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Sierra Staten Poems
I can look into your eyes and try to find honesty But honesty is something I'm not sure I can define. Honesty is the truth. We hide so many things from one another
I'm apologizing early, Because I already know I will be forever missed But it's my time to go
Unread Lines of My Existence
The ink inside this pen can hold so many words, it's strange, I describe so many things, or can sadly rearrange, And love or tears of sorrow, which will leave this paper stained, But in the end if no one reads, is love what I have gained?
Oh, how your words are spoken - Their frame, their tone - allures. Oh, how your words are open, And how it reassures.
I Hate Her
I hate her I hate her I hate her she's annoying
I Don't Want You
Sitting here, hiding my depression A fake smile will cover me So long there's a Reflection
It is evil to wish upon somebody hurt in order to make yourself happier; And yet I do it nonetheless. I watch you love her from the distance, And my jealousy rises so high I must leave,
The ABC's Of My Life
Absolutely Broken. Corrupt Determination Eliminating Future Goals. Haven't Isolated Just Kindness... Low-lives Manipulate, Neglect, Overpower Plus Question Random Souls
Born In The Bad World
Born into a world of hate, Love forbidden, hidden fate. Born into a world so cold, Tattered, torn-
My house is rotten at the foundation. At any time it can fall, and soon, it will fall. Many braces have been put up, and many people have been evicted from my house. I have become a pariah in this house of mine, the house that was once filled with many loving people;
Together in Loneliness
Do not cry now, my little child, The pain has almost been released. Such a shame, all those times you smiled, And resulting, you'll be deceased.
Strangely sitting, With an awkward smile.. Confused beyond belief Yet I'd walk a mile,
The Fact of Life
The fact of life is, we won't be happy all the time. More than half the time we will be stressed. Sad. Angry.
Some believe me to be shy, however I am not. I am private. I enjoy my privacy and if you invade it there will be punishment.
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
I can look into your eyes and try to find honesty
But honesty is something I'm not sure I can define.
Honesty is the truth.
We hide so many things from one another
In hopes to make ourselves a more likeable being
But in doing that we are creating lies.
Walking lies, that's what we are.
Honesty means nothing anymore,
Those considered the most honest of people hide things unimagined
And create a realm where there is no such thing as honesty
all in an attempt to maintain the title of 'honest'
Nobody is the person they say they are.
Granted some are more ...