When I was a Kid When I was a kid I saw everything through a warped perspective The daily news saying this and that, what’s right and wrong The pure debacle of what system works best But honestly growing up in this warped perspective Views change, comprehensive thought begins to train Everything seems more surreal

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Silhouettes of Trees As silhouettes of trees swayed by the brink And brisk air stained my cheeks a subtle shade of pink The howling wind built up a strong wall of fear Black birds sang but nobody could hear The dazzling moon lit up the street I could have stayed there all day, on repeat

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Incompatible Day after day she glides through the daunting social cliques of the school, She converses effortlessly, like angelic whispers, Peaceful, Her laugh is a record, playing endlessly throughout the tiresome hours of school Everyone adores her, Her confidence radiates like that of a warm ray of sunshine, When she smiles, the room fills with

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Names Names are just sounds, A string of syllables grouped together to identify each other, They can hold more though, Hope, love, confidence, there are no bounds. But behind all that friendly mist and delusion Are the sharp daggers that pierce where no physical object can reach, Running down the hall I felt like an

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Peace Everyday that passes by I can never seem to get you off my mind 6 years have came and went But you’re still stuck in my head It seems that you have moved on now And you’ve even had a son It’s strange to think there’s someone out there That know that their dad

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Nothing It hungers to envelope everything, to consume, to suffocate, to become. To be feared and for many people fear it, They are right to do so. We sit in our brightly lit offices and our brightly lit classrooms, Gloriously unaware of what is waiting. Waiting to jump out and consume everything As soon as

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Screaming Whispers The whisper that shadows you Speaks louder than words, They linger behind us, To me; screaming to others; unheard What’s concealed in the shade, Are our darkest thoughts, An unforgettable memory, All tied up in a knot By the secrets, harassed, It’s a hateful reminder, We may not be finished with our past,

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The Hands I Own The hands I have, Will be gone, Lost forever, My memories with them, They will be tossed. The years, Of sheltering, And writing, Washed away. The hours, I’ve spent, With the people I love. The hands, Always cold and warm, With anger beneath, Controlled by love, The face I own Will

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