violet---stone

I may live with you, but I don't live for you. I may please you, but please don't confuse that to be my only effort. I have my own life to do my own things. This is mine. You may think that some things are right and others are wrong, You can do whatever you want because that would be your choice. Do not impose those choices on me, do not impose your life on me. This is mine. I can not stand the way you manipulate it, Spinning tacky words together to have the final say. In the end, who will end up living this? This is my life, This is mine. Please stop, Don't say anymore! I understand I'm wrong, you're right! Aren't those the words you wan

Fakir looked around his new "room," he was sharing it with the white haired boy named Mytho. He apparently had no heart so just went through actions with no emotion or reaction. "Is it really true that you have no emotions?" Fakir tried to ask as politely as he could. No matter how he thought of how to word it, it always sounded rude and blunt, but he couldn't help that. "Yes." The white haired boy didn't even look to where Fakir was standing. "Thats my bed," he pointed to the bed away from the door, "and you can use that one." he then turned around to point to the bed next to Fakir. "Thanks... And sorry about the whole emotion thing..." F

Fakir walked through the circus slowly, he had been to circus's before, and this one didn't seem much too different from the others. Yet, every time a circus was in town, he found himself there. Cotten candy, ice-cream, funnel cake, things that made kids squeal with glee, he didn't even give those a second look. He didn't know what he was looking for, yet he was still searching for it. Years he had been doing this, from some vague memory he can't even remember. Was it his mother being at the circus with him? No, not that. Seeing someone there? Maybe. Whatever it was made him wander in the cold dark nights walking slowly searching for someth

Is my heart ugly, is that why you won't listen? You write false words to me, tricking my weak ugly heart. You say that your words are not a joke. Yet you continue the same tear jerking pattern. Delicate flesh plucked from my weak heart. My bleeding shows well through my eyes. I shall shut this window to the soul, and shut you out as well. No longer may you deceive, for I shall raise the bridge. I will cut all our connections, and untie our ties. I shall speak no more word to you. My absence shall not be cruel. For you have been the one plucking feathers, From my ugly weak heart.

God help us outcast who always crumble to the ground. We don't utter a sound. People will stop and stare. For to many generations have we suffered enough, we should change the roles, we have suffered enough. God help us outcasts, tormented everyday. We try to hide from life, but we miserably fail. God help us outcasts, that just want to fit in. Who try to be the wall but never blend in. God help the outcast, which is me. God help the outcasts, that are just like me. God let the outcasts sometime win. No matter how much we take within. God help the outcasts, we are not blind. We see the world, we see who we are, even with blurry eye. God he

My heart beats a little faster, My brain thinks a little better, My legs pump twice as hard, I'm finally home. My lungs that couldn't breathe, Now take in large gulps of air, Reminded that air tastes so sweet, I'm finally home. My bones weak, Now let me take long strides, And break into runs while I silently cry, I'm finally home.

Possibility Openness of mind Expression Truth Respect Young

Application Reality Truth