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Don't try to be me
and I won't try to be you
there is only one of me
and there is only one of you

Don't go around pretending to be
somebody that you are not
there real you is who you should
let people see
and not what you've got

You don't need to put on a false identity
trying to look and act like a celebrity
you are who you are with your own personality
that's the way it so just deal with reality

Looking up to someone is nothing wrong
but when you try to become that someone
that's where you don't belong
just be yourself and play it cool
why pretend and make yourself look like a fool?

I won't try to be you
so don't try to be me
if others can't accept they way you are
then just let them be

***
Being yourself means you like who you are and it means you respect yourself. Don't worry about what others think.

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Sonnet 130: My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun

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Sonnet 130: My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun

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My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;

Coral is far more red than her lips' red;

If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;

If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.

I have seen roses damasked, red and white,

But no such roses see I in her cheeks;

And in some perfumes is there more delight

Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

I love to hear her speak, yet well I know

That music hath a far more pleasing sound;

I grant I never saw a goddess go;

My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.

And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare

As any she belied with false compare.

***
Today girls are concerning with how beauty they are and they have created the standard of beauty by judge the other people who isn't have the face like actress, Kpop idol or model. I think everybody has the beauty by themselves don't think too much about beauty standard Just confident! there are so many people that love us such as William Shakespeare. He didn't judge the women by the beauty, he love how she is.

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blue bells for eyes
her name was a song
that made the graveyard hum
for the dead became flushed
her beauty reminding them of life

***
The ethereal woman reminds me to the girl in gif. "her beauty reminding them of life" this sentence is very true because her beauty can kill the others.

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Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire!
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon’s sphere;
And I serve the Fairy Queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green;
The cowslips tall her pensioners be;
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favours;
In those freckles live their savours;
I must go seek some dewdrops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear.

***
I really like how William use the word begins with "Over hill, over dale," and "Over park, over pale," to show that the fairy is going around the land. This poem reminds me to Barbie "Mariposa". When I was a child, I would love to be Barbie.😹

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Your kiss lies on my face
Like the first snow
Upon a summer place.

Bewildered by that wonder,
The grasses tremble under
The thing they do not know.
I tremble even so.

***
I have watched "Notting hill" then this scene comes up, so I have to find a poem like the first kiss in winter and this is what I've been looking for. Cold hand warm heart.💖

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“Heaven” – is what I cannot
reach!
The Apple on the Tree –
Provided it do hopeless – hang –
That – “Heaven” is – to Me!

The Color, on the cruising cloud –
The interdicted Land –
Behind the Hill – the House
behind –
There – Paradise – is found!

Her teazing Purples – Afternoons –
The credulous – decoy –
Enamored – of the Conjuror –
That spurned us – Yesterday!

***
She wants to go to paradise but she's just longing. Sometimes, in our lives there might not be end up with success. It can be bad result but it's life. Keep going!

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Against the black void, looms the lunar sphere.
Hungry ghosts haunt, satisfied by fright.
Oh my! The children's faces blanch in fear.
And thus the small summit embodies white.

Dwindle do the autumn leaves to the ground.
From the fire, the cold meets its warm demise.
Halloween's favorite gourd, carved and round
And thus the middle is where orange lies.

Farms and tractor-pulled rides, hay is handy.
The black cat's eerie eyes gleam from its face.
The vegetable tastes not like the candy.
And thus concludes yellow to form the base.

White, orange, and yellow make something sweet.
Enjoy some candy corn, Halloween's treat!

***
I love the way that poet explain the color of candy corn: white, orange, and yellow. Each stanza then focuses on one color and lists of examples of how that color applies to the subject of halloween!

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We’re having a Halloween party at school.

I’m dressed up like Dracula. Man, I look cool!

I dyed my hair black, and I cut off my bangs.

I’m wearing a cape and some fake plastic fangs.

I put on some makeup to paint my face white,

like creatures that only come out in the night.

My fingernails, too, are all pointed and red.

I look like I’m recently back from the dead.

My mom drops me off, and I run into school

and suddenly feel like the world’s biggest fool.

The other kids stare like I’m some kind of freak—

the Halloween party is not till next week.

***
Hello, October! pls be kind to my teacher, my friends and I. The way of persona in this poem reminds me of my younger sister. She loves Halloween festival.

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“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

***
This poem is so hopeful whenever you read it you can feel like you can fly to catch your dream.

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Hope is the thing with feathers - Emily Dickinson - Animation

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Because I could not stop for Death—
He kindly stopped for me—
The Carriage held but just Ourselves—
And Immortality.

We slowly drove—He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility—

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess—in the Ring—
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain—
We passed the Setting Sun—

Or rather—He passed us—
The Dews drew quivering and chill—
For only Gossamer, my Gown—
My Tippet—only Tulle—

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground—
The Roof was scarcely visible—
The Cornice—in the Ground—

Since then—’tis Centuries—and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses’ Heads
Were toward Eternity—

***
From Emily's life work, Her style is full of dashes between and at the end of lines.
Emily Dickinson wrote several poems about death, she takes the reader on a mysterious journey through time and into a world that beyond time.

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Dickinson 1x01 - 'Because I Could Not Stop for Death' poem

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I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,

And Mourners to and fro

Kept treading - treading - till it seemed

That Sense was breaking through -

And when they all were seated,

A Service, like a Drum -

Kept beating - beating - till I thought

My mind was going numb -

And then I heard them lift a Box

And creak across my Soul

With those same Boots of Lead, again,

Then Space - began to toll,

As all the Heavens were a Bell,

And Being, but an Ear,

And I, and Silence, some strange Race,

Wrecked, solitary, here -

And then a Plank in Reason, broke,

And I dropped down, and down -

And hit a World, at every plunge,

And Finished knowing - then -

***
From the topic word choice in class, I have noticed that the connotation of funeral is "Death" because this poem intensifies and impact the emotional to the reader very well.

