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They say I'm a clever girl,  Tall and proud,  My shoulders are always pulled back.    I walk with confidence,  And talk with consciousness, And I know far too many a fact.  
Game day had fallen upon the land The hiss, the boo, the cheers, the joy incoming  And with the audience in his hand Was Hercules a football star upcoming   With a mighty golden lion as his mascot
Athena: Goddess of crafts, strategy, wisdom and war Athena torn down like many girls before How big her knowledge, who cares they say, pretty being her only way to success  - yet they say she's a mess.
Enter Athena, a woman of might, a popular Pinterest queen in her own right. Her crafts were unrivaled and really quite clever, and everyone thought her reign would be forever.
     Athens high school was home to some of the best and most talented gods and goddesses in all of Greece. This high class school was home of Zeus, Poseidon, and Aphrodite.
Love;
My feet pitter pattered as I walked towards the stage. My hands are starting to become clammy. I wonder, should I walk back or engage?
I am terrified of heights. Not sure how it started, But whenever I reach A certain threshold, I see myself tumbling over the edge
The world rushes by me and the streets are empty There is only me and the silence between my ears The others have pushed forward, climbing the ladder Yet I have remained behind, chained to the concrete
     Like a dark cloud hovering over me,      Fear found its greedy way into my life.      It held me back with strong chains and great lies,      And convinced me to burrow into my shell.  
The endless pages of my sketchbook are filled with ducks Big ducks Small ducks White ducks Purple ducks And eerily incomplete ducks  
Come ye, all young and old, To hear the story that's never told! In foregone Texas, a county dwelled- It's name: Van Zandt; and it's men rebelled. The South's creed had created their hate,
The letters across my back shout the truth so urgently so vividly that no one can deny.  The world so clearly seen from behind.  But in the front, a hollering silence fills the void, even those of gifted ears
You were in and out of my life for as long as I can remember In a place, you might as well call home Three walls, behind bars, all alone You made friends whose names were pen and paper
Dipping out from the cloud-covered sky,the Tree Swallow returns to nest, surrounded by a thousand of its kind,the sultry summer air brushes off its glossy, blue topaz back.  Like an arrow from the quiver,it plunges down from its nest hole, almost
It has taught me expression, but not through hate, anger, or ridicule. It has taught me to show my feelings, without foul language. It has given me an outlet, to express my hate towards society.
Poetry has taught me that words are evrything. That they don't have to rhyme or make sense. That what you say to the paper is between you, the pencil, the pen and the paper.
Why I Still Eat Ice Cream Never has one enamored me more than you, the one that hurts me You enter me and fill me with your cold, sweet touch but you leave me With the runs,
dear silence, you echoed  across vast canyons  in my mind spanning time and  space and  history. you were a blank  canvas  never to be painted on  a black hole 
dear love, you are a nightmare dressed as a miracle. you are misleading. you are troublesome. but somehow, you always seem beautiful. you always seem to pull me in
I love how your hand fits in mine, I love how your smile can light up a room, I love how your eyes shine in the sun light, I love when your Eyes meet mine. You are the Ronald to my Hermine.
They used to hold me softly when I started to break Like a thing made of fragile glass to be treated With the wariness and fear of the untouchable. But not you. You hold me in iron embrace,
  Breaking through the confines of my mind, back to reality,    It is apparent that I am still sitting in the back of this
She had one job. One simple job. She must've went back for the basket. ... And her Fitbit. Kids these days.   Steps don't count themselves, You know. If you don't get 10,000
Oh how I dream to be inanimate To have chains that bind my soul To disappear and become an object that amuses The masses and crowds that adore me   How could one do this you may ask?
The Untold Story of Alice   Woke up from a dizzy spell   Lights
Tonight the dogs fought, Sounding all at once Like a thousand people screaming And a flight of hundreds of crows taking off, Their wings smacking the air All at once in a horrendous cacophony of noise:
  Why must it be, that lessons are only learned from classics? Or that fairytales never seem to talk about real human aspects? Maybe Cinderella and the Prince didn't have a happily forever after,
Feathers weighed down by the grey colors Of melted snow in a New York gutter; Beak stained black with an unknown curse- To die, or live looking like this, which was worse?   Wonky-looking, ostracized,
Since when did Princess mean damsel in distress?   Since when did beauty become our strict standard?   Since when did worth correlate to marriage?   I am intelligent 
There once was a girl in a tower. Her name was Rapunzel. She dreamed of the day, She dreamed of how, Someone would take her away.
it never hits me until it's too late   recess, playgrounds, field trips, museums,  textbooks, classrooms, no A/C, Speech comp teachers who teach, and those who teach you to teach yourself,
America, the land of the free. But are we? Are we free? Blacks, Hispanics, Whites, Those are our names, what we are known for. We are known as nothing more. A melting pot, but why is it boiling? 
