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Soy un viento  Fuerte pero suave, fluyendo a través de la vida  Callado como un susurro  Soy el sol  Radiante pero a veces apagado, desanimado de la vida  Roto como una luz titilante  Soy un árbol  Alto pero inseguro, temblando con el caos de la v
Vide la catastrofe e la chiamò bellaVide distruzione e la chiamò coscienza.   Hai visto una stella collassare Ordinati a numeri primi gli universi incrociati a perfezione,una sterile bellezza
Sonnets are spoken for through a story.
I am a politically conscientious, theater-obsessed English nut, An extrovert with anxiety and an unquenchable taste for scary books and movies,
Life. The universe.  Reincarnation.  Living.  Breathing.   Do you know what - what these words have in common?  Besides grammar -  besides capitalization - 
Big Brother watches us, down on the ground, Doing what we are told, not making a sound. We listen, follow commands, its our nature, No other lifestyle that we know. Telescreens looking close, that's the game, 
Have anyone ever told you, Ce que tu représentes pour moi? It's a topic that might make you shiver, With either fear or light, Something that can warm you, Something that can freeze you,
Because you love me you sat up all night Despite having work the next morning, early So I could cry over nothing Because my anxiety told me “Warning: OVERWHELMED”  
There are word users And there are people who use words.Word users are writers and poets And people who use words simply speak.You are using your words on me inevitably 
i once met a goddess on a lonely road Knots of gold adorning her crown shining jewels as green as a toad Diverted all the way down   roses flourished in her cheeks As she continued to stare
The reason I became a poet? What ever do you mean? Poetry flows seamlessly Like a river stream I don't have much to offer But when I grab my pen and paper Words just flow
Some see numbers and it makes sense, but other can't even understand cents. Spanish is to an english speaker, as math is to me. Gibberish. I see words and can eloquently translate it's thoughts
A notebook. A pen. Swirling thoughts raced inside my head. Biting lips. Darting eyes. My emotions were in disguise. Overwhelmed? Yes that’s true. It left me with only one thing to do.
“Naughty Girl! DO You know? Where the wicked go? After Death?” Asked A Sadist TO A Small Girl   “They GO TO Hell” The Girl replied   “What Must You DO?
i am a puppet, that longs to be free all of these strings, pulling on me. je suis une marionnette , avec des rêves de ma propre pourquoi ne pas ces gens me laisser seul ? i am a puppet, with too many masters
  ‘cause I am-yo soy I feel- yo siento I hear- yo escucho I look- yo miro I am the universe within you As above so below They say
You say we are selfish That we are spoiled and it's eating youth. You say that it's hard, that we should just learn the truth. When you were in our positions, what's it feel like to cough 24/7?
Intense in tense isn't a sentence
The brilliant white morning light Pierces  Through the clear sliding doors nearby,  And I Wince slightly as it comes, releasing a vexed huff.   
I stand in an empty room But I am not alone. Big Brother is watching you. I think in my own head But everyone knows my thoughts Big Brother is watching you. I whisper to myself But everyone can hear me Big Brother is watching you.
I fear I've caught a cold Words just won't stop running
They say that I am not the typical black girl because, well only because I "talk white". see let me cut to the chase about the crazy things that humans say first in foremost it is actually speak
In my senior year, I took my final high school English class. Advanced compostion.  We were told in this packet in the mail a week before school started that we'd read a lot And write a lot.
Written and Directed by Jeremy Velasco
Eyes crawl all over the pla
I never believed I could, nor thought I ever would, be able to like it.
Like olive oil, The first press is the best. It is pure, unrefined. It is the true essence of the olive.   Like chicken, The more you process it, The worse it gets.
She believes in self expression, Righteous Writing, Speaking out. She knows that your transgression Awaits in hiding In the words behind your mouth She understands that it has meaning.
