Standing in the middle of the stage
microphone taped to my face
singing my heart out

Handcuffing the mass murder who
has been loose for decades
lowering his head
into the cop car

I am color.
When I score the winning goal in the soccer game,
I am a sparkling yellow that is as bright as the sun!
Sometimes, I have a rough day,
And I feel like a despondent blue that is as dark as the night sky.
Other times,
I get as red as lava

It’s hard to find who I am.
I know this could take long.
What sets me and others apart?
Where do I choose to stand?
I want answers to appear like the bang of a gong.
Reaching down into my heart,
or searching up above.
Finally at last, I find a song.

When racial slurs are used against you
When people leave you out because of your skin color
When people look at you because of your skin
When you know you’re different
When someone spits at you because of your skin
When your own family won’t talk to you

I hate
being short
the feeling of being left out
how I have to say stuff in front of everyone
answering questions in front of people even though I know it
how I don’t know stuff
I hate
how sometimes,
I’m mean,
to some people and pets

Life has been a roller coaster,
it’s had missing tracks,
and breakdowns,
and plenty of bumps,
but I don’t stop.
I don’t stop in the middle of the ride,
even though there might be a downfall.
But I’m not saying there hasn’t been high places,

The first box of society is the family, were born into, the box referred to as home, where we are made and broken. Willingly kept within four lines, that we’ve been conditioned of what boundaries, can and will not be crossed.

One vision, that is all it took to know how it all ends. That was the idea behind the product 32F, nicknamed the Death Box. There were 380 of us, we were the test subjects who willingly volunteered for the test. Truthfully, I was just in it for the money.

I’m hanging from the edge.
Nothing stands between me
and falling but my own waning strength.
What if I fall? What if I seriously hurt myself?

Stop bugging me
Stop discriminating
Stop calling me names
Stop the physical hurt
Stop shoving
Stop picking on me
Stop bringing me down
Stop laughing
Stop the breaking
Stop being a jerk
Stop the pain
Stop the hurt

You could be a picture
Of gleaming perfection.
Indeed, an orchestra,
Of human without sin.
The world at your whims,
Subject to your knees,
Yet you ask nothing of them,
For every person sees,
That you are perfect.

I am an ordinary school girl,
I have homework,
I have assignments,
I have essays,
and I have tests.

Talking with others
feeling so very different
never quite the same

Jokes at my expense
The others laughing so hard
Try and fail to smile

My smile is broken
Wanting to sprint far away
Please just be quiet

I am but a girl with scars,
Not those that are seen,
The kind buried beneath it all,
I am but a girl with a dream,
Like any other you will see,
I am unique,
But still like any other,
I’ve been thrown,
And hit,
And threatened,

She is faded.
Worn out,
Worn down.
Time stole her crown.

I could spend an eternity upstairs reading.
Under the covers reading, hiding like a bear for winter.
Skimming the pages all day.
In the world of Anne.
Flip, Flip, Flip, Go the pages.
Her always saying Anne spelled with an “e”.

My hope is that we can forget about hate,
our prejudices, our unneeded bias.

Forget about making others feel bad about themselves,
oppressing them for being different.
We can forget about our pointless wars,
and instead, focus on restoring peace and order.

There is a little place in my mind…
that is my favorite place…
in the whole world.
It is my creativity.
My imagination.
There I escape to other lands.
To other worlds and kingdoms.
I become anything I like.
Anyone I like.

The weird stuff in my head,
can confuse thousands,
like a llama driving a car.

The unnatural stuff in my head
is pure nightmare fuel,
pumping through my veins into my brain.

The unusual stuff in my head,
is just sick and twisted to an extreme.

There are so many, too many, humans in the world,
Who are silenced, forgotten, voices never heard.
We make snap judgments based on race,
Appearance, or simply the look of their face.
But each of these people in the world,
Has a story that needs to be heard.

Fear of not being good enough,
World with Judgment,
People knowing everything about you,
Mistakes talked about
being judged feelings pain
we are who we want to be
people can be different
wishing of Living
in a judgment free world.

The light tapping of rain, loud at first, but slowly becoming weaker and weaker, grabs me; takes hold. I open the squeaky front door and peek a single foot outside. The vivid green grass begs for me to be a companion while it slowly moves in the ever-slightest of winds. So I walk...

I found myself
staring out of my bedroom
window,
my eyes followed the footsteps
of the strangers walking below me.

Life is a bike going through
twists and turns.
I never get it on my first try,
so I keep trying and trying
until I can take my training
wheels off.
I might get a few scratches and
cuts, but that won’t stop me,
from pedaling.

I am a story
my existence made for people to enjoy.
They skip over me
flip
flip
flip
to see only the things they want to see
not what they need to see.

I am a tree
tall and skinny
my roots run deep
and my leaves are big,
and grow up high.
Nearby are my family trees,
from which my seed came.
A bit further are my friends
of all shapes kinds and sizes.
My bark may be rough

Who is this girl I see in the mirror?
This girl’s eyes full of fear, caused by
Demons whispering in her ears.
Scared one day their words won’t be lies.
She holds on, trying not to cry.
Each day wanting to die,
She finally cries.
A cry for help

Blondes are
Stupid
Popular
Ditsy
Un-athletic
Girly girls
Blonde is a label
Look at my personality
Look past my hair
Blonde is not me
I am
Smart
Athletic
Messy
Helpful
Nice
Labels are unfair

Hiding in the background.
Behind everything and everybody.
I’m missing something in me.

I wait at the end of the mat thinking those thoughts.
Thinking as hard as my brain would let me.
When I’m starting to run...

What is life?
Is it the short time between birth and death?
Is it a chance to do something?
If it is, then what?
Do we pursue happiness?
Do we try to help others?
Or are we all here to fulfill a purpose?
If we are, how do we find it?
We don’t.