They Told UsThey Told Us:They told us we weren't artists,They said that we're just puttin' words on paper...They told us we wouldn't make it,Because language isn't unique...Ta hell with them all I say,Because I know tha truth they seek ta hide.Writers, poets,We're treated like third-rate artists.Our hands can't create magical pictures,We can't create comics ta make people laugh,Or emotive portraits ta make em cry...But what they don't see is tha title,What they don't see is tha description,They don't even see tha comments or replies!They look only at themselves,And at tha talent they seem ta proclaim.It's like starin' at an old english aristocrat,Ignorin' us simply because we're farmers.But what they don't see are the words.Words used ta give a picture context.Withou' a title, a picture is just a mix of colours and lines.Who could understand an image, withou' a title?If art alone suffices, why not let every piece be nameless?I'll tell ya the truth, separated from the
StereotypeDon't shove a name on me Your stereotype can crash and burn.You cannot keep me down;I will always rise and return.Your labels mean nothing to me Utter nonsense through and through.Every person is unique;I am me and you are you.Skinny, smarty, four-eyed freak...Chubby, lazy, forgetful, meek...Afraid, coward, forgetful fool...Follower, do-gooder, mindless tool.All these names are meaningless I am me and you are you.But when names cease to beHow can you tell who is who?Labels define us and create us Remind us of who we are.Every person is unique,But stereotypes can go too far.
The Simple DelightsThe Simple Delights:The world is a place of simple pleasuresof the simple delights that we fail to seeLike a rose whose thorns will prick unwarywe focus on the negatives that beBut if we chose to hold the roseGentle and with graceIts thorns would simply press our skinNot pain or poison lacedIf we could learn the simple lessonsof looking at all the good things in lifeThen food would be the only objectto meet the edge of my knifeI see so many different waysto enjoy the life that I have todayI could go to the store and buy a snackA treat for me I sayPerhaps I'll choose to walk the distanceor maybe I'll take the bus this mornBut none can take the simple pleasureof the rising sun at dawnThe simple things are what I wish to shareFor like my heart, they are always trueand if you were here, sitting beside methen I'd share this sunrise with you-Chen Yuan Wen, 8th August 2012, Unofficial Release
BlindWhen I close my green eyesIf I focus I can seePeople and places from my pastEtched in my memoryIf a blind man closes his eyesWhat can he possibly seeWithout any visual imagesStored in his memoryHow do I describe colourTo man who is born blindThe same way I describe my loveWithin these heart felt rhymesWhen I close my green eyesI use my mind to conjure upDreams of the future, based onPages already written in my bookIf a blind woman closes her eyesWhat future can she seeUnable to visualiseHer fate and her destinyHow do I describe colourTo woman who is born blindThe same way I describe my loveWithin these heart felt rhymes
I am.I am.I am the person who lives.I am the person who loves.I am the girl who cries to sleep at night, wishing I could be prettier.I am the boy who is trying to live up to everyone else's expectations other than my own.I am the invisible who linger in the hallways.I am the person who bullies to feel better.I am the parent who gave up after my child went to jail.I am the daughter who works at fifteen because my parents can't.I am the person who is bullied for being different.I am the person who lives because I don't know what happens after death.I am the woman who is hit on every day because of my looks, making them more of a curse thena blessing.I am the man who took steroids to be stronger and now am discarded by society.I am the child who was forgotten.I am the broken.I am the hero.I am the villain.I am the takers.I am the givers.I am the deserving.I am the bullied.I am the pressured.I am the suffering.I am the surviving.I am the wishers.I am the dreamers.I am
Hey Now, PrincessHey now, PrincessWhy do you always worry?Rest on my shoulderYou don't need to hurryHey now, BabyNo need to cryYou want the truthNot a lieHey now, SweetheartI know how it hurtsThey want you to changeBut you don't gotta convertHey now, HoneyYour bruises are showingBut when the going gets toughThe tough get goingHey now, PrincessI'm cut up tooI've been here all this timeFighting just for you.
3: Beauty and the Beast"You look like a princess, dear," Fiona stepped back so that Beth had a better view of herself in the full length mirror.Beth's heart skipped when she looked over her reflection, barely recognizing the young lady who stared back. The gown she wore, though not cut in the latest fashion, was a rich emerald green that complimented her fair skin and rich brown curls. The skirt was full, the silk flaring slightly at the hips and reaching to the floor where the hem was stitched in an ornate pattern of golden ivy. The stitching continued up the skirt to the bodice, wrapping around it in a way that complimented her narrow waist.The bodice was cut lower than the style that Beth was used to and was trimmed in black lace, and Beth couldn't help but feel self conscious about the amount of cleavage that it revealed. Yet Fiona assured her that it was not at all inappropriate, that it barely revealed anything at all, which relieved Beth somewhat.Fiona had also managed to style Beth's unruly tresse