Posts
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3:17 am
I used to have it all figured out.
Schedules were organized chaos.
The beloved clock in the corner of my room,
was my gauge.
Told me when I was late, on time.
I was used to this system,
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The Girl I Wanna Be
She loves everyone,
so everyone loves her.
Even when she's crumpling inside,
She'll always show the side of her
that's always willing to be positive.
When you want to throw your world away,
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Waiting for Everything to Change
The stillness,
before the clouds collide and
the thunder and lightening starts.
The moment where the city
seems to stop all its bustling
just before a storm.
The couple of seconds that
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On the Side of the Highway
The car spun 3 times
before crashing into the barricade.
Our car.
We were okay, me and my family.
We were unscathed.
Thank goodness.
It was all a blur.
It might as well have been a dream.
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The System is Rigged
Excellent grades.
Excellent sports records
Excellent leadership qualities.
Excellent personality.
The list goes on and on...
They expect us to be superhuman.
They need us to know what we
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If only things hadn't changed
I guess I'm happy for you.
Actually, I really am.
At least, I'm expected to be.
Because, if you can't be proud
of one of your best friends,
can you really be proud of
anyone?
Loves
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3:17 am
I used to have it all figured out.
Schedules were organized chaos.
The beloved clock in the corner of my room,
was my gauge.
Told me when I was late, on time.
I was used to this system,
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Memories and solid things
If I could weave the memories of you in a giant blanket
The night sky would appear
Or maybe the streets of that one city in Central America
The unspoken words caught in a language barrier
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I ask a lot of things
Why stay, when to breathe polluted air is to condemn your lungs?
Why stay, when to walk on hot coals ensures that every next step will burn?
If we, as people, seek water,
why do we always land at a mirage?
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She Was Blamed; It Wasn't Her Fault
“It was her fault
She was wearing that skirt
Practically asking for it”
No
No she wasn’t
She was 15 years old
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17
on the night that you broke your eyes open,
cried into candy packets you found at the petrol station smelling like gasoline and regret
in your still-standing baby teeth like slabs of sugared marble there were
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dear mother, are you really mine?
sometimes, i lay my head against my mother’s chest. i think. gaze up at her. and this time, when i look at my mother, i see. i see a powerful woman. she is nothing short of beautiful.