I was told I was crazy
I dream of a better world
But lazy to take action.
What are you passionate about?What gets me strangely is listening. You know those times you find yourself staring up at the stars at night. I've always felt the need to do that. Moments where you take in the world, yet you make another. When you look up at the sky, something that's always been consistent, you realize you're growing older but your soul hasn't. I've always had an interest in people, more so a curiosity of everything around me and the perspectives they bring. I strongly believe in presence; in having every meet sweet, to make others feel appreciated and to be appreciative myself. I guess that's why I love to laugh. I'm thankful that God has made these things innate in my life. I think it's important find contentment, to work on being more whole, to be an individual and do your favourite things. And that's where singing and drawing comes in
She leftIt's been months
A year at least
Haven't seen that hairy beast
Stuck in his den
Shunning the light
All he does is write
He knows her needs
But falls for his own wants
Haunted by afterthoughts
WeenieShe only intended the best. But things took a turn for the worse.
She took in an outcast. A little puppy, a mutt.
It was an unusual smoky grey with an ashy fur look.
Shabby. Stubby. Short.
The wiener dog waddled down the street
Between the legs of its new owner.
It was hungry but followed and obeyed.
She kept it close like a penguin
But never tripping over it.
Went a little too fast one time
But turned around for it to hurdle back.
Out of nowhere, a little girl shows up
Petting the puppy without asking.
You can't tell a 7-year old otherwise.
He couldn't talk, doesn't bite, didn't bark
But scurried behind.
"Look it's a puppy!"
Yelled the kids down the block.
They were her age as well.
The little girl asked, "How old are you?"
Being the adult, she was she knew better
Than to talk to them.
She continued down her path
But feeling the stares
Of the adults there,
Telling their kids to go in.
The little girl ran out her house
And followed her down the street.
Beautifully Out of PlaceDaily and nightly
She sat there quietly
The clouds drifted away
But not her thoughts
DenialIn the mood for crying
To myself I have been lying
I haven't been hurt in any way
There's so much I want to say...
WrittenUnheard but written
Are the stories meant to be spoken
Heard but dismissed
Incomplete and misunderstood
Are the stories meant to be spoken
Forgotten but there
No one to listen
But to read
The experience and thrill
The writer dead, reader still
Internal battle rages
But anxiety filled
Ready to spill
Storybook EndingHer ink-stained lips have kissed too many a forgotten page,
and phoenix down]
And her Prince Charming has yet to come,
shattering like stars]
So all she can do is gaze out her tower window,
concealing poisoned apples]
Clutch that corroded and timeworn blade,
tearing down castle walls]
Toss her childhood fables to the waltzing of the moon,
[even broken wings
wish for happily ever afters]
[once upon a time
there was a girl who became her own hero.]
For Every GirlFor every girl who was a ‘bitch’ ‘cause she said no to a boy
For every girl who was a ‘slut’ ‘cause she said yes
For every girl who was an object ‘cause she had tits
For every girl who couldn’t wear that ‘cause boys can’t control themselves
For every girl who was ‘asking for it’ ‘cause she wore a short skirt
For every girl who was a ‘prude’ ‘cause she wore a long one
For every girl who was a ‘challenge’ ‘cause she liked other girls
For every girl who was ‘easy’ ‘cause she liked both
For every girl who nobody heard ‘cause she didn’t have a dick (or maybe because she did)
For every girl who everyone ignored ‘cause she was ‘on her period’
For every girl who was ‘fat’ ‘cause she had dessert
For every girl who was ‘anorexic’ ‘cause she didn’t
For every girl who was ‘insecure’
how to maybe fall in love1.
you don't. at least,
not at first, not for you; you sit
in the back of the room and kind
of admire the way
their laugh shakes
their shoulders back and forth,
rhythmic mimicry found unrhyming, unrehearsed.
it's refreshing, you think.
and slowly maybe you realize that hey, they
aren't too bad looking and hey, you
kind of like the way their eyes
dart away if you catch them looking at you,
you feel your heartbeat for the first
time in years.
you think you might like them.
kind of. maybe. you really don't know, but you
like to think you do
(because if you wish hard enough
some fairy godmother you know
doesn't exist might help this existential crisis going
on that consists of holy hell how do i DO this-).
but you like to think you know what you're doing.
and so you go on a
date, then two, then three, and you find
you really like that they hold your
smile in their eyes and hey, maybe
holding hands isn't like being trapped like you thought.
you learn everything ane
My Masquerade~My Masquerade~
For the world I am displayed;
They always watch but cannot see
through my masquerade.
I feel every moment fly;
My heart is beating, pulse racing,
breath held as I lie.
My innocence I can't defend;
I know that surely this will linger
'til my very end.
I brought this all upon myself;
Mask upon mask, lie upon lie
like valueless wealth.
Dare I take these masks off no!
My former self haunts me
everywhere I go.
False glory, false honor, false fame;
With all these masks I seem to have
forgotten my own name.
InsecuritiesWhy would you want to love me? I don't understand;
I have nothing to offer, nothing to give--
There will always be someone else; someone better
Who has all I have but can do so much more
While I sit back, looking through my picture window,
Out at the world.
What makes me so different? I don't think you see,
For There Is A Girl...There is a girl who does not fit in.
She couldn't be more different
In the society she was raised in;
She thinks the exact opposite.
She finds it odd that two girls
Cannot dance the way a man and
She finds it odd that those being
Accused of horrible acts are being
Accused by people who have done worse.
She finds it odd that there are
Signs and campaigns for allowing
She finds it odd that being a
Woman means you are weak
And it is an insult to be called
In the society she is in,
She is different.
For there is a girl who does not
Why two people of the same
Cannot marry. Why one group of people
By another that is far worse.
There is a girl that cannot
Why words are offensive or
People use them. She cannot
Why, as a woman, she is not
To wear what she wants without being
If she is white, then she is racist.
If she is black, then she is a criminal.
If she is straight, then she is homophobic.
read when life is toughremember that the sun
has never failed to rise,
and the stormiest
he's just not that into youlong-legged and twitching
like the spiders
you watch run
he doesn’t call
you pretty. you remember
his hands tracing the ink
of your veins, but he
doesn’t call you pretty.
he doesn’t hold
the door, and you
think you’re a liar
but the truth is quivering
naked in your voice
(we will name our children after
extinct kingdoms; dead beautiful
things. i will polish the dull spot
in your eye that you developed
after a terminal case of unnoticed
living. i will never be a cure but
damn it if i won’t be a diagnosis)
the static of his vocal chords
brings you back, martyr
without a cause,
he doesn’t call
you pretty and you
don’t question why.