Sacred Heart, Westport

Of A Broken Home   Their words are sharp, Their mouths are loud, Making comments on my life, But they don’t know the pain, The pain of a broken home. The family that I never got to know, The days spent wondering if they knew The truth about my broken home, And the pain that

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Rice College, Westport

1 in 52 No same way of seeing the same thing But when you say something They put you down But they can’t see that they’re the clowns They don’t wear a crown They’re the same They’re just causing pain Finding someone plain who’s not tainted Or finding some who’s nicely painted It’s hard Finding

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Moyle Park College

Hall of Mirrors In this hall of mirrors, I am a circus freak, A fat man trapped in a cage, A freak with wonky teeth. In this hall of mirrors, I am the King on a crooked throne of awkwardness, I am loneliness An outcast in this hall of mirrors, I am a broken reflection

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That’s Life There are people who wake up everyday, Fearing for what people talk and say. Thinking, ‘they’re not good enough’ for anyone, Thinking ‘maybe death would be more fun’. Its not their fault they don’t fit in ‘properly’, The people there just act improperly. Why must they make it hell, when they’re stuck in

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Colaiste de hide

We are numb   We are numb to reality. We all get told, we get told that we can do anything, We get told we are the best of the best and that we can’t go wrong, We grow up believing that the world is on our side, its not, Mammy can’t get you a

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Shame All around, nothing but corruption, Our own untimely destruction. What really have we come to, to point fingers, So much blame yet only shame lingers. A viscous guilt grows inside us For what we are, for what people once called us. We stare at ourselves, we seethe at what we see, Don’t you understand?

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Sunday Sunday was our day, I’d make my way down, She’d be waiting , smiling We’d sit and talk for hours, The stories she’d tell would keep me wanting more, But things changed there was no more, Sunday will still be our day, But I do all the talking now though, I know she’s listening,

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Time I looked in front of me And saw my sea of worries Angry and churning I looked behind me and saw my field of happiness Disappear before my eyes Like a sun setting The light disappearing I wish I could go back, To that beautiful field But time is ticking on And the tide

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Rather Not She would rather not talk to you. You get better grades than her in a world where this is how we value self- worth she thinks you’re more intelligent she is too intimidated to offer you her opinion. So she refrains from commenting when you’re around. She’s scared to raise her hand in

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Why Should I Care? Why do I care, Why do you care, Dare to hope. I’m not different, Not from them, not from anyone. To be noticed, But only as a stand alone black lotus. These amphibious lungs are suffocating, Compressing, Under the false pretentious conditioning. With the social normalities, Comes a warped sense of

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