Oh, love, why have you departed?
Why did I wake in your presence?
Against my better judgment I beckoned you,
Why did you answer?
Why did you claim my heart like a bandit?
Why did you gallivant away and leave me behind?
Oh, love, take me with you.
Take me away to meet the world.
Invent adventure within my heart.
Sleep with my memory tucked beneath your pillow.
Why did we collide?
Why are you impossible?
Oh, love, you are for fools alone.
No one should set their mind upon you.
Your supports are weak.
Your intentions are bare.
Your warm presence leaves me cold and alone.
Why do we even bother?
Oh, attack me love.
Attack me gently with the heart of fools.
Bring my life to a new horizon.
Oh, attack me love,
For you alone are gentle enough.
Attack me, sweet, innocent, unused, love
And together we will dwell in deaf harmony, forever.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
Fake It Till You Make It
Every day I wake up and I look at myself in the mirror. My eyes are always blue-grey, my hair is always golden brown, and my skin is always peachy pale. Every day, I look the same. I feel the same. I breathe the same. I am the same, except for one thing. Each day when I prepare myself to face the world, I have to tighten the bolts to my fake smile a little tighter.
There is no reason for me to confess my heart’s fallacies to the world. Nor should I have to explain that I am just as human as everyone else. But for myself, for my own sake, I have lost my joy to the age of my mind. Stress has ticked away on my internal clock, counting down the days to the complete elimination of my innocence. With each second stoke, I feel my oblivious state of mind slipping further and further into its depths, never to be seen again. The reality presses against my eye sockets begging to be part of me. My mental immune system weakens daily against its persistent begging. Soon, reality will be my only consideration.
As I pack my bags to begin my adventure into adulthood, I stop to dust off the mementos of my childhood- my true innocence. The band-aid I was given when I realized that the world wasn’t full of loving people who want to love and be loved, my broken heart from my acknowledgement of the opposite sex, my bruises from my disobedience, my golden stars for my participation in life’s silly games, they all find their way to my side. I cannot help but think, “If that girl knew what she was traveling towards, would she stop dead in her tracks? Would she turn and run for shelter in her mother’s arms?” I honestly believe she would press on.
She did press on, I always will. Reality cannot control my future. Reality cannot control my dreams. Reality exists within itself and within itself alone. Reality is palpable and authentic, unlike myself. I am fake. I am a simulation of life- one who embraces not the opportunities that present themselves. Why would reality like to crash the party of the fakes?
Every day I face the same world the same way. Nothing ever changes and I hate it that way. I hate that I have allowed reality to make my heart a stone. I hate that I have allowed it to press into my eye sockets and rule my thoughts. I find it an injustice to my innocence, that it was bested my reality. I sure thought it was stronger.
There is no reason for me to confess my heart’s fallacies to the world. Nor should I have to explain that I am just as human as everyone else. But for myself, for my own sake, I have lost my joy to the age of my mind. Stress has ticked away on my internal clock, counting down the days to the complete elimination of my innocence. With each second stoke, I feel my oblivious state of mind slipping further and further into its depths, never to be seen again. The reality presses against my eye sockets begging to be part of me. My mental immune system weakens daily against its persistent begging. Soon, reality will be my only consideration.
As I pack my bags to begin my adventure into adulthood, I stop to dust off the mementos of my childhood- my true innocence. The band-aid I was given when I realized that the world wasn’t full of loving people who want to love and be loved, my broken heart from my acknowledgement of the opposite sex, my bruises from my disobedience, my golden stars for my participation in life’s silly games, they all find their way to my side. I cannot help but think, “If that girl knew what she was traveling towards, would she stop dead in her tracks? Would she turn and run for shelter in her mother’s arms?” I honestly believe she would press on.
She did press on, I always will. Reality cannot control my future. Reality cannot control my dreams. Reality exists within itself and within itself alone. Reality is palpable and authentic, unlike myself. I am fake. I am a simulation of life- one who embraces not the opportunities that present themselves. Why would reality like to crash the party of the fakes?
Every day I face the same world the same way. Nothing ever changes and I hate it that way. I hate that I have allowed reality to make my heart a stone. I hate that I have allowed it to press into my eye sockets and rule my thoughts. I find it an injustice to my innocence, that it was bested my reality. I sure thought it was stronger.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Seasoned
This town is starving. It eats people up and leaves no trace. Few are the ones who escape this place. Many are blinded by the simplicity and have yet to realize that this town is a black hole. It swallows up futures. It swallows up lives.
Those who notice that this place isn’t as peachy as it appears are set in a determined state of mind. They don’t fool themselves by believing in roots. They don’t anchor themselves in regression, they climb out against it. Somehow they see the dim hope that lights the distant future.
I’m not quite sure if I will ever escape. My mind is free to roam, but my feet are sewn to the ground. My type is this town’s favorite meal. My promising future creates the perfect flavor. It will keep me here forever if I let it. But I don’t know if my drive is strong enough to rip the seams. I don’t know if my future is bright enough to light my way. But if I don’t try, I will never know my fate.
This town is starving. It eats those left unaware, those who turn their backs, those who don’t care, those who drink their meals, those who sell their mother for drugs- it eats them up. It leaves no trace of future. It leaves no trace of life.
Those who notice that this place isn’t as peachy as it appears are set in a determined state of mind. They don’t fool themselves by believing in roots. They don’t anchor themselves in regression, they climb out against it. Somehow they see the dim hope that lights the distant future.
I’m not quite sure if I will ever escape. My mind is free to roam, but my feet are sewn to the ground. My type is this town’s favorite meal. My promising future creates the perfect flavor. It will keep me here forever if I let it. But I don’t know if my drive is strong enough to rip the seams. I don’t know if my future is bright enough to light my way. But if I don’t try, I will never know my fate.
This town is starving. It eats those left unaware, those who turn their backs, those who don’t care, those who drink their meals, those who sell their mother for drugs- it eats them up. It leaves no trace of future. It leaves no trace of life.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Nothing
I want to write the words that change the world, but I have nothing to say. I don't quite know how to say nothing so gloriously that it souds like everyting. Can you change the world with nothing? Can I make myself a legend with no ideas? Bringing nothing to the table is nothing new, everyone has done it. But I have to change what nothing is. I have to change nothing's state of mind and create it as though it is not only something, it's everything.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
The Hands
The silence inside my soul is alive. Its fiery hands grab my throat and hold tight. It chokes out sound, it chokes out life, it chokes out hope. Hope is the fuel for life. Without hope there is no tomorrow, no bright future, no progress. Without hope, no one will ever try. With no one trying, we all will fail. The world will die starving for hope.
The hands of silence create the feeling- the delusion- that words are not needed. The whole world falls victim to silence's sick game. Homicide of creation, suicide of thought, slaughter of hope- silence cannot win. We cannot be silenced by the cruel monster inside ourselves.
So we shout and we scream. Our pent-up words must be poured out. Our voice must win the battle. beat down silence until its broken hands cease to move. Defy its wishes by saying all you need to say. Speak- not to hear yourself, but so others might hear. Inspire them to win the battle inside themselves. Revive the world. Revive the hope.
The hands of silence create the feeling- the delusion- that words are not needed. The whole world falls victim to silence's sick game. Homicide of creation, suicide of thought, slaughter of hope- silence cannot win. We cannot be silenced by the cruel monster inside ourselves.
So we shout and we scream. Our pent-up words must be poured out. Our voice must win the battle. beat down silence until its broken hands cease to move. Defy its wishes by saying all you need to say. Speak- not to hear yourself, but so others might hear. Inspire them to win the battle inside themselves. Revive the world. Revive the hope.
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