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 Sep 2014 wordynerd
Juhi Chavda
I am not yours to fix.
As broken as I am.
As tired as I may be.
As many flaws as I have.

I'm not yours to fix.

My flaws make me who I am.
Without them, I'd just be a mannequin.
Mannequins are pretty.
I'm real.

And I'm not yours to fix.
 Sep 2014 wordynerd
Erenn
He was reading
So was she
She was giggling
Full of glee
His heart stopped
When their eyes met
She knew it'll be the first
She would never forget

He tried to approach her
But to no avail
His heart pumped faster
He knew he would fail

She was eagerly waiting
Wondering why he didn't move
Is there something on her face?
Did something came loose?

He broke through enmity
Believing it could be more
He got up and accidentally-
Yelled his name out!
"CAN WE BE FRIENDS!?"

She laughed so loud
He thought she was like the rest
He was about to leave
When she pulled him
*"Hi, my name is …….."
(This was surprisingly based on a true story)
2 years ago to be exact:D
 Sep 2014 wordynerd
Madhurima
Dear society,

Stop trying to sober us up.
We’re young and bright
and beautiful and loud.
We will light up every
corner of every room
and still shine brighter
than the sun.

Stop telling us to cover up.
We will wear little black dresses
and bright red lipsticks,
leave lip-stains all over
your precious little world
and look so good doing it
that you’ll have to look away.

Stop telling us to slow down.
We live and love with so much
power and strength that we
cannot stop for you
or anyone, for that matter.
Every day is our day
and the world, our oyster.

Stop telling us we’re useless.
One day, we’re going to run the world
for you; going to be soldiers, doctors
writers, artists, speakers of the truth
and the truth is that we’re alive
and strong and here, and
you cannot control us.

From impatient, beautiful, and exuberant young girls everywhere.
 Sep 2014 wordynerd
20something
I've been trying to write about you for hours,
hoping the words will flow naturally,
and finally it'll all make sense.
But the hours have become days
and the words never came
so I'm just as confused as when I began.
I love the skyline of my city
in the day, brilliant and bright
at night, glowing with the stars.

Coming down from the mountain,
the lights engulf the cars.
The iron messenger welcomes me
pointing at the sky
above the lovely brick and metal
that make up this history.

Rich with history, indeed it is.
Chills run down my spine
to know the horrors these buildings have seen.
No rain can make up
for the tears that have fallen on these sidewalks.
No bricks can build up
what cruelty has broken down.
No memorial can drive away
the haunting absence felt in that great church.

But there is beauty in this
in that life still remains.
That someone lives to paint the lower walls on Southside
or protect the cobblestone beauty of Morris Avenue.
That we know now where we have been
enough to have come this far.

The skyline says these things to me
it whispers them at sundown.
"We are here, we live
and we live artfully, wonderfully, triumphantly."
The lights glow with pride
and the buildings shine with change.

I love the skyline of my city
because it brings hope.
 Sep 2014 wordynerd
Sadie
The empty street
It expands in front of me
The city lights
I dont know where they went
The buildings, tall and forlorn
Walk alone
Cracks in the ground
Broken bottles
a chuckle sounds out.
'cracks...broken'
a shadow whispered,
'how very much like your heart...'
Copyright @ Sadie Whitney

— The End —