Poetry About True Friendship

Cassie Jones was the girl who went unnoticed—plus-sized, shy, and silently battling her self-esteem issues. But she had a secret: a gigantic crush on Jeffery Richards, the star athlete, golden boy and basketball hero of their school. What she wasn't aware of was that he too idolized her, secretly drawing her and composing poetry about her silent beauty. That was until the day a cruel bet forced his secret feelings out in the worst way imaginable. Cassie, heartbroken, disappeared from his life. Thirteen years later, fate brings them together again. Cassie is a tough PR executive, prosperous, aggressive, and not interested in revisiting the pain of her past. But Jeffery is resolved to demonstrate to her that he has changed—that his love for her never has. Will she learn to trust him again, or will the past repeat itself?

The day I found out I wasn't really an Adelson, Sharon—their real daughter—stormed in and stabbed me—over and over. Just like that, my shot at being a mom? Gone. Chuck Benetton, my fiancé, lost it. My parents swore they'd disown her. To "comfort" me, Chuck proposed on the spot. My parents handed me the severance letter—Sharon officially disowned—and told me to just focus on healing. Later, they said Sharon had run off and gotten trafficked in Nyamara, some hotspot for scams and lost souls. They said it served her right. And yeah... I believed them. Six years into the lie, I saw her—very much alive, baby bump and all, curled up against my husband like she owned him. "If I hadn't snapped back then, Yasmine never would've married you, " she said. "Thank God you and Mom and Dad backed me. Otherwise, that imposter would've landed me in jail. "She probably never guessed I've been right here, carrying your baby. Once I give birth, just fake an adoption. She can nanny our kid forever. "Thanks for everything, Chuck." She smiled like he was her hero. And he blushed. "Don't thank me. Marrying her was the only way to protect you. I'd do it all again." So yeah. The guy I thought loved me? He was always lying. My "parents"? They only cared about Sharon. If that's love, I want nothing to do with it.

After following my grandfather abroad for five years of training, he finally entrusted me with the family authority—something he had given me with complete satisfaction. But my stepmother and my three younger stepbrothers were anything but pleased. Ever since I returned home, they had been blasting those ridiculous "real heiress versus fake heiress" dramas throughout the house, day after day. Sometimes openly, sometimes in veiled remarks, they hinted that I didn't resemble my father at all. On the day of my twentieth birthday—my official debut before the public—they even brought in a complete stranger and tried to brand me as the impostor. My stepmother looked at me, the corner of her lips curling in disdain. "Where did this counterfeit come from? Even if you're wearing a stolen gown, you can't hide that cheap, shabby air about you." My three younger stepbrothers shoved me to the ground, shielding the girl beside them—the one wearing my family's heirloom necklace. "We only have one sister, and that's Camellia! Wherever you came from, go back there!" In an instant, the guests' mocking gazes all converged on me. And in the very next second, I stepped forward and slapped my stepmother across the face. "If anyone should be leaving, it's you. Take a good look at what this is!" Then, the moment they saw what I was holding in my hand, the entire room fell into stunned silence.

After reuniting with my birth family, my wealthy biological father tossed me a black card and laid down one rule: I could spend as much as I wanted, but I was never to call him Dad—that title belonged only to his adoptive daughter. Clutching the black card, I cautiously bought myself a two-dollar-fifty ice cream cone. Just as I was happily licking the sweet ice cream, the adoptive daughter dropped to her knees before me. "Alice, are you mocking me because I can't even afford something that costs two-fifty in the future?" My brother immediately slapped me twice. "You have money now, but you can't split love. Natalie is my one and only sister!" Then my father splashed boiling water onto my face. "No disgraceful wretch deserves to be a Gervais." To punish me, they sent me off to Rimala, forced to work as a child laborer in the mines. Ten years later, I walked into a grand banquet hall with an ice cream in hand and came face-to-face with my brother, Ansel Gervais, dressed in a hand-tailored suit. "All these years and you're still a disgrace," he sneered, but I couldn't be bothered to argue. "Let go. My dad's waiting for me—and if I'm any later, the ice cream's going to melt." He looked down at me with contempt. "Dad? Who gave you permission to call him that? Natalie will forever be the only Gervais girl—no one can take that away from her!" I rolled my eyes. Who said I was talking about that cheap excuse for a father? I was talking about my adoptive father—the oil tycoon with an incurable sweet tooth. I was in a hurry to let him taste some ice cream.

The heart that I had waited two years for was given to the fake heiress, Diane Bishop, by my husband. The doctor said that I only had a week left to live. So, I decided to undergo cryonics. I donated my body to Diane’s workshop. The day I signed the donation papers, my son threw himself into my arms and exclaimed that I had finally made up with Diane. My parents praised me for finally being a good sister to help out Diane. My husband was pleased when he said that I had finally let go of the grudge and had become more understanding. I chuckled. They were right, I had finally learned my lesson. I would give Diane my identity as the heir of Bishop Corporation and fulfill everyone’s wishes.

