We are Who we are!

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Always felt different
Always looked different
From everybody else
Others stare
Others gossip
tall, short
thin, thick
ugly, pretty
everyone is beautiful
I believe
the lord made us this way
for a reason
be ourselves
some may like different things
others like unique things
but…..
We are Who we are!
No one changes that!

Little Fires

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I walk the empty streets of a mind that was once my own, everything there seemingly reflections of myself. 
Seeing reflections of my past lives that weren’t really mine.  I never lived them and they don’t know me. 
Rain falling steady.  Am I dancing?  Or am I just wet…?

I want to read a dictionary, so I can remember my words. 
I can buy an expensive word, and I can forge and mold it into a rubber stamp. 
I can stamp that word all over town, I can use my blood as ink and we’ll paint the town red. 
What heavy burden waits around the next turn?

Take this back, take me back, take that back.  I’ve been given something. 
I got it as a gift, I lost the receipt, can I exchange it for complacency?

Am I becoming what I hate most, or have I just gotten better at hating myself?

Little fires little fires, glowing embers in my brain.
Pecans, dates, and spider bites.  Spider bits.  Perhaps a little bit of something I once was…
Little bits little bites little fires in my brain
Little glowing memories that won’t burn away.

My insanity does tend to keep me company most nights.  The opened doors beg to be closed, the holes beg to be filled.  Everything has a purpose, every item a use.  Fires are meant to burn themselves out. 

Grim ash is all I want to see.  Bathed in gray, veiled in neutrality. 
I can’t even get near that gray peace, the intense heat holds me at arms length.  I must wait.  Have to wait

Wait for my little fires
Wait for our glowing past
Wait for my burning mind
To just burn itself away.

A Sneeze and Why

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I sit and sneeze and one on-looking
blesses me, though strangers we.
I stand and moan and one my neighbor
looks askance, there is no dance.
I run and cry and one close by
stresses hard, to hide my labor.
Won’t you come and taste my cooking?
Better that, less dangers be
Hid in fry pans than in whispers,
Lost in manners. But in confidence alone
shall we bring the children home.