This is me.

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This is me.

This is me. This is my every move. My every thought.
These are my dreams, my beliefs. My very very hopes.

This is me.

This is me speaking, screaming, and I say 'no more'
This is my declaration, freedom, peace. This is my awakening.

This is me.

This is everything I've longed for. Everything I've dreaded.
This is light and this is darkness.
This is me breaking away.
This is desolation and reconstruction.
This is life.
This is forever and never.
This is nowhere and this is here.
This is beautiful and this is painful.

This is me.

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A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

Bettybelle’s Poems (11)

Title Comments
Title Comments
All of these.... 0
Peace to you. 0
This is me. 0
Strange that you would smile 0
Mountains Tremble 0
The Memory of You.... 0
His hair rustles like autumn leaves. 0
Silently cries 0
Sands of time 0
In your quiet place... 1
I burn from hunger... 0