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In a world where two are never the same, I took the chance to design a name Something unique, special to describe me But all I came up with was something lame.
Maybe moving to a new place would be good. I mean, Lucy is important to me but I can find a close second in Cornwall. Besides, I can block out Miles and April.
I saw a man this morning I thought it was my dad His eyes were dark and empty His face was drawn and sad He stood there still and lifeless With his head just slightly bowed Yet with all the grace and...
He walks amongst us, but he is not one of us. That's what the words say, But not what they mean. Is this a stranger in town, Someone so isolated that even his friends do not recognise him.
Well..it will probably Kill me. Although, it will probably be said it was the cancer/virus/accident/disease etc etc etc. And I Don't digress. One thing I was brought up with, was the concept of Pride.
Don't be fooled by the face I wear, none of them are me,. My real face is mine, something I just don't want you to see,. The surface smooth, its the surface of my mask,.
Am I different. Am I wrong. Or am I not a mirror image.
Please wake me when I'm free. I cannot bear captivity. where my culture I'm told holds no significance. I'll wither and die in ignorance. But my inner eye can c a race.
Just what exactly do you expect from me.
All the other girls, Spend hours on their curls, Talking about guys, Spreading twisted lies. And all the other boys, Treat the girls like toys, Expected to be a tool, Because its seen as cool.
I look in the mirror and see that face,. It takes me back to a different place,. That pale, thin oval of a ghostly shade,. A cement of secrets set to be laid,.
Good and bad. This is who I am. Happy or sad. This is who I am. Some say mad. But this is who I am. Sometimes I feel love. This is who I am. Sometimes I feel rough. This is who I am.
I see her only because we are standing face to face. I stare at her and she stares back with the same eyes, But I do not know her.
That moment When in a group, You go to speak next. But someone unknowing Has already taken Half of your words. It's half life.
The plain bag. That's what I am. The plain bag. I'm there but I'm just a burden. Shunted, ignored, worthless. Nothing but scrap paper to be torn to shreds in the hands of a child. To them.
I looked in the mirror and sighed. No magical transformation. Still the same me. My name is Jem. I have long black hair which is constantly getting tangled, ugly green eyes and I was fat.
Life starts and ends with you...so why do you try so hard not to be yourself...idolise those who have done it when you should be doing it...praise those who made there own mold so you can be stuck in...
I'm so sick and tired of everybody trying to be pigeon holed. I'm in a lecture at the moment almost preaching that people can be labelled, categorised, and predictable.
When I was younger, our class was asked; 'What do you want to be when your older?'. Most replied with 'An astronaut, or a famous singer, or a ballerina'. I replied with 'Well how should I know that?'.
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions. Whatever I see I swallow immediately Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
Disclaimer: In today's diverse society there are plenty of crazy hairstyles and personal statements around, and although I may allude to their differences rather heavily in this post, please take...
by Me, Emily. -I.D.- I am me. Me is I. Can that change. If me wants to be her. If her is who I want to be... Then does me change. Does me wanting to be her change who I am. Or does me stay the same.
Why. Why do you feel the need to push, probe and prod all the way until the point of breaking.
I close my eyes this is what I see, the words in my head I am madness and madness is me silence is loud and darkness is red, images float through my head, a light is dim then gone lost in the stars,...