who

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texas,don,g,nutt,59,poem,im me so who you im me so how could this be im me so who be you im me so what it do talking down get down round for round known but the thought the point is who you you say who me i be the m,v.p.
I am rolling hills of Kevlar skin  I am night before the days begin I am terra cotta heart I am stories yet to start I am bones of solid gold I am young, but I am old I am war yet to be won
I am not her, Not my past, Nor a name.   I am not the order Of the stars, Or the gods of the months, Or the beasts that follow the moon.   Our value no more than
I am not who I am! I have a body, but am I the body? I have a mind, but am I the mind? I have an ego, but am I the ego? Who is the me that I am?   Am I a butterfly? No that’s not me.
Swimming through water so black,My heart beats dully in its cage.Not a soul should see the crack,Splitting in pieces with conquering rage.
Who made you look twice upon yourself in the mirror you passed; rather than preach of your hips and tell stories of your lips!   As if they could not do the same.  
This is what Autism looks like: A pretty girl with gap teeth and long brown hair Yelling to herself in different voices (Reciting memories, we think) -- A lively man who paces and moves his whole frame
i ask for the one never exist, i sing loud to the compose whom never heard my voice, screaming into the sky,
It is a question answers is many thing about... But breath to breath enjoy at live god is dance with you! Stop your breath anything nothing god is always that...
Metaphorically I am a simile, like an allusion, I AM an oxymoron, a flagrant euphemism, a hyperbolic faux-pas, so masculine, I could metonymously eat a feminist,
I'm am from peaceful summer days with busy and cold nights I am from my secert hiding net, below the porch I am from where music sets the soul free and helps the youth speak their mind.
She catches my eye as she passes by My mind begins to think "Who is that girl I must know. 
Every day is a gift,  all the days just flow so swift try to live positive & for others try to uplift... <3 You are here for a reason bigger than you I know some time you wonder what am I here to do? Is it some thing huge &  grand, here...
Am I what people say I am Am I what people want me to be Am I who I think I am Am I who I want to be 
     
Would a filter be typing? Would a filter mean no erasing? Does that mean I can't correct my grammar?   I'm going to give you the realest me there is, no bullsh*t.   Well, to begin, my appearance.
As the population grows, Every human being becomes less important, Of less concern to the person next to them. One day we will have found a solution to running out of resources and created more,
they like the people shaken not stirred   but people are better off empowered than insured   and who are they anyway   because they
Me
Tried but true with the gentle honesty hidden within my grin, light green eyes that lookout to see the world from within. Slightly pink skin aging slowly with wisdom,
When I was born, my father looked me in the eyes and could only manage the word, "wow" out of his dry lips, because he knew immediately that I was going to be a handfull.
Being told I am not enough I get hurt because I care too much I turn to things that help me up. The art of makeup makes me forget who I was I got myself a new identity since I cannot go back to what I was. 
I perch on a blanket underneath a huge oak tree ,  Watching interesting individuals pass by me.  I quietly laugh to myself as the popular girls at school walk by in a heard,
I perch on a blanket underneath a huge oak tree ,  Watching interesting individuals pass by me.  I quietly laugh to myself as the popular girls at school walk by in a heard,
What you see before you is not what I see in the mirror. For the mirror knows the true person who always hides behind the mask. Tell me, is it true that the most common mask we put on every day is a smiling face?
Tilt head to the right Show left side of face Give a smile and make it bright One good shot is all it takes   
to speak but cannot form the words that would fulfill my thoughts desire. to gain freedom but scared to face the breakout of war against another. yes, yes this is how you and i must feel, this is how you and i try to explain,
    I have an innovative mind One with many characters and personalities My friends are imaginary, a figment of my dreams They come alive as I write on the pages inside a blank notebook of my alter worlds.
How Can I write about Who is hiding behind the curtain?
The biggest question that will remain a mystery, is who are we really supposed to be or become.? yes we all have dreams of becoming something one day, but that doesnt mean that is who we are called to be....
Self Acceptance A Julius C. Lightfoot III Poem
Inside my heart are a pile of needles, they stick me often, making me bleed internally This pain is caused by an unknown man A man that was never a father to his child. I've lived 16 years, wondering where he was
This poem was inspired by Rosemarie Uquico's poem "Date A Girl Who Reads."  
Who am i to you? Am i that girl that always gets in the way? That you sit back and say, "she always doing something." Who am i to you? Am i the girl you call a "bitch" because of the way i walk,
We are undefined by words alone, the ones who stand, the rolling stones. They will say stand out in a crowd and try something newBut heaven forbid that you actually do.
What will be when I am gone? I think this question, thinking I’ll go on But for all I know, I could die tomorrow Then, would my loved ones grieve in sorrow?
Tell me.                                     Who do you see? When I look in the mirror...        Who looks back at me? Who should I see?                   Who am I really?
I hear the soft footsteps of rain outside my window, It’s louder friend only seconds behind. They bring me no fear, No wariness, no excitement.
Who knew,That love was a thief? Not I,Until it robbed me of my heart. Who would’ve thought,That when in love you’d grieve? Not I,Until I watched you leave.
I was introduced to poetry 7th grade. I started to understand the concept: releasing. I write because it is an outlet for my frustration.
I am bound in new white pages, I am read throughout the ages. I am old and I am new, I am false and I am true. I am past, present, and future, I am modern and old culture. I am the hero and the villain,
What do you see? What do you hear? What do you feel, what’s coming near? How does it happen? How does it come? How does it rise, or fall from the sun? Where does it live? Where does it sleep?
"Who are you?" Are you the super sweet one that everyone seems to know so well Or maybe the one thats so swift to get angry And begin to yell Or are you the one That's slowly sinking into sadness
This Is who I am, Feelings You cannot find With five senses. Feelings, Of the worlds pain As my own. This Is me In a much greater place Than thee. So great,
who is we where does this we reside is it the same place as where we’ve come from have we progressed at all or is here to comfortable are the chains to comfortable what if harriet tubman was afraid of the dark
Each fight we have, tears me down, Of your standard, I've fallen short. Barely hanging on with pain, Can't you see that we're the same?
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