The feeling of flying,
With the wind in your face,
Flowing through your hair.
The sea spraying your body like warm rain.
Always falling.
The colors of the world opening to your eyes,

Set your walls.
Put up your guard.
Never be seen.
Never be heard...

Set up your fences.
Hide away from reality.
Be ready to flee
When the times come hard...

Set up your restrictions.

I don't need an inspiration to write.
I write purely on whatever is in my head at the time,
And I find that's where all my best writing is.
Anyways,
Where is your best?
In your room?

This world has had a million...
A million lives,
A million hopes,
A million dreams,
A million pains,
A million hurts,
A million hearts,
A million loves...
But the best million,

First glance,
I'm white,
Just one of a billion,
Plus some.

Watching from a distance,
I'm yellow.
Content as I am,
But happy too.

As an acquaintance,
I might be green.

Words are thoughts from the heart
Made for no paticular reason
Other than being heard.

Have you ever done this?
It's possible,
But I doubt it.
We all see things different.
It's impossible to go through the same things I have,
You'd have to replicate my life.

You start at a desk,
((In school most likely))
And are handed a piece of paper.
((WOW! college rulled!))
Here's where it begins...
You get an idea,
Hate it.
You get another,

Now,
Just insert your words,
and make this poem real.
((Insert Poem HERE))

This is not a poem.
Poems have to rhyme.
Just because the line are short,
and the script is tight,
Does not make this
A poem.

Lazy.
That's what they have said.
I'm not really.
I'd just rather type this poem
Than do all the things that
Would make me seem
Lazy.

Never really knew me,
I was always someone else.
I tried to be someone,
But I never was me,
Can't they see?
By seeing me as someone I wasn't,
That is how I became,
A stranger to you,