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Thank the lord for Maya Angelou When the world went fast, she took things slow Her hopes held high when her head hung low She spoke her truth so we all could know The good lord gave us Maya Angelou  
My body was a book  my body was a book that my mother read to me every night  my body is a book that I didn’t want to read  because who wants to read a book about a girl who is  3’11  disabled 
New ones, soft, thin, smell like a new magazine. To a jail? A hell? A cage? No To a library, gather the knowledge, read the books. One, the book of life, we do not read. We write. This new year, this new passage.
THE BOOK A book made of secrets, from the bottom of the lake, the shattered home life, and the top of the Catskills.  
Maybe I love her more. Then again maybe she loves me more. To her love is a test. I know I've missed my share of answers. I looked at the clock. Knowing I need to take my time but can't slow down.
I hold this book within my hands, Its pages are my contraband, The words it speaks are just for me, Its images are all I see, I cannot look up from the ink, I do not know that what I think
She was a freak like me, that amazon woman-teacher. My eyes ricochet like pin-balls. Like a blue-black sky after it’s rained and rained…
Being small was never a problem. It meant Max could crawl into small spaces,. And being last in class to lose his first baby tooth, Was also never a problem--
The smell of ink and paper The flutter of turning pages Faraway             Lands Magic             Things Incredible             People Friends.
People look at you, And just see your past. They see your tattoos, And your jaded mask. But I look much further, And deeper within. What I see inside you Is a true gentleman. I see a heart
Ink
As my Pen runs out of Ink, I'm forced to stare, to stop and think.    This Pen that flitters, jumps and dances; over page it skitters, prances This Pen that colors, draws, and spells: This Pen, which over wording swells.
I tiptoed on the patio to keep my feet warm I unfolded my book and began to read Just as I spotted a red leaf in the tree It's a metaphor, you see That one little leaf I tucked my knees into my chest
“What do you believe in the most?” -- The magic That starts When you put together Two broken hearts And find They make a whole
It was a breath Of fresh air Taking off The words Of him Of her Of them And cloaking myself
We were the definition In front of neon lights Of what change was How one person Insecure Ugly Me
  Did you see it In my eyes? How five words ...or was it six…? Made me the happiest Girl Happiest friend
I guess I mistook The reasons I have you And the reasons you have me We aren’t meant to fall in love Now Or ever I’m meant to be
If the body is a blank canvas Let me paint a picture Through the kisses Telling you what is now Through the time in my arms
No honey please don’t be so sad… Trust me I know Everything Because I was you In a way I still am Please…
What if dying isn't deathIf when we leave this world… The weight of it is simply off our chest When we take that final breath
Last night I saw you in a neon dream all lit up in a throw back scene the streets were wet in reflective haze where the truth is shadowed by the fire's blaze.  
Mathaya,   I, your author, write To encourage you for the Coming days ahead.   My main character Is you; you’ll learn hard lessons. You’ll come through each one.  
You were a library book with the pages glued shut Sixteen years of abandoned backstory. With what pivots and plot twists do to anti-climax. You were a language I’d forgotten A play without the final act
When the summer sets and the last pages are closed put me in postscript.
Me. The Little Flame, Ember Flameheart is my name, Love you, and all else.  
Beginnings. The first page. The first wave. For later, it describes the first date. Emotions bonded within the first chapter. Feels like a happily ever after. Captured. By lust and compassion.
You were written in Countless languages at once; You have no possible Translations.
The mocking mystery, the subtle secrets, 
The Bible is a how-to book, it teaches people how to gain eternal life.Please read it and share it with your children and your husband or wife.It teaches us not to worship false gods and not to steal.
Today I saw you’re the books your favorite author wrote. I still have all those books you gave me sitting in a pile under a small blue table that you helped me build one day when my parents weren’t home.
Everything in our life is a part of our story. It is continuously being written. There is an angel watching our every move. With a pen in its hand.
Everyone and everything here is old; archaic.The new things and people are but copies of generations before.Arranged a little differently, perhaps.They are restored classics; cliché- yet contemporary; chic.
My body is my bookMy creases the linesMy scars are the action scenesMy tears are the tearjerkersMy ears ears collect the sounds of lifethat run through the wires to my computer, my brain
This is my book of poems;Poems I swore not to write.Somehow I couldn't help it,Temptation: too much a fight.
Oxygen deprivation Is an awful thing indeed Light headedness, blackout Hemoglobin in desperate need But yet as scary as this seems Of all the priorities it supercedes It's nowhere near as vital
the girl sits in her fluffy bedroom chair curled up blanket-covered a book in front of her and she is crying, because her favorite character died or someone told the truth and it hurt
Pages torn and frayed The feel of paper under my fingers I get lost in the words The vividness, the scenery That the author paints with words
I couldn't live without my flash drive. I've written a book on there that I always want close to my heart. Even if I can't plug in the flash drive to a computer and read it,
All I need Is you baby You are my one You are my only I can't live without you And I never doubt you You catch me like a hook You are my one and only My favorite book
Stranded and alone Nothing to do but look But I do have one thing A nice big book   Adventures galore Oh what this book has in store Until something new Washes up on shore  
One thing I cannot live without is my book. My book is knowledge. To live without knowledge is like living without words. Words help create a vision.  I envision my life without my book.
