Untitled
Understood like written opinions in the dark.
This fine line of cultural barriers.
Controlled by our mental description of perfect.
Who is perfect?
Who has the right to judge my look, then, assume it goes with my personality.
Basing your opinion of me on my past told to you, but known by me.
You can use faith as the basis for everything.
I'm searching for common ground on sea's,
Hoping god will appear and say" Come to me".
Tattoo's, make me a walking collague of all things I hold dear beyond skin deep.
Piercing, for me, a form of beauty.
Encouraged to be different,
To shake up the norm.
Outcasted when the norm ends up a far cry from it's original form.
Take to negitive's to form a positive.
Confronting those who swear their word is bond, or
the hetro-sexual closet cases who hide their sins and judge the world.
Truth's hidden inside brains.
Mine hell bound, cause my sins hang from sleeve's, like
gay flags at pride parade.
So quick to judge, failing to see..
It's the soul,
that make's you, you, and me, me..
Copyright © Nyisha Hampton | Year Posted 2009
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