“...With every small disaster

I’ll let the water still

Take me away to some place real

’Cause they say home is where your heart is set in stone

Is where you go when you’re alone

Is where you go to rest your bones

It’s not just where you lay your head

It’s not just where you make your bed

Home is we’re together, does it matter where we go?”

@YoungWriter

Roses are Red

My blush is too

I hope you loved me

The way I loved you

Violets are blue

My heart was too

But I know that has changed

When I first met you

Sugar is sweet

And my heart will still beat

Even if I'm old

And we can barely speak

So roses are red

Violets are blue

Are the flowers I picked as we said

"I do"

Weston was a mystery. He would float down the halls with a face that makes you want to hide. He was tall, giant height compared to me for I have to look up a bit just to look at him in the eyes. He gives out cold stares with his dark brown eyes to everyone who try to talk to him, not wanting to be bothered by other people's problems for he gave out the persona that screamed "I don't care", making all the girls drool over him even more.

Weston's hair was a brown color, probably a caramel or tawny shade. His hair would then sweep to the left in a devilish way, not caring how it looked while still looking as if he took his time to get ready this morning. His clothing style, on the other hand, was something different. He wore what seemed like a black and gray Bouclé coat, making him look sophisticated along with mint green dress shirt, a blue and white plaid tie, a mahogany red vest that laid smoothly on top of his dress shirt and tie, slim dark blue jeans that happen to be folded on the ends, showing off his black plain socks and tortilla brown Chukka shoes. To every girl, he was perfect. To every guy, he was a threat. But to me... he was just a guy who hides a story everyone wants to find out.

Everyone but me.

"Hi, where are you from?"

"Excuse me?"

"I meant, where do your people come from"

"Hello, I wanted to ask you about your accent."

"Oh, yeah, I got it from my mom"

"Really? Where is she from?"

"Brasil"

"Oh... aren't you a little too... too white to be Brasilian?"

"Hey, why don't you go back to where you came from."

"E-Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry, do. You. Not. Speak. English?"

"No, I do speak English but, you see, I was actually born–"

"I don't care where you were born, you don't belong here."

~

Everyday more than one person is viewed by the way the look or the way the speak. Just because my eyes seem a bit more squinted than yours does not mean I am Asian. Just because someone completion is darker than yours does not mean they are not humans who happens to have feeling and emotions like everyone else in this world. Growing up, I had to put heavy armor over my heart because people talk bad to mama not because she was doing anything or saying anything wrong but, it was because she talked funny. Don't people realize what they say to one person not only effects them but may also effect the child that's hiding behind her parents because the way you talk to her mother makes her want to scream "get away from us" but her voice was as if she was yelling in an empty room and, if no one is listening, does she make a sound?

I was only a teenage girl still trying to get through puberty and my awkward acne stages while trying not to look like an old pile of potatoes when I saw a man at a table across from us glaring at my mother and I before whispering to his wife rude things about us. As if we needed their approval for a loving wife of twenty two years who happens to have three loving children to live in this country. I was told this country was 'Blest with vict'ry and and peace' because it was 'land of the free and home of the brave' but how can a young girl with social anxiety feel that way when she felt as if that home was filled with predators who call her names as the drag her out of the house by her ankles because she did not belong there. Everyday she would look at herself in the mirror and ask herself "where do I belong?!"

I am tired of feeling worthless, a waist of space, or feeling like one day, a man is going to put a gun to my head and will not hesitate to pull the trigger because, although I am still human, I didn't belong here. I had no right to call this place my home because of my genetics or the way I speak and I'm sorry I disturbed you with the way I look because, although my father was from here, that wasn't good enough. You had to get up from your seat and tell me words as if they were shapes of missiles and I don't know if my guarded heart can take much–

*Bang*

"I'm sorry but, your daughter was shot by a man who said she didn't belong here."

(A/n: yeah, it's not the best but... I tried)

The sea of strangers scare her at times,

Their judging eyes roam all over her her hence she was shaped as a lime.

A dark corner calls her with comfort

And headphones reassure her with words she lusts for.

There he stood, tall as a tower.

Her heart began to race for she was empowered.

His voice was as smooth as velvet and his determination was bleak

But his eyes spoke differently when concentrated on she.

She stood her ground, facing the man who risen from the dead.

He wouldn't hurt me, for that he will dread.

Word by word was as a jab to the stomach,

Peroxide to a fresh wound, maybe a piercing to the ear.

She felt her knees buckle as she fell to his feet.

The man she once called friend, was it all pretend?

She gave in to the corner, for she was afraid,

Now that is the end for sweet little Monae.

(A/N: I suck at poetry and this is the first time I'm doing this. I mainly write books only so please forgive my awful rhyming and stuff)