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Myself

I’m opinionated
Even when I’m not right
I believe I am
I’m dark
I’m not fond of glee
I hide in shadows
I’m hypocritical
I scold, reprimand
Then turn around and ignore my own words
I have enemies
Who’d love to stab me
Love to shake a finger in my face
I have friends
Who love me for who I am
Not who they want me to be
I’m a writer
Gossamer words spilling from my pen
I’m a singer
Delicate notes shattering like glass
I’m a daughter, sister, friend
A shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold
I’m a teenager
An awkward hybrid of child and adult
But mostly
I am myself
The only me that will ever exist





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jessica8861409@yahoo.com said...
May 17, 2009 at 5:35 pm
I love this poem! It describes you so well, but it's so sad. You are a really good writer, I wish that I could write like you can. :)
 
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