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He called me impossible, He said a beauty like me Can't bloom in the December cold. He said I was a rare type of rose, But he picked me before I was grown, From the dirt that surrounded my toes. And I smiled, so eager to go, So desperately wanting to know, What it felt like to be loved. On the surface, Everything had been changed. But I was nervous, 'Cause inside, I was the same. I was desperate to prove that I could love, After all the heartless things I had done. I was desperate to feel good enough, No one ever wanted me before he showed up. But I was using his love To help me be seen, While he scaled the walls I put up;

I found God today He was sitting on a park bench watching as no children play On this bright and cheery day. Asking, “Where are they?” I was having mixed emotions; a conflict of what to say “Can’t you hear the people when they pray? It’s far too dangerous and too easy to stray. This world is crumbling down,” I told Him “Traffickers want to sell them Kidnappers want to steal them Murderers want to slay them Parents… some of them have gone evil Teachers… some of them have gone evil Priests… some of them have gone evil Where’s the escape? Walking down the street a little boy g

"Never judge a book by it's cover" Millions of people say. yet time, and time, and time again, people fail to save. We judge a human like a book. Their scars are the rips in the page. Their face, the cover forever judged, and their heart, the spine unsaved. Humans are as fragile as an old-time book. The pages set to crinkle. The spine is old, cold, and cracked, The heart is the living cable. Life can be like Book work. Hard, but worth the time! It may just send you packing... But its always worth the try.

Growing up in the stranger times, I learned to keep my trap shut. Never swear, curse, or shout, And always be on lookout. Growing up with all the change, my world just kinda crumpled. Still every night, here I lay and try to sleep the pain out. I am the odd one out. The first to change the game. I am the single, different one, who bowed her head in shame. I learned to hide my story, my face, my name,it all! But oh, how the times have changed, and now you bow your head in shame, at all the hatred you've proclaimed. You see, i'm legal now. My love, a public story. I refuse to conform to your "straight standards" Watch me bask in my glory

Let me tell you a story. A tale, if you will. A thing of frightful misery, Maybe a couple a scares. The story of the painter. The one with the twist. Where the paintbrush was a razor, and the canvas, her wrist. Want to know the rest of it? Stick around, i'll tell! The story of the artist, with her own story to tell. Her whole life, rejected. Pushed aside and lost. This went on for ages, until it suddenly stopped. She met her sleeping beauty, the prettiest girl alive! the secret that was hidden, spilled out from inside. They were both just children, Each the other's princess. And in this world of cruelness they founded their own place

Isn't it just deliciously tragic The hidden, secret fears. So amazingly devilish, The unreal future is here. The sudden, painless death, The painful, streaking tears. Sad, uncanny misery, The pain you've hidden here. But wait, oh wait, There's more. A change, if you will. A secret hope, for everyone! A steady, silent cheer! See your fate before you. See the hidden scares. Beware the crazy demons, For they can smell the fear.

Red water rapids fell through the holes in her scalp, Cut back by lacy, black fabric to calm the tides. It fell further, messily cascading down her neck And at the end it broke in mostly random splinters. Thin and wispy, Beautiful tresses of crimson gold.

What's the point of dreaming When the good ones don't come true. And what's the point of waking When it's not what you want to do. What's the point of thinking When it doesn't do any good. What's the point of wanting When you don't get it like you should. What's the point of life When all you see is death What's the point of me When my single life could matter less.