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Literature Text
People come and go, as sad as that is to believe––
one day you have them near you, the next they may decide to leave.
People are not who you think they are, or what them seem to be––
they omit parts of themselves to you, and show you what they want you to see.
People say a lot of things, but rarely have actions to match––
as time goes on, you carry on, unwillingly becoming attached.
People use you like a pawn, they take you by surprise––
they make you feel like it is all about you, when it is nothing at all; but lies.
People care about themselves, more then they do for you––
some even drag you along for the ride, once they are done, dusted and through.
People tend to pretend, that everything is okay––
when really deep inside, they have a thousand things to say.
People hide beneath their strengths, and cover up their flaws––
scared to be themselves, to get hurt, or to be a bore.
People are stronger then they think they are, yet rarely use their strength––
they tend to judge other's lives, not by experiences, but by length.
People take what they want, and leave the rest behind––
the rest could be you, out on a limb, cold, shivering and blind.
People care more about their looks, then what they think and feel––
some even throw it all a way, for what they believe is a better deal.
People are easily manipulated, controlled and rendered fearful––
afraid of life, of love, of others, brainwashed by media's earful.
People are good deep inside, kind, beautiful and true––
sadly as more time goes on, you realise the genuine ones to be few.
People have so much potential, we have so much to love and give––
if only we stopped being so selfish and materialistic... and really, truly live.
© Rocio Belinda Mendez 2013
Literature
Does that make me Different?
I wear make up. Does that make me fake?
I cry. Does that make me emo?
I have male friends. Does that make me slutty?
I smile a lot. Does that make me weird?
I laugh loud. Does that make me preppy?
I have anxiety. Does that make me a freak?
I have Bipolar Disorder. Does that make me abnormal?
I respect people. I change for me, and only me. I have a past, but I know I have a future.
Does that make me different?
Maybe.
But at least it makes me
Me.
Literature
The Woman in the Red Dress
Walking down the street was the woman in the red dress.
Everyone seemed to stop for the woman in the red dress.
Tear stains were ignored on the woman in the red dress.
Men began to talk to the woman in the red dress.
“How are you?” “What’s up?” ”Beautiful red dress.”
They didn’t see the feelings of the woman in the red dress.
What a day had befallen the woman in the red dress.
But all they had seen was the woman in the red dress.
“Why won’t you talk?” “Listen to me!” “Slutty red dress.”
The words turned harsher to the women in the red dress.
If they
Literature
To some people.
To some people, it’s called breathing.
To me, it’s called inhaling poison,
Which drenches my lungs and sinks into my bones
And melts into my mind.
To some people, it’s called anxiety.
To me, it’s called an unbearable shakiness in my soul
The nervousness preventing my from ever escaping
This disease in my heart.
To some people, it’s called living.
To me, it’s called never being able to run away.
Never being able to truly go, truly leave.
To me, it’s called being caught in a nightmare,
While struggling to dream.
Chasing a mystery with no solution.
Escaping your own sanity to reach more sanity,
Freei
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© 2013 - 2024 rociobelindamendez
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Completely agree, thank you for sharing lady