This tale true and only, it tells about you my love. Bewitched, Fascinating, and Enlightened. A book holding secrets and stories, Showing images, and some never done. Lost, Vanished, Forgattened, and Senile.
He was a beautiful chapter from cover to cover. Every star crossed moment, I will hold to forever. The silver letters, the golden pages... My God, it feels like it has been ages.
“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?
Upon first glance It seems interesting enough. I’ll consider it.   The first few pages intrigued me. I'll bring this one with me  And read it on the bus ride home.         I’m learning more and more,
Invisible Man I should be reading you now I have a test and essay due on the morrow On your guts and analitical power But no I'm here Here doing Nothing On powerpoem express
  You bring me joy but at the same time pain, You seem to dictate my life as you wish; But you take it all for your own gain.   I flip your pages trying to retain,
I am filled with lost hopes and dreams and confusing words, lines, pages what does this mean? I'm still in the process of adding words still trying to figure out this thing called "Life" 
you kept me on your shelf wondering what's wrong with myself
One day you are going to wake up and notice that you should've tried. You are worth the fight. Stop the Negative as well as start the positive. Vast things happen when you distance yourself from the negative.
when I am feeling down, but not feeling music I get my radio then I tune it,  I throw my hands in the air and wave like I just dont really care.
Life will knock you down. What lifts you up? Maybe it’s the way His eyes sparkle against the sunset.
I anxiously await the day My novel is confirmed to play To invade your minds With my tantalizing words For my characters to wound To uplift, to hurt. For the hours I've spent In silence to toil
  Let me tell you my friend, she was special Not that I could’ve chosen from several But she was my favorite out of the rest We became close, on the journey out west Antonia was my best childhood friend
Lies are action books Misplaced on dusty shelves Among nonfiction.
I have a smallish voice. It carries the weight of massive expression, But bears it alone.   My visions detonate in the world around me, They scatter and end up in every corner
Perfection is key and the standards are locked We are all forced to be birds of the flock. No sorrow or pain, No fortunes or gains. A life where your memories aren't your own But some broken and cloned.
Your eyes so beautiful, Reminding me of a warm mocha coffee on a chilly, cold day, Your smile so radiant, 
The dark The room The candle, I held it   So I looked I listened I stood, in awe
My heart, just like my face, Is an open book. Anyone who comes upon it Is free to take a look. What my mouth does not say, My eyes might as well scream. There is no cover, no disguise
I write for you. The one who is always on my mind, The one who always seems so close.   I write for you. My love, my one, my only, My life, my drive, my soul.   I write for you.
I wish I were many things,  but to be many things I would need to be a writer. A writer creates what they want to see and feel.
Reading develops the mind.  It controls you and changes you. Reading a book is an adventure, that all should take a ride on. Reading an inspirational piece is something that makes you grow. 
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.
Even when I die My voice shall cry Immortalized through The mind`s eye   Even if I rot You will not forgot You will hear my poetry More than the ticking of the clock  
You’ll never know how many times I’ve been opened
Sometimes I just lay on my bedThoughts and memories swarming in my head.I try to remember the good times I've hadBut they somehow slip away, always making me mad.
Innocent people being hooked on the blue book, becoming dull robots that speak in code; it comes in your sleep taking your intellect like a crook, by bribing you with a new mode.
Im addiceted to help To put others needs before mine Why? Cause we live in a cruel world. One where gossip is a hobby  Being mean to others is perfectly normal Killing others with words is typical
He read me like a book Paying attention to every detail Remembering every word Taking notice to every detail   He read every crevice of my life
We hold a high position.Standing with a strong attitude in the way we walk and talk.No man will respect the women who can’t run her own race, but every man will respect the woman who can hold her own.
A blur of faces and forgotten names a veil of peace hides love and  Pain   We are all so similar, so why do we hide? don't judge a book by its cover we are all the same inside
Word Jamming. Those were the first two words that popped into my head. Hmph.
At a glance... Years are Engraved on the forehead Eroded by concealer Souls are Peering from the eyes Blocked by avoidance Ignorance is Spoken boastfully To those who will listen
I have always wantedTo write a book,But could I never find the inspiration.I finally found itIn her eyesAnd the way her tears flowed outLike rain(She was the only person I know
If you weren't rogue maybe we could have been If maybe I wasn't human it would have worked We both are who we are though And still we fight for each others hands
What is magic For me words seem to fly off the page Creating a new world to live in Forgetting all your problems if only for a moment The rush of sword fights, lovers, unusual worlds
I shaped a universe today, just a little more than I had the day before. I added rain on another planet, far from the plot, and though the souls on earth will never see the rain, they will feel it.
I am from hoodies, From dry hands and hard work, I am from the debts of Daddy’s addiction, (False hopes, hoping all this was just a nightmare.)
What makes the hair on your arms rise, your palms sweat, the breath catch in your chest like a wild thing caged? Is it the dark? A fleeting memory of a bed ime story,
I smile when I read this line of Shakespeare And I nod to myself And think That never have I been so satisfied With a few words typed on paper.
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