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Literature Text
Who are you?
Who are you, really?
Are you the boy with the head of fair hair,
Who may not be the tallest,
But he's a good height
With a good enough nature
And he plays football and
He's strong and the girls
Absolutely love him.
When he's not shooting back steroids
And heroin behind the bleachers
Of course.
Who are you, really?
Ae you the girl with the big hair
Back combed and dyed black so it looks like
A permanent black cloud above her head.
It's rather fitting, really
Because everyone's seen her arms
With the cuts and the scars and
She never talks or smiles
And everyone knows she's depressed.
So of course they don't listen when she tells them
That smoking and drinking
Until you can't stand up straight
Is wrong.
Who are you, really?
Are you the boy with the dark
Smoldering eyes
Rimmed with dark eyeliner and
Half covered with hair that everyone says
Is too long and should be cut.
He stands in the corner because
He's attractive enough to sit with the popular
Good and
Normal kids
But he doesn't want to because
He doesn't like them and they don't
Like who he is either.
So they ignore him even though
Had he changed
He would've been one of their group
A best friend
A boyfriend.
Oh, and they beat him up
Too.
Who are you, really?
Are you the girl with the bleached blonde hair
And the tanned skin
And the pretty appearance that
Constantly laughs about how ugly
And fat
And socially awkward she is
As her army of friends laugh
And agree around her
While sipping their low fat
Lattes.
Not to forget her endless list
Of boys just bordering on men
That she could have her choice of
Any day
Every day
As her one
True
Love.
They won't care that they're just one
Of a hundred others waiting in line
Because she's pretty
She's popular
And she doesn't let them see
Her slowly killing herself
With purges and cheap cigarettes.
Now listen to me
Me, a lonely old writer
Narrator of all my mind's nonsense
As I tell you
Truthfully
Honestly
Sincerely
That you will believe this piece
This poem
And you will like it
And relate to it.
Because stereotypes are
Just
That
Wonderful.
So with that in mind,
Who are you, really?
Who are you, really?
Are you the boy with the head of fair hair,
Who may not be the tallest,
But he's a good height
With a good enough nature
And he plays football and
He's strong and the girls
Absolutely love him.
When he's not shooting back steroids
And heroin behind the bleachers
Of course.
Who are you, really?
Ae you the girl with the big hair
Back combed and dyed black so it looks like
A permanent black cloud above her head.
It's rather fitting, really
Because everyone's seen her arms
With the cuts and the scars and
She never talks or smiles
And everyone knows she's depressed.
So of course they don't listen when she tells them
That smoking and drinking
Until you can't stand up straight
Is wrong.
Who are you, really?
Are you the boy with the dark
Smoldering eyes
Rimmed with dark eyeliner and
Half covered with hair that everyone says
Is too long and should be cut.
He stands in the corner because
He's attractive enough to sit with the popular
Good and
Normal kids
But he doesn't want to because
He doesn't like them and they don't
Like who he is either.
So they ignore him even though
Had he changed
He would've been one of their group
A best friend
A boyfriend.
Oh, and they beat him up
Too.
Who are you, really?
Are you the girl with the bleached blonde hair
And the tanned skin
And the pretty appearance that
Constantly laughs about how ugly
And fat
And socially awkward she is
As her army of friends laugh
And agree around her
While sipping their low fat
Lattes.
Not to forget her endless list
Of boys just bordering on men
That she could have her choice of
Any day
Every day
As her one
True
Love.
They won't care that they're just one
Of a hundred others waiting in line
Because she's pretty
She's popular
And she doesn't let them see
Her slowly killing herself
With purges and cheap cigarettes.
Now listen to me
Me, a lonely old writer
Narrator of all my mind's nonsense
As I tell you
Truthfully
Honestly
Sincerely
That you will believe this piece
This poem
And you will like it
And relate to it.
Because stereotypes are
Just
That
Wonderful.
So with that in mind,
Who are you, really?
Literature
Tight jeans and Theatrical boys
I pull up in his dad's driveway
and the boy sitting on the stoop looks like
Saint Exupery's treasured little prince.
When he climbs inside my used Sentra,
I tell him about this quirky realization.
"You're both so cute and opinionated."
He grins and replies that it's his favorite book
to read when life is particularly rough.
Cappuccino sips and playful shoves
convert the evening into something
brilliantly unstable and devastatingly 'teenager'.
I want to kiss him violently, so we can stop this
annoying game of cat and mouse.
But instead, we discuss music
and other topics that make me feel childish.
He asks where I would go if I could
telep
Literature
Pansexuality
"Pansexuals are bisexuals
who are just fancy snobs
in need for a 'cooler' word
to fancily name their flaws"
I've heard this said so many times
and yet believe it be untrue
it's scared people telling lies
people scared of something new
First of all I'd like to say
sexuality isn't wrong
there is no need to point it out
and call it a flaw
It's a normal part of us
how nature let's us come
there's homosexuality in all living species
and homophobia in one
Now for there difference
of pansexual and bi
Bisexuals usually have tendencies
Pans give everyone a try
We don't care
if you're from here or there
don't mind the colour of your hair
or the ki
Literature
Right Hand, Left Hand
I wish
being a lesbian were like
being left-handed.
Whenever someone notices
you writing a cheque
or doodling
or opening a door
And they exclaim:
"You're left-handed?"
I wish it were as simple as that.
When it's funny
and I laugh, panicking.
Such stuff punchlines are made on,
that such a casual,
integral,
part of myself
has the spotlight shone on it,
And revealed (they think)
their own ignorance,
(How wonderful it is to enlighten someone
by being.)
And yet I never hear the questions
that logically spring to mind:
"Won't you have trouble with the gearshift
on a car?"
"How do you use scissors?"
"Can you even write
wi
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Stereotypes.
Aren't they a wonderful thing?
Aren't they a wonderful thing?
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Comments10
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This is very good! I agree with TerminallyAbashed