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Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #1233820
A small poem I wrote about life in my spare time.
Life
It can almost never be defined
But trust me it barely has a purpose
What is it really but a dream for the dead
And one big beauty contest
With the way your always looking down to your scraped up shoes
Do you really want to know what your missing
Truly its nothing much but critisizm and judgement
Fighting for the wrong reasons and making others feel so small
Under someone elses power because you know theyve got it
We're just the kids who never made it at all
And you better keep your toungue to yourself
Because you are nothing compared to everyone else around you
Do you truly think you can make it
No,they have more things than you could ever dream
So the bother to be perfect and the bother to be beautiful
Never really does pay off in the long run
But you, and us, the ones without a longing
As our lives, they keep on spinning
And our lies, they keep on swimming
Do we realise that we are beautiful without the rage
Do we realise that those who are someone that theyve heard of somewhere
And could never really ammount to
Are the ones who're oh so shallow, oh so cruel
Because they think theyre all that and get their kicks
By making others feel smaller than them
So our life is so very short
And while we can we should live it through
Because if we spend it acting like another person
How can you call it your own life
Maybe we, the tired, the worn, the used, the torn, the shadowed, the shunned,the abused
Maybe we can find the true meaning of life
Life
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