow I like your voice". Because guess what. I wear lame tee shirts from football games three years ago with jean shorts because I don't have TIME or money to shop for appealing clothes to where I can express myself. I can't make an aesthetic. My parents are always telling me how much of a selfish person I used to be. So I DONT ASK for clothes anymore. If I did, it would be so out of the ordinary, the answer would be a painful no. But this isn't about clothes. It's about Never being noticed. I swear sometimes I am wearing the invisibility cloak from Harry Potter. I know quite a few people with a list TO THEIR KNEES on how many people they KNOW care about them. People they can say for SURE care about them. My list. Well you can't call two or three people a list can you? Maybe it's because I don't have those characteristics that draw people to me. I don't have that "strong presence". I don't. I am Miranda Kramer. A junior who looks more like a freshman. When I talk, people don't turn their head to look. When I speak, I find over and over again people talk over me. So, naturally, I don't talk as much as I used to. Yes, rejection is a fear of mine, and so is being ignored. Being replaceable. And YES I wrote a poem about this before, but I don't think I can stress enough that I don't have that twinkle in my eye. I don't have the cute smile that lights up the world. I can't list a single thing that makes me unique, yet I know I am. I know everyone is. But is it true or not that some people are more unique than others? Imagine a sapling. A cute, small, unique pine sapling. Now picture that sapling sitting at the root of a giant oak tree. No one sees the sapling anymore do they? Well that's how I feel compared to most everyone else. People who feel loved, who KNOW people care about you, I am so happy you have that list. I hope you keep adding to it. I'll sit here. Holding the pencil in my sweaty hand, anxious, because I can't tell if that person cares about me. Do they? Or am I forgettable? Am I forgettable? Am I? I can't really tell anymore. I can't really tell anymore
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 11:37 PM UTC