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Breanna Choma Poems
We are told what a woman should be, and in an instant it becomes a childhood dream. I was told about beauty before I learned my body had a brain, and I became obsessed with becoming the teenage girls on TV.
I am an individual
I am an individual that looks in the mirror and sees a body but not myself. In a word that forces us into defining bubbles I ready a handful of pins.
I know lonely I know lost I know judgment I know fear
With-in the mosaic in which I live I coexist with many. I coexist with different religions, cultures, languages and dialects; I coexist with race, sexuality and gender.
Silence; an absence of sound but louder than any. Like drowning you feel suffocation with-in imperfection.
Where must I stand -new-
Last picked. Last sought. Last seen. First fought.
Search and seizure
Search and seizure. Search of the mind and seizure of the expression with-in.
What we can't have
Soft like fleece was her skin, and oh how beautiful it were when rosey after the cold. Her love is warm like the sun, and even though not meant for me I can't help but feel it.
She was glass that scratched like the screen of a smart phone. Down the hallways she was kicked around as she waited for the day when she would be picked back up, but when ever she were it was never long before she was thrown back down.
Holding onto sixteen
From an early age I remember wanting to be 16, and how good teens looked on TV. I dreamt of frilly dresses and parties full of people; I dreamt of my self all grown up.
A sixteen year old girl
It's summer vacation and it's 30 degrees. A 16 girl feels rejected like oil in water and despite how she tries she knows she'll always be separate from those who are wanted.
My days fill me with memories I grow to regret, and just that thought makes the sky bend Like ink from a broken pen unannounced staining what was once clean My life is plagued by a darkness that can't be risen Words I can't say fill my lungs with water and I choke
When we fear life more than death. When breathing is more difficult than not.
Eight Hundred And Eighty Five Words
We form opinions without any reasoning; it's what we are hearing, seeing, believing. Eight hundred and eighty five words spewing hate. We replay twenty three lines full of rhymes and keep listening. Like prayer from the service we repeat it, but we don't quite understand it. We kill each other with the words we don't even comprehend.
Quotationsmore quotations »
''Crush that constant feeling that says you have to explain yourself; you owe no one an explanation for being you.''~Breanna Choma
''We all live a story that no one was ever meant to read, but it's also one that touches so many people that we never even intended to.''~ Breanna Choma
Comments about Breanna Choma
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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We are told what a woman should be, and in an instant it becomes a childhood dream.
I was told about beauty before I learned my body had a brain, and I became obsessed with becoming the teenage girls on TV.
In the 2nd grade I remember going to school and being put down because you couldn't see my bones, and my face was too round.
Every year they told me I was ugly so in grade 5 I wore makeup and fancy clothing hoping they couldn't see through me.
They called me a slut so in grade 6 I dressed in guys clothing.
They called me a fat lesbian bitch while I was ...