I was on a train headed back to my college after visiting home for the weekend. I took advantage of the ten-and-a-half hour ride to write an essay for World Literature. English is my intended major
The next person to tell me that a poem is more than letters and spaces and enter keys should get smacked.   Of course poetry is more than that. But this is what
I was naturally selected to fail.
Stupid stupid, they all said as I read, as I speak as I try, as I cry as I see, they can all do it but me. They're your age, they all said as I sigh, as I try as I look, at that book
Today in English class, we learned how one wordcan have many different meaningswhich I guess explains why so many people lieand can deny it.  
At any given moment you could ask me what's on my mind      and I could give you a categorized list with bullet points to spare           left blank for the few memories that are climbing out of bed
This is how I live now: Wilted lettuce and second-hand shoes. Photos of luxury through flea market frames; Last year's fine china, ringed with watered-down booze.   Don't talk to me of "adulthood."
One day I'll make a difference, you see Stuck and Lazy, stubborn in my own place But now I claim there's something more to me  I'll come out first in this potential race  The stakes are high but i shall not falter 
i want to get the new j's that came out   i want gucci   i see people with louie
There are many things I want to do, and one of them is to teach you. I want to teach you how to read a book, and teach you how to skim without a second look.
We should all be able to recite Dickens's famous line,“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.It was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness";and many of us can finish this J. Austen quote,
If you find something you love; then you'll never work a day of your life. I was told this as a child. I was told this as a teen and now im just understanding the concept of how it can effect my life.
To change one thing would be a dream. Where people don't bully or judge. Whether it's just because or you're holding a grudge.
The traffic sounded like the sea, always moving,                                                                                  never changing. The sun's rays grew intense, burning the skin,
You’ll never know how many times I’ve been opened
Ms. C, my favorite thing about writingIs taking time to really decode it,But in your class I’m frequently fightingWhen you imply that all our thoughts are shit.You lecture us, but last year Ms. K taught.
Dazed in the classroomJust barely still awakeThe teacher droning on and onHow much of this can I take? No fun games, no interaction No matrices or chemical reactionsJust poetry by Emerson and Poe
Sometimes I really just want to scream. Please tell me this is a horrible dream! I'm bored out of my mind, Insanity of a subtle kind, English.   It's rather absurd 
Stuff I can’t say to my Teacher poem   My Teacher stands watch, and does no such thing. As the students blabber and argue, wasting time, waiting for the school bell to ring
Florida isn't New Russia They're not going to start a war. There's no black hole in Sweden and no seamonsters near our shore.   Quit making students prove That time doesn't exist
 
Fifth period English is my favorite class. It’s funny sometimes when big kids don’t pass. The teacher is really loud and sometimes cray.
The darkness will rise, The moon will shine, And take souls as a prize, While the creatures moan and whine.   The morose skies, The dreadful evils, The hopeless cries,
    Shit you can’t say to your teacher? It should be titled Shit I Should Say Math teachers working out polynomial equations and over exaggerated problems of how Bill bought twenty-three hundred apples;
The width of a smile is proportionate  To the woman's disconsolate heart 
  … I know the answer, but the language is my fence, However, some think, I lack a common sense. Who in the world is born to speak all languages at once without accents? …  
Sitting in my seat; doing so alone. They say smile, be kind, and make new friends. Tell me, admin, how easy that was for you. Tell me, teacher, how to smile in a room of strangers.
you say you treat us like adults but, all i hear from your mouth is insults stop repeating the instructions over and over and over i heard you the first time
Everyday in class I try to understand,Life's big picture that is so grand.To my English teacher,The curtains are black-blueBecause the author wants them to.This feeble talk of meaning has put me down under. 
One day I want to be a nurse I will need a lot of science And english courses So when will I ever need to know
Cummings, Frost, Poe, Shakespeare, I couldn't tell you "what he meant here" And Romeo and Juliet? Something about a Capulet. Simile and metaphor, 1. It(s) like/is nothing that I've heard before...
