Snowflake

DoubleU = W

you are the snowflake

among all snowflakes

there is none like you

you are truly unique

singularly special

all should marvel

at the wonder of you

bow at the monuments

you have erected

to your individuality

all other snowflakes

should censor every word

carefully tread with

each and every step

all for fear of offending

your unequaled sensibilities

their speech isn’t free

it must be regulated,

restrained, reprimanded,

restricted, met with reprisal

for you are the snowflake

and you must be protected

from those who would dare

to live as though you are

not their chief concern

for all they do may

be a means with which

to bring shame to you

for you are the snowflake

and you mustn’t be disturbed

even from afar

as the issue being discussed

must certainly be about you

for you are the snowflake

and we must all be mindful

of the circular logic

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Sky and sea

insight07's blog

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I stand here at the shore
Just looking, as always
I stood still for hours, it seems
But the water kept on moving
Rising in waves, huge and small
Racing to reach the shore
Bathing the sand, engulfing it
Then receeding back in itself
Again it arose in waves
The cycle, kept on going
In the lull of the whispering water
I lost sense of time
My feet, like the golden sand
Bathed in the water pure
As my eyes look
At the sky, the sea, and the sky again
Until I can’t tell them apart
The horizon has faded, lost
In the brilliant shades
Of blue, green, purple, blue
The ripples of water sparkling
In the light of the day
It is the stars twinkling
From beneath the blue
Soon my vision is greeted
With the big ball of fire
As it dips lower, lower still
Into the endless…

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Ghosts of Rain

I really love this!

Vacancy in Mind

There are storms inside people we will never see,
People with faces the color of rain and insipid dew.
We all find sorrow in ourselves.
Never quite sure if it’s the air that’s killing us,
Or the love we surround ourselves with.

One day we will find ourselves wondering
Why the air tastes like salt just before daylight
Or why the ocean has a voice.
We’ll see faces of strangers in constellations,
And not know why they look so familiar

It’s because we have been here before,
And these are lives we’re forced to live
Over and over again,
Until being alive becomes waves of verbatim

That’s why we fall for people who taste like poison
We call it love: to find someone more damaged than we are,
To steal the scars from skin and wear them as our own
Because the pain makes us feel like we’re living.

In the…

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12 Things I miss…

WanderingViolet

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❄Waking up whenever I wanted to and then running outside to play with my buddies.
❄Not caring what I looked like.
❄Eating whatever I felt like without caring if I would get a pimple on my forehead.
❄When there wasn’t anything called a rumor.
❄Getting dirt all over me and then running home to take a long shower.
❄When swearing was a taboo.
❄When the only confusion I had was whether to color the flowers in my painting red or blue.
❄When I didn’t require YouTube for entertainment.
❄When the only reason I cried was because I had fallen down the last step.
❄When crossing the road without holding onto my mumma’s hand was THE nightmare.
❄When the only music I heard was on Disney.
❄When I didn’t have to write such stuff down because I lived it everyday.

Toodles!
~A♥~

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Messed up.

WanderingViolet

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I am a mess. An irrevocable one. Irreparable. I am a mess because of the non-choices choices I have made. The decisions I have taken. The final answers I have given. I am this way because I am deemed to be.I am so because I have caused to be so.I am a mess. A broken one. I am not the broken beautiful from the fiction I so love to read. I am an ugly heap of the person I used to be. In the past. My past. I was beautiful then.A mess,regardless. But a beautiful one. The fictional kind. The fairytale kind. The storybook life I seemed to have back then is stuff of nightmares now. Choking me. Choking the life out of me. The stuffy feeling does not go away. Why doesn’t it go away?!People were jealous back then. They pity me now.I am pitiful.I should be burned in…

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Scars

Portrait of Dust

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Her fingers are like compasses that knew, without even looking, where to trace displeasing marks left four years ago. One by one, slowly, they touched the fragile dotted flesh on her elbow, down to her left foot, the three coin-like keloids at her back torso and that one patch of still aching flesh on her back head. As fingers trace them, her mind races back to that very day: a Chinese man holding a rose close up to his nose, a book she just bought and the white truck. Her reconciliation knew perfectly that it was a white truck, but everyone proves her otherwise. Those things flashed frantically in her mind, making collisions of unwanted images as her body flew and concur barbarically against the hard, heated asphalt like a pile of papers scatters everywhere by the howling November wind. Before she figured it all out; before she felt pain…

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