The Reason For My SongYou're my head, bobbing to the musicThe Reason For My Song5 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
in my heart. You're the tune in my
mind just before the singing starts.
You're the cheering crowd, when I'm
performing all alone. The reason I
blush when I call and hang up the phone.
I may not have the greatest voice,
or even the greatest sense of rhythm,
but I think of you and I have no choice,
but to express my love for you with them.
You're my companion in my daydreams,
making me laugh, even at the little things.
The one with the power to strike me dumb,
where all others get me talking till their
ears are numb. Yours are the compliments
that have me looking in the mirror, and
smiling, as if for the first time ever.
I may not be the greatest looker, I
sure don't tell the greatest jokes,
but I see how you feel for me, and
I'm filled with the highest of hopes.
You're my cloudless afternoon, you're
my starry midnight sky. You're the one
who makes me swoon, you're the one who
makes me cry. Your the one whom I need
most, whose absence co
Poem of The BuddhaSome things are certain:Poem of The Buddha9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
We live, we age, we suffer,
and as the world changes
eventually we die.
Sidharta was a man
not unlike us today,
trying to answer a
question in the midst
of untold suffering,
subjugation and war.
"How does one rise
above the pain which
makes one cry and grieve?
Is the concept of Self
only meant to deceive?"
Through his lifetime
he found his answer:
To rise above pain
one must leave themselves.
One should not retreat,
however from the world,
but foster kindness, compassion,
understanding and love.
Even those who do not
follow his teachings
find a lighter burden
and happiness this way.
To live for others, it
simplifies the duties
of one in this world
with goals and abilities
that can be found within,
and often met with a grin.
Xessie and Salem-IntroEvery night, my dreams take me to a world that I could care less about. I guess you'd have to be there to feel that way.Xessie and Salem-Intro6 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
"Are you writing about us Salem?" a young male voice questioned in a playful tone.
"Ugh...Do you have to interrupt your own introduction Xessie?" I groaned and paused the tape recorder.
"Well if you're going to describe the world, why can't I help you?" Xessie approached this like a game.
"Because I'm the one telling the story. More than one Narrator is confusing."
"Only if you intend to orient the story specifically around yourself. Confusion is usually a matter of orientation. If I interject early, then perhaps it won't be so confusing." Xessie hopped about along my shoulder, more of a shadow than an animal, but as I thought of him as an animal he became a kitten.
"Then I shall simply make it clear for them who is speaking, is that fine for you?" My words and exasperated sigh deflated Xessie so that he changed into a scarf and wrapped himself around me.
Tired FrustrationI can't stand life on Tv anymore--Tired Frustration6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
watching people make mistakes, over
and over. But sometimes I wonder if
it's about their mistakes or the fact
that I don't live a life to make my own.
I can't stand the silence of the night
anymore. All I get to listen to are
crickets, the cars pass. Sometimes
I wish I had reasons to be up at day,
so that the silence of night is actually
the silence of sleep and dreams.
I can't stand love in books anymore.
It's always difficult and never simple,
though often I wonder how tough things
could be...If only I had someone who
really loved me. I wish I had someone
there to kiss goodnight.
I wish I had someone here to wipe away
my tears. And I wish I had someone else
to say "I've been waiting all these years"
about me. The weeks and months go by and
it's like the ones I love are so far
away from me. I guess book love is simpler than I thought.
At least in books if you love someone
you can drop everything and run to them.
At least in TV if you make mistakes,
The Woman on the BalconyA young woman stands wistfully on her second level balcony,The Woman on the Balcony6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
leaning on her arms, she traces the sunset with her eyes,
scanning each cloud silently with a finger. To say they
fit together like a jigsaw puzzle would put a human fallacy
to the perfection of the sunset's very existence, its very
nature. She tilts her head to ponder a curious fact: If I
were to simply leap from this balcony right now, I might be
hurt, but if I could direct myself to the wall halfway down,
then all my force could be redirected, and it would be a
much nicer fall. And suddenly she's made up her mind.
She gathers up spare sheets and forms from them a rope,
and like a convict escaping the prison of reality, she
ties it about her balcony, tests its firmness, and
prepares for her leap. She paused momentarily, logic
screaming that she could simply take the stairs, and
then she laughed. she ran with her end of the rope and
used her momentum as she grabbed the railing to bring
her to a handstand, a sweet second of op
Do You Remember?Do you remember the warm glow of the hallway lightDo You Remember?5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
from your open doorway? It was more than a night light,
it was proof that there was somewhere to go when
the boogeyman really was out to get you. It was proof
that your parents really were there to run to when
you were afraid. It was proof that things would be okay.
Do you remember your room, the first time it was yours,
and not just the room of a child who happened to have your name?
When you could look around the room and see your style,
not the style of thousands of other kids, but your style?
It was proof that no matter how average your tastes seemed,
This room would always belong to an individual: You.
Do you remember the days you discovered what love
really felt like? The confidence to believe, no matter
what anyone said, that this was the real thing and
it would last forever? The positivity that no one
had ever felt love as strong as you did. That love
will always sit dormant in a place of your heart.
Now do you remember when yo
Life Is in the Little ThingsLife is in the little things--Life Is in the Little Things5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the things you wait for all day.
The five minute break at work,
The ramen noodle breakfasts,
The words you've been waiting
to say to someone all your life.