America was created for all No matter what size even short or tall Yet not everyone is treated the same Throughout the years there has been little to no change The demand for equality is great
  America the great but is it really? Nowadays it seems all I hear is hate The new talk is about wanting to escape run away to a different country
Night  it's to be a time of rest and restart yet all I know is how it tears apart a family a love a being   it was night that a young girl had her heart shattered
I, a timid adventurer, Do promise, To make this year my finest. The prospect of future, The anticipation of living. I will no longer be frightened.
The feeling of sadness takes over one's own mind With no invitation nor permission with just one ambition To take over my kind... your kind For it's a worldwide plague with no recognition An invasion of the mind
  There's this place I go to This cave My sacred space Once I pass the entrance I kick off the hard day's tiredness off my feet Unbuckle the rules that almost make me feel inhuman   Tightening my waist I can hardly breathe I unzip society's expect
Excavate my soul          Find Words trapped within my flesh They are all I have.
I was only fourteen when everyone around me started to grow up, For they were passing themselves off as if they were twenty-one, Spending their Friday nights drowning their veins in alcohol,
              I am a poet. As the words dash from my beautiful mind, I Know it !       Poetry is a way to find oneself, OURSELVES, and myself.
On the topic of words that seem to slip through my fingertips: I have always been well-endowed as a wordsmith of sorts, these frantic keyboard strokes
p { margin-bottom: 0.1in; line-height: 120%; } In third grade, They handed me a poetry book And I found it terribly boring. I was a child of prose, reading stories of adventures And faraway lands.
My feet walk over this earth and I remain ignorant to so many things. From whom the mirror shows me To how  to use my hands But my mother has told me about you She kissed the crown of my head when I still could not see nor talk And whispered "Than
Our fingers grip halfway intertwined and lip to lip we hang between birds and moonshine  it's 3 am and we’re making out on a park bench.  it's 3 am, we're making out on a park bench 
I grew up in a world rife with uncertainty Afraid to lift my head up high, Afraid to contemplate a future where life was worth experiencing. At every corner there was a struggle,
Your crystal clear eyes are the first eyes I've ever been able to keep contact with. Your soft touch entrances me, your arms are my home. Your warm body seems to fit with my cool soul. We find that happy medium, you are my safe haven.
Laying alone on the gritty, ecru sand the grains dance about your eyelashes, teasing knowing you're envious of their dance partner. The dunes sigh as the wind sifts through and carries 
If I could change something about myself, It would be nothing because I consider myself top shelf, I don't think I'm flawless or I'm perfect with no defects,
Authentic.
A clear, deep voice rings across the room, It reaches me efficiently and fast. 
Long mellow strides carry him along the shiny tile floors, with the bright warming sun burning through the slits of the curtains.  A new day is brought upon us.
I’m a perfectionist yet I’m so imperfect. My dreams appear to be a huge mountain before me. The only problem is that I’m not a rock climber, I am only me…   Yet I am determined to reach the summit.
Less flawed than most Imperfect-perfections spotted scales hairy knuckes   I am one of a kind   I am the kind of one who has wrinkles streaming from their eyes Smile lines
Do you remember the days on the swings? When the wind rushed through golden curls And you didn’t care about the boys or the girls
There ain’t nothing stronger than a broken back, Except crooked teeth in a cracked smile. The hardest fights are the ones simply lost, Violently fought, Which bring death for a while.  
Taking subtle breaths,  I glance both ways and take two steps ahead. Away from the threads  that bind me, I push on  toward the verge.   Sleeves and wishes
The "wonderful" waterfall "spills" upon the "wet" rocks "Her" heartbeat is like the "morning dew" in a "shower" Soulful eyes "glistening" reminded me of the "sea" upon the "rocks"
I may not be able to play you a song on the piano or draw you a portrait;  but I will tell you everything I love about you.   From your sun-kissed cheeks, to the way your fingers wrap around your sleeves.