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Fame is a fickle food

Upon a shifting plate

Whose table once a

Guest but not

The second time is set

Whose crumbs the crows inspect

And with ironic caw

Flap past it to the

Farmer’s corn

Men eat of it and die

***
In my opinion, when we finished eating burger in the morning we changed a menu into spaghetti in the afternoon just like fame is unstable.

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I have never seen “Volcanoes”—
But, when Travellers tell
How those old—phlegmatic mountains
Usually so still—

Bear within—appalling Ordnance,
Fire, and smoke, and gun,
Taking Villages for breakfast,
And appalling Men—

If the stillness is Volcanic
In the human face
When upon a pain Titanic
Features keep their place—

If at length the smouldering anguish
Will not overcome—
And the palpitating Vineyard
In the dust, be thrown?

If some loving Antiquary,
On Resumption Morn,
Will not cry with joy “Pompeii”!
To the Hills return!

***
The word "volcano" is carrying a deeper meaning and emotion of human nature. I love how Emily can use the word in her version to express readers in visual way.

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I heard a Fly buzz - when I died -

The Stillness in the Room

Was like the Stillness in the Air -

Between the Heaves of Storm -

The Eyes around - had wrung them dry -

And Breaths were gathering firm

For that last Onset - when the King

Be witnessed - in the Room -

I willed my Keepsakes - Signed away

What portion of me be

Assignable - and then it was

There interposed a Fly -

With Blue - uncertain - stumbling Buzz -

Between the light - and me -

And then the Windows failed - and then

I could not see to see -

***
This is one of my favorite poems by Emily Dickinson I like it a lot because Emily obviously showed the set of upcoming death event and the sound "BUZZ" still in my head while I was reading.

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You do not do, you do not do

Any more, black shoe

In which I have lived like a foot

For thirty years, poor and white,

Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

Daddy, I have had to kill you.

You died before I had time——

Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,

Ghastly statue with one gray toe

Big as a Frisco seal

And a head in the freakish Atlantic

Where it pours bean green over blue

In the waters off beautiful Nauset.

I used to pray to recover you.

Ach, du.

In the German tongue, in the Polish town

Scraped flat by the roller

Of wars, wars, wars.

But the name of the town is common.

My 🤬 friend

Says there are a dozen or two.

So I never could tell where you

Put your foot, your root,

I never could talk to you.

The tongue stuck in my jaw.

It stuck in a barb wire snare.

Ich, ich, ich, ich,

I could hardly speak.

I thought every German was you.

And the language obscene

An engine, an engine

Chuffing me off like a Jew.

A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.

I began to talk like a Jew.

I think I may well be a Jew.

The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna

Are not very pure or true.

With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck

And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack

I may be a bit of a Jew.

I have always been scared of you,

With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.

And your neat mustache

And your Aryan eye, bright blue.

Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You——

Not God but a swastika

So black no sky could squeak through.

Every woman adores a Fascist,

The boot in the face, the brute

Brute heart of a brute like you.

You stand at the blackboard, daddy,

In the picture I have of you,

A cleft in your chin instead of your foot

But no less a devil for that, no not

Any less the black man who

Bit my pretty red heart in two.

I was ten when they buried you.

At twenty I tried to die

And get back, back, back to you.

I thought even the bones would do.

But they pulled me out of the sack,

And they stuck me together with glue.

And then I knew what to do.

I made a model of you,

A man in black with a Meinkampf look

And a love of the rack and the screw.

And I said I do, I do.

So daddy, I’m finally through.

The black telephone’s off at the root,

The voices just can’t worm through.

If I’ve killed one man, I’ve killed two——

The vampire who said he was you

And drank my blood for a year,

Seven years, if you want to know.

Daddy, you can lie back now.

There’s a stake in your fat black heart

And the villagers never liked you.

They are dancing and stamping on you.

They always knew it was you.

Daddy, daddy, you 🤬, I’m through.

***
I found this video by chance. It's a very long one but I felt like I can completely connect to her message and her emotion through her voice. This one is so powerful and meaningful.

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Wild nights - Wild nights!

Were I with thee

Wild nights should be

Our luxury!

Futile - the winds -

To a Heart in port -

Done with the Compass -

Done with the Chart!

Rowing in Eden -

Ah - the Sea!

Might I but moor - tonight -

In thee!

***
This poem have many possible different interpretations but for me I think this is about two lovers desire to be together but that they are meant to be together and talking about sexual way. It feels right to me to interpret in this way.

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Fame is a bee.

It has a song—

It has a sting—

Ah, too, it has a wing.

***
I would ask one question to Emily Dickinson if she alived "Why did Emily Dickinson choose the “bee” instead of any other insects? and I think this poem is not hard to understand the meaning.

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Tell all the truth but tell it slant —

Success in Circuit lies

Too bright for our infirm Delight

The Truth's superb surprise

As Lightning to the Children eased

With explanation kind

The Truth must dazzle gradually

Or every man be blind —

***
When I first saw 'Dickinson' on Apple TV, I couldn't agree more with her poem because this poem teaching us must tell the truth but must tell it indirectly. Like telling the story about the lightning in the straight way, It can scared to young children.