I was born with a one-track mind—I take everything seriously and do exactly as I'm told. When my adoptive father cursed a rival company, calling them bloodsucking vampires, I immediately went out, bought ten pounds of garlic and a crucifix, and stormed into their CEO's office to perform an exorcism. When my adoptive mother said she was willing to sell a kidney for the sake of the company, I contacted an underground black-market clinic on the spot and asked when they could schedule her surgery. Over time, no one dared joke casually around me anymore. Everyone in the family chose their words with extreme care, terrified I might take them at face value. That is, until the day of the family reunion banquet—when the fake heiress, who refused to leave no matter what, showed up as well. She hooked her arm through my brother's and flashed me a provocative smile. "Arista, Benji dotes on me the most," she said sweetly. "He said if anyone dares to make me unhappy, he'll chop them into pieces and dump them in the river to feed the fish." The banquet hall erupted in laughter. I was the only one whose face went deathly pale. The next second, I kicked my brother, Benji Collins, straight onto the dining table. I grabbed the silver steak knife and pressed it against his throat. "Everyone, stay calm," I announced loudly. "I've already called the police! For publicly advocating premeditated murder, desecration of a corpse, and antisocial personality tendencies… The minimum sentence is the death penalty!"

Can you believe this? I was just some random fake-sweet girl online, then boom—the richest couple in Rivora City showed up waving fifty million, begging me to be their daughter-in-law. All because their son—the golden boy who was supposed to have it all—threw everything away simping for some broke school beauty. "If that tramp actually loved him, fine. But instead, she keeps rejecting him while milking his name for her family." "Our son's obsessed with that manipulative girl? Then we'll find someone faker. More manipulative. Fight poison with poison." Yeah... that stung a little. But a black card with fifty mil? Hard to stay offended. I signed on to "rescue" their hopeless son. Then I opened the file and laughed. That tramp? My sister. The same snake I crushed years ago.

One day, a wealthy couple is invited to give a speech at my university. My childhood sweetheart, Henry McGregor, tugs me along, eager for us to sneak out to the cafeteria and do some part-time work. He tells me to go grab the empty bucket from the shelf. But just as I take a step, a flood of messages suddenly appears in front of my eyes. [Don't touch that bucket! It's filled with scalding soup that Henry prepared. He wants to ruin your face!] [Three years ago, Henry had his first love impersonate you, becoming the long-lost daughter of the Wright family. Now, he plans to disfigure you so you'll never be able to return.] [You'll endure severe burns all over your body and undergo countless skin grafts. In the end, the fake heiress will poison you by swapping your medicine.] [Meanwhile, that scumbag will marry into the Wright family. Along with the impostor, they'll drain the Wrights of everything they have.] [You need to go back right now and let Mrs. Wright see your face. This is your only chance to reclaim your rightful place as their daughter!] At that moment, I hear Henry urging me again to hurry and move the bucket. As I glance at the flood of messages once more, I freeze, stopping dead in my tracks.

I'm the only university student in the village. But my entire family praises my cousin, Calvin Meyer, who has graduated from a vocational school, for being a talented person. What I've discovered is that Calvin's so-called talent actually comes from him voicing my thoughts. When I want to recite a poem as a toast to the guests, Calvin quickly says the poem out loud, resulting in everyone applauding for him. Naturally, Calvin takes the initiative to show off his "flair" for poetry in front of Barbara Sullivan, a well-known professor, by reciting the poetry that I've thought up. Because of that, she has taken a fancy to him. My uncle, Gary Meyer, uses the opportunity to insult me for being a dull bookworm who doesn't know how to socialize with others. On my grandpa's 80th birthday, my aunt, Sierra Meyer, who runs a huge business on her own, brings her family back to the village for the occasion. Uncle Gary arranges for me and Calvin to prepare a speech of our own so that we can convince Aunt Sierra to extend a helping hand to the youngsters' careers in the family. At the banquet, Calvin shoots up to his feet with his wine glass raised. He shoots me a smug look at that moment. Meanwhile, I just keep smiling before I begin thinking about the shocking gossip featuring Aunt Sierra and her family.

Yvette Warren, personal secretary to billionaire Orson Cox, announced that the heiress who was accidentally switched at birth 20 years ago was living in this orphanage. Whoever could prove their identity would inherit a billion-dollar fortune. In my first life, the two-faced Laurel Marsh tricked me into giving her my keepsake to claim the family. The Coxes tore her mouth apart. "Fraud!" In my second life, my frenemy, Rebecca Vargas, tattooed a fake birthmark on herself to claim the family. The Coxes had her skin slashed to shreds. "Still a fraud!" In my third life, my sworn enemy, Vita Davidson, took out online loans to get plastic surgery, reshaping her face to resemble Orson's wife. She tried to claim the family and was thrown straight into a mastiff cage by the Coxes. By my fourth life, no one dared steal my identity anymore. They packed me up overnight and delivered me straight to the Cox residence. When the DNA test confirmed I really was the heiress, everyone thought the nightmare was finally over. But on my very first night back, the Coxes shoved me off a high-rise building. "Anyone who dares steal our real daughter's identity deserves to die!" When I opened my eyes again, Yvette was smiling as she asked who the heiress was. Everyone backed away in terror, insisting they weren't the heiress. Yvette's voice turned low and eerie. "But our investigation shows that the heiress is definitely in this orphanage."