Say them, and watch the tears
prove to you that you're alive.
Believe them, and watch all
the years of loneliness stand
waving as you pass them by.
Remember how this feels--
This is the moment you know
the answer to all the nights
that you asked why? Why patience
is a virtue, and fools think
they're wise. The answer to
any question is found in their eyes.
(Why are we here?)
Because loving is worth living for.
(What do I do?)
Make sure you're never lonely anymore.
(Where do we go when we die?)
The heart of the one who chose to share our life.
And I don't think it's foolish
to hope when this is over, I may
just be waiting above, for you
to finally cross over--because
my heaven will be anywhere, as
long as I can spend it with you.
Say them, those three words,
and watch the tears prove that
I'll always lov
The Sunny Side of DarknessSuch a dreadful thing, amidst a sundownThe Sunny Side of Darkness7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in a warm day of winter to be sad.
Such a cursed thing, glimpsing the
hope of sunlight through a window,
in a warm heart of youth to feel hopeless.
What weight is it that holds body still
while mind revels in the coming season?
Dreaming of endless days of warmth, sun
and green of life. When the chattering
of trees and animals alike is heaven.
What hand is it that covers a mouth
which dares to express some wonder,
or dumb down a brain and senses so
any attempt to understand is a blunder?
The sunlight in one's eyes forces focus.
Closed unwillfully and thrust into darkness,
there is nothing waiting there but sadness.
A cold and strong embrace that muffles sound
and holds fast writhing limbs from freedom.
What Spectre? What whisp of being
could thus journey in blind but brave,
purpose only in mind to save this soul?
What pittance must then be paid, unless
"good riddance"s be said in spade?
Who then is the fulcrum of these scales?
From underneath a bl
I Am My Own MonsterI am my own monster--I Am My Own Monster4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
My own frankenstein, who's
visage sickens me in the way
that I am aware. Up to now,
few have loved me, and for those
few, great adoration and fear
is given. Great sadness.
Sometimes I look in the mirror
and I see a person, sometimes
I look in the window, and see
hands, always cautious, reaching
out to protect me from a fall,
not relaxed at my side, like a human.
Sometimes I look at a picture and
see beauty, sometimes I look in
a doorway and see feet dragging,
persistently limping me forward,
forever signaling to the world: I'm not normal.
Sometimes I look at my job and think "succesful".
And then I see my crouched gait and I think "Igor".
And though my body portrays youth, I think, "rotted".
Who could ever love me besides my creators?
Who would I dare ask love me? I desire it.
My hands are clumsy, my balance weak,
my legs tire, move short and slow--
my eyes slowly fail me, my mouth prattles on.
Only my heart is normal to feel emotion,
to writhe and dream, curse an
SpringI long for the days of Spring..Spring7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I gush for the songs birds sing..
I yearn for the leaves so green,
And a sun high in a clear blue sky.
Call me out to walk, I will follow.
I miss the feel of the morning dew.
Twinkling with sunrise, seems all for you.
No offense to the blankets of snow,
but my heart wishes the first spring
buds to show--promising grand flowers.
I miss a high noon breeze. How it
felt in youth to talk to me as I
sat on the bench in recess, the
rustling leaves like gossiping kids.
The days when I felt we had a rapport.
I remember days when I would ask questions
and the wind would be the translator
between my God and me. It was a simple
system, but it filled my cup spiritually.
These dear memories are what Spring means to me.
Xessie and Salem Part 2Attempt #2Xessie and Salem Part 26 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
The first time I dreamt of this world, I was surrounded by a world whose surroundings seemed to flow beneath my feet in the colors of the rainbow, and whose horizon ebbed and flowed like the ocean. Each color moved along its own path, like a vibration of water in the wave. I could barely grasp what was going on when Xessie seemed to merge out of the various shadows created from the environment.
When he first formed, he showed up as my mother: She was a tall woman at 5'11 and she had brown hair, with a smile that could calm a bleeding man. Last I saw of her she was in her thirties. She had a voice of hope, that is before she knew she had cancer that would soon end her life. I refuse to acknowledge that avatar of her, in her hospital bed.
"Why is it that you think of me just now?" Xessie said as my mother.
"I couldn't tell you." I answered. "Why is it that I see a world of impermenance and color?" I posed him as serious a question as he posed me.
"Oh, you are afraid of such an
Gentleman or PauperIn this world we live in,Gentleman or Pauper5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
driven by image, and money,
where even culture becomes status,
and the sex symbol is the one
who puts out and not the one who's prettiest...
Where's the room for the gentleperson?
Where are the morals now? We're still
raised to follow them--respect your elders,
treat your fellow man and woman nicely,
take care of yourself and your family,
so in the end where does it go?
Is the gentleman worthy anymore?
Television is the worst--raised with
channels like MTV where we're bombarded
with Cribs, and Made, and videos, where
the most popular genre of the day can
only talk about poppin' gats, or pimpin' hos.
Is the gentleman a fairy tale?
Nice is what everyone wants inside, but
what everyone turns down on the dance floor,
what everyone turns away from in the bedroom,
it's enough to make honest women think twice,
and honest men study under bigots and chauvenists.
it's enough to drive kids who don't cut it--to death.
I'm sick of a world where actresses are good because