Nostalgia, a headache, and a great blur to my eyes
as puddles become ponds
my soul I despise.
Tell me what I should do
to end my heartache
and I probably won’t listen because advice I can’t take.
I’m watching you become better
than what I should have been
and can still be times 100
if I stop with this sin.
These blasphemous acts of pride
even though no pride can be smaller.
I feel only shame inside
as I sit here and holler.
Bellowing my concerns out in the worst way possible,
I sit and I stare
as I continue to do nothing at all.
I guess that must stop; therefore action must be taken
before I decide to give in
and let my body be forsaken.
So let this be marked as an event in my calender
as the day I took charge
because only I can fully manipulate my future.
Mr. Presidential just died
and his mother fell and cried
and his father went to hide.
For he knew that Mrs. Presidential had lied!
She was having an affair with the father on the stairs
that led up in a spiral
to a place endemic to all
dark and havoc inducing people!
…but let’s talk in a whisper
because nobody knows about her
and she had very secret endeavors
only known by her Big Brother.
So many told to her Big Brother that they made him grow big!
Too big that he smothered his own children he had already rigged
for a bright future.
Sons were the perfect suitors;
daughters the graceful wooees
for wooers that said “Ooowhee!”,
but only the right ones;
therefore the ripe sons.
They were ripe so white
that Big Brother made them set for flight.
So ripe rigged rich
and white was whipped for making life a cinch,
and waif children like me
were locked up. We couldn’t flee
from the burdens brought down
by perfect sons and daughters that wore the crown.
We were left to rot like we were nothing
until over time we tried to do something.
We got our pickets; started to chant
for our lives we wanted to recant.
Too little, too late; we started off too dumb.
We JUST started consuming our pabulum
which was equivalent to some
Grandfather who couldn’t control his son.
His stupid son, wayward boy, neglectful father!
Maybe he will realize his wrong doings after
we light our pickets on fire
and burn ourselves out of our chains.
The fire will spread melting their gold; ridding our pain.
Our ashes will stay as soil to remember
the day we brought on a world wide macabre
where the rich became poor
and the poor became dead,
but the dead rest in peace, so we’re already ahead
like Mr. Presidntial who has just died
and his mother who followed.
She was murdered
by his father who drew the weapon on both
because his son the insubordinate
was coddled by his mother who treated him kindly for being impertinent.
Mrs. Presidential had the only sense.
She ran down the spiral stair case, changed her name and sent
her own father a letter also telling him the story;
the same man who told me of how our world lost it’s glory.
Okay. I have a confession to make.
I’m weird. I am weird. I’m weird!
I do weird things.
Like last week I was walking,
and I bumped into a fella.
I didn’t give him eye contact,
but I sort of felt a
need to go back and apologize
for my mistake; the unintentional
nudge that led me to avert my eyes.
…but what did I do that for!?!
What possessed me to ignore the issue,
yet still dwell on it , so that it eventually tore
me apart.
Unease filled me internally;
scared ping grazed my heart.
A belief in what I know; therefore morals instilled
reeled me back somehow and
remorse suddenly filled
me to a point where I had to
turn an abrupt 180
and cautiously do
what I ought to have done!
I bumped into the fella
again, intentionally, with not one
but two taps with my right pointer finger
I stared into his face
what it looked like I still can’t remember.
I said in a scratchy, nervous voice
“I’m sorry for bumping into you earlier.”
I turned around
without a sound.
My stomach fell to the ground.
For I had suddenly found
that I may have done too much!
I gave up my guard, my tough exterior!
There was nothing left to respect!
…but wasn’t that something to respect?
…a gesture of kindness?
Lots of turning that day
because my head twisted back again
in his direction and I saw that his eyes lay
on my face that was waiting
for what he might say.
He said “Thank You” and smiled,
then he walked my way.
Next thing I know, his hands are on my shoulder
he was much taller
and probably way older.
He smiled at me and said
“There is more respect found
in someone who can lift their eyes off the ground
and have the courage to make a sound,
so I respect you for turning around.”
Yah…so that last part didn’t really happen,
but he did say “Thank You”
without the sappy end.
I do feel like I did the right thing
by not walking away, but actually turning.
See, I told you I was weird.
Icicles drop fast
As I lay with snow angels
Will they protect me?
northernvehemence asked: Giiiiirl you got some mad writing skills. I think "Three Part Contraption" is my favorite. You should write something that I can illustrate! :D PS Florence and the machine has a new album coming out soon fyi and also keep an eye on your mailbox because I'm sending you some fan mail
YAYAYAYAY!!!! I bet you’ll be able to find something to illustrate out of the story I’m going to post on here.
Little gnomes ate my pink fairy dust land.
Ribbons, and candy canes, and lipstick in hand
and smudged all over the windows.
They invaded my room, my soul,
The miles and miles of concealing powder
I thought I had in my possession.
They took my make up, put me in a depression
Which led to my aggression
That had been in oppression.
It was oppressed until it was lit
like a match that was struck
that made me STRIKE!
…and the little gnomes burned.
He’ rapping;
He’s got me tapping to the beat
With his lyrics, words, and feat
From the band; the instrumental,
The noise and the sound that surround him.
He’s a cyclops!
With one eye to find
The main thing in life; the bind.
The line he’s speaking; same verse,
But in circles. The words unheard still even though it seems rehearsed
And told so many times
In regular words, regular rhymes,
But now there’s a commotion and the beat is slow…
But is it fast?
…in haste it lasts.
Is tomorrow here yet?
But no, it’s been an hour and the people haven’t been let
To all speak; to all talk in turns.
It’s this circle that makes our heads burn
It spins fast, slow, a hundred to a million times!
I drop dimes
For you to keep listening to my hymns.
My friend’s limp from limb to limb,
Since she’s carrying me to carry her in the future,
But how real is that? Really how they give me torture!
I know not what I say, but
I know what I believe in:
A starry-eyed human for a lifeless being to be in,
Or the other way around?
I found
It comes in circles, the word heard, the things said
In repetiton from when I wake up until I go to bed.
Now they’re throwing up!?!
Now they don’t know when they’re hypnotism started
From the time they took that whim.
They’re running from that part of the party that’s always going.
Never knowing
When it’ll all end,
But that’s the deal my friend…
A circle’s never ending.
There are no points to stab you to death till you start to bleed,
And succeed
To find that end to the circle of life
That binds us all to what we find within our mind’s eye
Which is the spy
To our heart’s pain
That lets us breath our breathe again and again
In a circle of puffs.
A never ending circle can never be enough;
Never let you huff
Out of breathe because you keep on breathing for eternity,
So does your heart because love’s eternally
Gonna target every feeling from happiness to HELL bent depression!
From the time we never knew of oppression
To the time where it’s all we may have to keep our minds going
Because we’re the same entity and we really all aspire to be “me”
and that’s you: a round of rounds as time goes by
To make “me” into “you and I”.
Small is the Brain that carries the mind,
Cherished rituals in history hard to find,
Useful to use and fuse in our pathway
Through thoughts engraved from things we were told to say.
Mathematical concepts are opposite in structure
Than peace that makes us function; goes infliction of torture.
It wants to relax and give us true meaning,
It’s supposed to be unknown: our reason for being.
So ironically that is the way we honor most,
Through overusing the main organ, so we’re unlikely to coast.
We want to know new, who cares about what was last
Before we became ourselves influenced from the past.
“I put myself in a circle, so that my life can be complete”
“the best advice is given by those who need to take it”