For whome, This may
My mouth goes dry and my throat closes up People wonder if I am mute But the truth is I have nothing to say
Night falls and it consumes me
Live in the present not in the past, don't be concerned with the things that you never had.
The Pen moves, The Paper takes the ink. Silence, But the scratching makes me think. The air is thick with the smell of nervous thoughts, Rushed paragraphs, Crossed out and redone.  
Sometimes I wonder;
Have you ever envisioned Karmaas an object or a thing?Is Karma a force?Is Karma a centrifugal ring?Or perhaps Karma is a person;a woman or a man.Unfortunately, I cannot tell;No one can.
Fingers fluttering across the keyboard Pen in hand Paper crisp Inspiration flowing As the sun sets in the west On a foreign coastline   A scarred hand meets mine With a callused grin
If I could change one thing What would it be? I’d have to change everything I knew that was the key  
Superficial, Artificial, Fake in every way, All you do is act like a pompous; British; queen, Like an evil monster woken from a spell, Or even Grendel with his mighty hell,
If I could change one thing I would have to start with me. My past, present and future As a human being.   I would start with my past, Standing up for myself. When all else seemed lost,
No contest! No seriously, this is not a contest.  I am entering a random drawing  by adding my thoughts and words in exchange for money.
Legs are supposed to be for carrying you across vast seas of gray pavement and sharp green grass
I am a head, strong in mind.  With a soul before my time.  I am becoming more in line,  With myself.    For so long I have been angry.  Trying to find a way out. 
12 years wasted.Living in hell. A cell. Because an education could pay my bail, that never stopped me.I wish I had the means back then to leave, but school or not, I'm exactly where I'd be.
Easily connectedNever truly relinquishedTime cannot buryWhat does not breathe  
There exists a never ending void So dark, dense and utterly devoid. No sound or light escapes this place. It has born you and will erase.   It will start early and will start young
White women are as fragile as a beautiful butterfly. She cannot handle what other women can!   That is why her skin is green, for her struggles are taken and cared for by a white man.  
At what point is someone deemed approachable?I do not smile at your passI do not engage in conversationI simply do not care about you at all.Why did you follow me to my car?Did I capture your eye?
O Creative Writing, you have treated me well!Now I hope that I do not forget how to spell.We have learned that poetry has meaning and grace,And that it can benefit the whole human race.
The sea shimmers like sunlight on chrome Loud crashing waves and soft silky sand are my living room The beach is the place I call home   My home is unlike the old empire of Rome
This is for the child, So young, Who thinks his parents don't care. Who sits up all night wondering, And hoping he'll do them well. This is for the girl, So scared, beaten and abused.
A what a strange world we live in. How one joke is a muse, but flipped is abuse. How the light at the end is glory from war, but is also the big gold gates to The Lord.
One step forward The soft sand cushions my foot with its tenderness and warmth Seeping between the secret crevices of my toes The sun drenched grains heat my feet Almost burning But not enough to hurt
This thing we call love  Not the one sent from above The love that we think is right The love we wait for all of our lives The love that keeps us up at night  The love that's wrong but feels so right
I write for the troubled young boys and girls With shattered dreams And broken homes   Those who depend on the streets to raise them Guns to train them And Friends to tame them  
To search for love upon the page; the knowledge for which my soul would rage. To find new peace born deep within, as love abounds to cleanse from sin. Weakness in youth washed with wisdom divine,
Discovering takes time choices are always with you Yet, the road is incomplete and one must choose again. One path can lead to the end, but one can lead to another and another
Silent, still, dead, and gone Tangled and twisted are limbs of bronze Charred by flames of orange and yellow A forest dying, dying, dead by ‘morrow
The way it read, “Poetry Slam”, made it sound so violent I liked to think the artistic community was more refined than the MMA fighters slamming each other with folding chairs
Lonely Child A cast-off Loner, A battle-weary Child —whose cries become quieter and quieter After realizing no one hears.
A father, a mother It didnt mean anything But the thing is They yelled, and fought Leave him alone, hey Pretty sharp in his crumby way But what does it mean? He must've been drunker
(poems go here)
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