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Drip downDrip Drip Drip Like a waterfall
Liquid of sadder and pain
Sparkling as it adds a color to my frame
Can't erase it, but at time
The paint will vanish, but stay a scar
Year by year passing through
More scars added to the few
A world with ears that hear no cry
can't hear drops that are dripping by
nor can see the scars in the frame
Now the scars are burning in
Can no longer count the pain
Out of control it's like a rain
Liquid keeps on flowing
Like a river with no end
Too many corners in a room
The air filled with salt
The rain keeps on dripping down
But the world just hears the thunderbolt
my scars are just a picture
They seeks nothing, but themselves
Assisting is just a word
Hope is just a dream
Pain is reality
The reality is what I live
Poor TreesWhenever I see a newspaper, I think of the poor trees. As trees provide beauty, shade and shelter. But as paper all they provide is rubbish
Teenage TaoismGiving birth is the closest I’d ever felt to dying.
Before that, my near death experiences had consisted only of my silent announcement of pregnancy—silent, being that my social media accounts were all deleted almost simultaneously and I never returned to school in the fall, saying without really saying that I had caught the malicious disease of “teenage pregnancy”. I’m sure the whisper spread in the hallways like the Bubonic Plague. That September, sitting at home on what would have been the first day of my senior year, I imagined friends I’d never talk to again saying “she was only seventeen, and so full of life!” at my absence in the cafeteria tables, as if they were attending my funeral instead of talking about me behind my back.
"Full of life," I had snorted then, folding a never ending stream of what had once been my own baby clothes. "Literally."
I walked around like a zombie for the months of my pregnancy, deciding t
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