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It’s always there
But you never see it
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We can not dress
How we think.
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Refuse to disown who I am
Or be ashamed of what I am…
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I am not an African.
My race may have the title AFRICAN proceed the American but I do not speak the Nilo- Saharan languages of the land.
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Fatal Wound,
You struck so deep,
You have made,
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I often ask myself why I am the way I am. Why do I always watch people; why am I usually quiet; why do I honestly care? The answers come slowly, but each one only adds more questions.
I asked my parents wh
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I grew from stubbed out cigarettes,
I ran through thunder in my sleep,
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Nothing could tease my ocean tempest's dormant rage more
Than my keep betrayed and
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He puts his hand on
The glass, on the lemonade,
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If there is a God he has sealed my doomed fate,
If there is a Devil he has taken my identity!
by cyrez
18 lines,
on Nov 7 7:38 AM 2007. In insanity, doomed, fate, identity, ignore, hate, devil, darkness, screams, despair
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Lost; t(s)ense.
I walked\walk for years
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I am Laura.
That would be my name.
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This water is scratched
in these hours, in this room so
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I can't find my identity you see. Its sounds strange but let me explain. A big part of it is being a citizen of 2 countries. I was born a c
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They laughed
when I spoke
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So you think you know me by the smile on my face, / The dance in my legs, / The flirt in my eyes, / The promise on my lips. / So you think you know me by the books that I read, / The clothes that I wear, / The mus
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“Who are you?” / The application asks, / “Tell us in 500 words.” / Putting pen to paper, I thought, / How impossible!, and How absurd! / Fo
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Half cut in the glass, the reflection / Is part caught, like shadow, and plays / On the mind. There is a preoccupation in the brain. / And still, the nights turn, patterned in future / The glass shatters, blood b
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I step outside myself / And see each small piece of knoweldge / I've
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I often wonder what I am, / And why it takes so long / To find the real me. / Me, and not through me / Is what I wish you would see. / When I try to write / All I can think is / What I could do better, /
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St. George is also
Moscow's patron saint,
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there was a time when I was younger where I doubted my own reflection
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the weeds sway in the breeze by the rocky dock
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The Discovery, Identity, and Verdict.
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amber rusts on my tongue pinching, violating my throat
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They march slowly with a silence Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
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I am as different as you imagine.
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you're a nose bleed coming a moment too soon strumming
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the scent, grown off lilac plastercine beauty Queens
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bend me watch every last Heritage fall out
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speed up slow down the water is running out the shower
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your face is pressed against the glass
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