Mina’s Friend

Why can’t I go?

If my friend is telling the truth, then there is an enchanted place.

Somewhere, out there.

But,

If she’s lying,

Then my heart is broken,

And my soul is stolen,

And I will live forever insane.

_
(Pulled from one of my writing journals during  my teen years. As is the photo, which can be found on my DeviantArt, The purple girl.)

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Thoughts for Food

When did crude become eloquent,
Crass become unique
And vulgarity become beauty?
What is a name?
When borders blur like smudges on chalk boards,
He is her,
She is him,
We are you,
And you are not blameless,
When judged by more than that which we define ourselves as.

But,
Whats in a name?
When defined, we defy
What lies next to our thesauruses?
It’s changed so frequently,
Typos in societies context,
Sue becomes Mary,
Mary becomes Glenda,
And Glenda becomes famous.

When the name has been used up
And tossed away,
Does it remain true to oneself.
If you are your own definition
No matter what they say you are,
Are you still defined?
Or merely rolling down the pages
Until Glenda arrives?

Then, who are you to define yourself?
Others are greater than the mere you.
When does majority not rule?

A food’s thought ends at a luncheon ajourned.
Am I still me?
And will your proclamations ever prove otherwise?