freedom of speech
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The only creature who truly knows freedom: high-flying bird Give me freedom or Give me DEATH! I'll settle for rights. A 16 year old with car keys in hand
Whispers sit wistfully in the shadow, The silence as sublime as the outflow, Of darkness and danger from not long ago, Every voice vocalizes with no audio,
I meant no disrespect I never did, but I am not to be held accountable for what you think I meant. If I say we are allowing ourselves to be victimized it is not as bad as you think,
What a glorious place is this, that the freedoms of speech and religion prevail. What a devasted place is this, that th stifling of free press exists. What a magnificent place is this,
America is a land of limitless alternatives. But plurality of lies is not progress. Congress won't dig for the answers in the ground. Doubtless or dubitable,
Nobody sees me. No/Body/Sees/Me. Hence no one can seize me. I walk in the crowd. I walk fast, past, the crowd. Nobody sees me. No/Body/Sees/Me If Nobody sees me, why-
Handwritten They ask me my opinion I raise my hand but regret my decision I sit there and replay the question but instead I pick up my pencil and write my recollection
Someone should let a snake through eternal life. It would hiss at a god, right under his knife, whereas we (gratefully) would entreat to the steel - no complaint or restraint;
Why do they make it so difficult, for me to say what I want, and what I believe in. There is this social etiquette, but I'm not getting it, Never really fit in.
Sometimes I wonder Why is the sky so blue? It all just fades to grey When the storm becomes new And if emotions run deep Would they scar visibly? It must not be,
I entered many poetry competitionsStill never won a medal or suchThey all commented back to meAnd tell me I lost since I rhyme too much Many competitions still are pretty discriminateNot by race but definitely on how I writeBut I'm not giving up o
What I am allowed to say, what society says is okay,I care not for it, but I write it anyways, because that’s one of the things they say is alright to write.
Can you imagine a world where Galileo says to the church, "Yes, you're right the sun does revolve around the Earth" and Rosa Parks does not fight when told to sit in the back of the bus?
So, tell me, When you speak, does the world hear you? What do your words say? About your character? What do those words tell? Because what I see,
Tick Tock The robots The screens The rotting forgotten dreams They're back in the house the grey building of academia and hysteria
I made an idea, a synapse in my head. It was concieved the moment I rose from my bed. Locked up inside, a prisoner of my brain. That thought gave me nothing but pain As it was meant to be free, like a canary
New Year, new me. Story of their lives each year. Everyone is allowing the New Year to get to their head. They are becoming things that resemble them least. Story tellers, Writers, Actresses and much more.
A walk down the hall, all I feel is change. Out of all the years, this one won't be the same. New principal, more freshmen, a new set of rules. My teachers wonder why it's like I'm never in school.
do you hear that? the music streaming from somewhere far in the distance wait no not far but near too near inside inside your head close your eyes you hear it
You ask me why I write. My response is because I can. They've taken the rest of my rights, because under age I am! Freedom of speech, yeah sure okay. How can they call it free?
The idea of poetry is to express your feelings in a way no one else may understand when writing a song although it's not advertised you have to stick to certain rules if not, they reprimand
Many people call it freedom of speech. I prefer the term freedom of preach. The gospel comes from within and allows your motivation to drive others.
America. Land of the free. A land where you can get married based on the gender you were born with, but not based on who you fall in love with. America. Land of the free.