I try so hard, Yet you don't even see. You call me a failure Because I can't get above a C.
High school english does not encourage students to think. Why? The reason is because there are correct answers. Remember the when we do required reading, there is always analyze afterwards.
I don't think you understand The effect the word 'college' has on me. The more you talk,  The more my heartbeat races.   Taking off like a plane to Britain It won't stop.
 She grows in a special pot.Made of wires and fear.Commonly broken and torn through.But always put back in her place.She's cared for and dusted,Her eyes behind the glass box,Sees a world she can never touch,And a world that will never touch her.Sh
You think we are dumb But you're just a scum to us Please stop teaching now
  Sitting at a desk in front of a screen with a blinking line My fingers don’t touch any keys, But rather they trace the edges of a box,
ele laan wo ca to so omo l'orruco that is we look within before we name our children...for they will bear our bones precious
Thou dreams like no man dreamed before Looking upon thy heaven's for thou fate You speak out for me to say more Before thou sings that one restful note toward heaven's gate  
I think involuntarily upon a distant shore, That placard of choice is miles away – Sweet child, I wanted more Than tranquil hope speckled with a superfluous sea, Gaspard knew before us all of the tremulous roar
She sits there, out in front of us, a fearful look scrawled across her face. Her voice , that at first, seems as though it’ll crack; nervous, uncertain, and afraid.
I’m the English nerd Never having enough Shakespeare on hand analyzing movie plots as if they were books wondering if in reality we are just a story with a destiny with some author out there
Enthralled by your unbounded beauty That I admire all seven days a sennight, It is me that you do not see; My heart pounds madly at your mere sight. Although we descend from people of conflicting histories,
Does it mean to handle a *Bokken? Or to truly perfect one’s **Kata Swinging to his heart’s content in joy Connor Burke is an artist of doubt Yamashita, master of arts, glows
Hark unto me oh ye man!!!! For it is not the struggle of one that overcomes all, but rather the struggle of all that overcomes one. We are not definite through human shape and form, rather infinite through UNIFYING energy.
Getting good marks in exams makes one happy Eating ice creams makes some happy Splurging money on shopping makes others happy Our parents become happy to see their children happy
Nobody in this world can live without music I feel And music transcends all boundaries But still some people seem to have no ear for music But even these people enjoy some kind of music or song for
Hero is dashing Goons he is smashing The heroine is so happy For the herohas come to her rescue, Many portions of the script are unrealistic, There are twists and turns in the story,
A poem is A poet's ways Of portraying life Precisely as it is With a twist, Betwixt a reality And no sense of rationality (Rationally-speaking, of course). A poem can
Feel the tongue tingling words oozing from my overly active brain. The sensation of bottle popping knowledge residing in your heart. His words will never hurt you again The hammer in your chest will pound no more
My love is a like a burning red rose with thorns that prick small fingers, illuminating my sunburnt pink nose. You keep me safe from life’s terrors. The shelter of your arms hides me from all
Mechanics English is not enough Sentiment cannot be bound by syntax Punctuation cannot portray passion Grammar cannot grant the grieving soul grace Words Words are a well to a worn world
A moment’s glimpse is all I get each day Her quick darting silhouette does intrigue Ever wishing for a chance she will stay I wonder how she moves without fatigue Should I call out to her, oh no too late
My chocoholic English teacher lights Up the classroom. Her witty remarks make The children giddy. She makes sure we cite Our work. For projects she won’t let me bake.
Because it has a 26-letter alphabet making up words that made no sense to me Because it has so many pronunciations that confused me even more than I already was Because it was not my first language
The South; known for its women and sweet tea Birthplace of my family and others Some have their thoughts but the south is for me
There are ninety-six Sanskrit words for "love", But I have only one.
I don't want white washed walls or plastered smiles or taking tips or broken dishes crashing my falls I want to be sleep deprived my editor calling me time and time again asking where the next chapter is
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