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I feel ocean air when I'm landlocked, Passed through every obstacle and roadblock, There's dirt under my shoes, but it sure feels like sand, I've taken the scenic route, but I'm just where I planned,
I am a prisoner to the world I live in. I am told how to be. How to be perfect, how to be loved, how to be worth something. I am dictated by numbers. My weight, my GPA, my class rank, my waist measurement.
ME
What if you could step into my sh
My bones were feeble My breath had weathered My voice can be heard as a bare, cracked whisper And I listen at how fragile we are... For which my lungs, they were thirsty for air
A filter   Nothing but a misconstrued version of normal light Changing context from wrong to right   Take away this glass magnifying falsehoods and repressing flaws
Bleeding because it paints the pictures so heavily spilled in my mind. And seeing the crimson upon my skin Gives me pain that makes me real.   Crying because It makes me view
If all one ever sees are the ebony clouds, One will never see the polished mists That fall as thunder crashes loud.   If all one ever sees are the violent waves, One will never see the beautiful ocean,
When I was a child
I'm coming out, that is my destiny To rise above what I call home, To rise above what Society calls poverty I am a young woman, destined for the symphony of success I control my fate, and yet...
It is common knowledge that we are alive One of the few, universal realities What exactly is the meaning of life? For every answer, there is a mystery Is there any real reason or rhyme?
They say one door opens another closes But it seems I’m stuck in the threshold Drag me down an empty hallway One fool’s junk another’s gold   Suck it up for the onlookers Like I’m having a grand time
Through blurry eyes she views the beauty of the world, yet those who see clear see an abyss of nothing.
We look up into the sKy  Entwined in it's view for it looks divine In the  day that we may die    We fly through our past Pray for the day that we lay
An artist’s mind is often swallowed by indigenous thoughts. Trying to balance ones conceptions on a fine thread.
Standing on a cliff nothing could miss I look to the gound at the people with no sound My hair blown from my face cold wind and salt I taste I watch the ocean tide
  My way of life And your way of life Are two different ways of living. Where my dreams are reality And yours are solely nonfiction, Imagination forms a line That borders this idea  
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