we call it picutre perfect"Where are his shoes?" I can't help but think,His little feet covered in knee high blue socks.Everyone's smiling besides him,I guess we gave him a break since he was running low on patience.I hold his hand in the picture,He would have been on the floor in moments if I wasn't,He was a runner.Although I will say her smile seems forcedAnd a little to cheesy to make a good family picture,There's still a smile in her eyes,This makes you see how happy she actually is.In a way her hair looks like it's mine.I can remember the way we took the picture,We must have had a million not so "perfect" shotsHe just would not sit still,She would just not pay attention,And I could not stop laughing.All three of us make our family
In a way
I can't help but notice how alike we all actually look,From the shade of our eyes to our chins and cheeks.You can tell we're all family.I only wish he would have smiled.
Quick feeling..Sitting in this class room I can't help but think about how stuck we all are. How the ways of freedom are nonexistent to us, we are puppets and nothing more. The people who are supposed to make a different in the future and yet we are being forced to sit in these nothing rooms under lock and key and eyes of the elders. How do we learn the things we need when the world around us is our own cage, and the rules we must live by are the things that define us; Break a rule and you're the bad guy, keep by all the rules and you're a goody goody. How do we set our own ways when the previous humans have already taking up every name and path we could possibly take? The road less taken is no longer a literal meaning. We are nothing but new players in this game we call living.