Oh, Silly Rosalie Look at silly Rosalie, She doesn't understand! She's much too young to realise what's in the palm of her hand. She can't explain love, Or lust, or hurt or pain. She clearly can't be feeling, With that young girls brain. Rosalie doesn't know, What is right or wrong, It's probably just by luck, That she chooses the right one. She clearly makes no success, No way, for herself, She must've just got lucky, Or she has had help, Rosalie really isn't quite the brightest of us all, She isn't in Mensa, She's nice, but that's all. What do you mean you prefer Rosalie? Don't you see, she's dense? That she has no future? This just doesn't make sense. Listening skills are so useless, You can't succeed . Any talent she has that betters ours,

Darklings. There lives little creatures called darklings, They thrive out of the light, They fester in the darkness, But come crawling out at night, When the sun won't shine through windows, World a balanced shade of black, They creep out the corners of my brain And make their attack. They catch me of guard with their coldness, Tiring me, wearing me down, They make me feel like I'm drowning, Sinking through the ground. I'm told that I am useless, They confirm my greatest fears, 'No ones ever here,' they say, And I scream, but no one hears. They then attack my morals, 'Your selfish, stupid, have you no shame? There are people with lives harder then yours!' But that's their big mistake- I remember I am fortunate, I remember I am loved, I thank for what I have been given, And I promise I will do good, The fight, it comes back in me, A light somewhere turns on, 'But I'm kind, and I am giving- And what's more I am strong!' The darklings shy away from me, The sun back in my eyes, 'Well be back again!' They scream, And they tell no lies, But now, the morning is coming, The warmth, the light of sun, And I smile and make my way in #life, Knowing, for now at least, I've won.

Cold Awakenings. It's late now, Winter now, The cold lurks outside your duvet, Only daring to peek a nose out, Dance to make it warm. Wake now, Still dark now, Peek your face from the quilt again, The same torturing ritual, Of leaving the warm bed.

Average. I'm a very average girl. Average hair, Average eyes, Average looks, No surprise. Average talents, Average worth, In a rather average place on earth. Average hopes, Average dreams, Average fate It undoubtedly seems. My average goal, It appears to be, Is to find one who sees less average in me.

To Lovers Of Literature This is no #poem, sorry. But basically, if you love a good read, read 'The Book Thief'. If you hate reading, the same applies. I have never ever read anything so beautiful and dumbfoundingly thought provoking. So please, read it. If you have- did you love it as much as I did?