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I Am From...I am from bobby pins,
I am from bright green grass and the small woods,
The big the big oak tree
I am from long straight highway,
And the park
With children and their families.
I am from Papa Gill,
Who I'll never let march,
My Uncle Michael
Always there for me
I am from "No I didn't!"
"March, a march, a march..."
and "Kepp me in your pocket."
I am from pumpkin bread puddign,
black magic cupcakes,
From Allie Olie
I am from the ocean
From an airplane,
My Nana's bed.
I am what my family has lifted me to.
And they will kep lifting me higher.
An ActorWhen people hear my name,
What do they see?
They see the other side of me.
This is my mask, my sheild, my act.
This is what I want people to see.
There there is my core, my true self
There you can see me, my chains, my fears;
My unfufilled dreams and abandoned hopes.
I stopped seeing the sun
and feeling the comforting breeae here long ago.
That is where I am.
That is the place I go
When I need to go away,
Then and then another side comes out to play.
A face tht may be bold ad vital,
Or quiet and ignore.
I feel like an actor,
Changing my face to what others wee fit,
And never being myself.
What's the point in living, it it isn't your own life?
And the point in breathing, if it is not your own breath?
I am an actor,
What rold do I play next?
Prelude: The SacrificeA dark castle, a dark throne, and a vicious war faring just outside the sturdy, protective doors. In the midst of it all a king paces in the hall, listening to the screams of pain from just beyond the locked door. Behind the door is a woman, a beautiful woman with rippling golden hair, Bella, the queen of Giarcna, lying helpless on her bed as a midwife quietly works on preparations for her babe, the heir of great Giarcna's throne. If this birth is failed Giarcna is damned. For this is the Queen's fourth babe, all however, were dead when removed from her womb. As the wise midwife clucks and titters to herself a great pain shoots through the queen, followed by roaring amounts of blood, saddening the sheets. The midwife dashes to her queens side and in one last gentle pull, a miracle, a babe, an heir to the throne lays crying on the sheets. "A girl." The midwife says, wrapping the baby in a golden bla
26. Tears(first POV, Kanon Sakine)
It had been a week since Shiri took me to live with him. My world is a shadow of what it was before I came here. The first four days I spent drunk, or with a hangover, praying that Dell would come and rescue me. But he didn't, or couldn't, it didn't matter because I was here, and he wasn't. Maybe he didn't care- no I can't think that...of course he cared, he loved me. Didn't he? I quickly shook the doubt from my mind with a hot shot of coffee.
A knock on my door brought me out of my abyss of thoughts.
"Ms. Sakine? Master Shiri wishes to see you in his study."
Shiri wanted me? Why? We hadn't exchanged a word, or even a glance for the matter, since he brought me here to his estate. What on Earth could he want now? "I'll be there in a moment." I quickly brushed my hair a put it up in a quick bun, then walked down the hallway to where Shiri's study was. I meekly knocked.
"Shiri? You called for me?"
"Yes, come in, Kanon." he replied form the other side of the door.
28. Sorrow1st POV of Camellia Uzumaki
The day that Masumi told meabout Daitaro my world changed. However, as much as i plead with my father to let me go see him he wouldn't allow me to leave. I thought my world would end when I learned that as a way to make sure that I would stay in the village my wedding date had been closer, I fell into despair. That night, it all changed. As I was preparing for bed a figure tapped at my window. "Camellia, open up!" I knew it was Tsubaki. "We're going to see Daitaro."
"I-I-I can't" I plead, "Father won't allow me to leave!" None-the-less, Tsubaki took me.
When we arrived at the Shadow Village, I began to panic. Father was sure to freak out once he discovered my disappearance. Even with this thought running through my mind, I carried on to Masumi and Daitaro's house. Masumi answered the door with red eyes and tear streaked cheeks. When she saw me she pulled me deep into a hug, sobbing. "You
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
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