Testfoo bar foo barfoo
TestTest i am a lit...
Chin UpAnd sometimes, coated and layeredwith tens of scores of others' eyeswe forget the word 'lonely' -so when it flings asheswe blink, and are blinded.
A Suicide Note..Dear Mum and Dad,First of all you need to know that this is not your fault,It's mine, for I locked my problem inside me like a vault,Problems that I was never able to tell you,Problems that I'm sick of dealing with. I'm through.I'm sick of pretending that everything's alright,I'm sick of having all these emotional demons to fight.I can't take my depressing life anymore,I realize I felt this way too often before.I now know I'm not needed in this place,Just another stupid teen, just another ugly face.I can tell I'm secretly hated by everyone I know,Though, when I'm around, they don't let their hatred show.My life has no purpose as I can clearly see,No one needs me and everyone hates meI hate this world I live in, I hate how I feel now.I try so hard to be accepted, but I don't know how.I hate my reputation.. a fat loser.. a slutSo I'm ending my life, my wrists I will cut.I want you two to know, that I really do love you,But I hate my life too much, this is the only thi
I'm fineThrough soulless eyes people seeall too constantly watch the worldthat they believe had nothing for them.Tears form, but no one sees,no person even bothers to look,yet it isn't like they don't notice.When someone finally looksand actually sees for oncethey utter those few words,that can change so much.Are you okay?The tear stained face looks upand knows it's been seenwith a blink thoughthe tears are gone.I'm fine. The voice breaks,but it is overlookedas nothing important."Stop! I'm not okay!"The internal voice screams,but the silent mental callis heard by no one.And the crying formthat so brokenly said it was fineis left to cry once more.
Red Riding HoodI want to believe people so badly when they say they won’t bitethat I contemplate climbing into their smiling jawsthinking that it might be better to be split in two than left hanging.But always, I draw my red hood and flit back into the forestrunning in the shadows of pathways, never stepping into clearingsbecause I’ve spent my whole life in the wildernessand I still can’t tell the wolves from the woodsmen.
AloneI feel alone.Seperate from others.Suffering from a broken heart.I cry.I have friends.They care for me.But their too busy with their lives.Am I selfish?I stand in the highwall not caring.I watch my life pass by in blurrs.Turning my head just looking around.I bleed.My heart bleeds.I feel so alone.I watch people hug and kiss.I want.I try to get noticed.I scream at the top of my lungs.No one notices.I fall.I curl up in fetal position in the middle of the floor.I tug my hair gently to see if I'm still alive.I claw at my skin to bleed more.I disappear.My life keeps on going.But I dont.I walk like on autopilot.I'm non-existent.
The day the leopards diedAlarm clock - check!The city humdrum - check!The noisy guy upstairs - check!The sound of running water - check!The angry woman on the phone - check!The furtive cat legions, stray, spoiled - check!The wars on TV, clamorous, onerous, futile - check!The shadowy stalkers returning to their hideouts - check!The mother, worrying about offspring whereabouts - check!The birds - a farrago of doves, gulls, sparrows, crows - check!The dogs - spaniels, Great Danes, retrievers, pomeranians - check!The plumber, wanting money for that job he never completed - check!The bugs, the critters, the noises behind the walls, the eyes in your kitchen sink -Check, check, check!Everything accounted for, I look outside and find no leopards.You would think that this was natural. This is notleopard country, but I feel their absence elsewhere, andI wonder why all the city eyes look inward.So I walk.I cut into the sunshineand sail the concrete waves intothe green - no leopards, intothe blue - n
Honey and the BeeMy back against the tree,as I sit here and watch,the Honeyand the Bee.
even god needs an editor.these subtle strings that some lonely god wove into souls and hearts, bones and blood--this is his swerving handwriting, curling across pages of skin and color.i can see him now, bent over a long desk sweat collecting in beads along his brow, glittering in the ethereal candlelight, and he is writing in DNA, telling new stories:genetic dramas written in lively ink, spilling across the dirt stage: some of us are tragedies, some of us are comedies, and some of us are masterpieces;
Math and PoetryShe used to tell meof math and poetryby the length of her armand rhythm of her heartcondensing verse and fractionwith form following the functionof communist theoriesand greek philosophies.she beat out aestheticswith a perfect symmetry.because no one understandsthe relationship betweenseafoam and shorelinethe way she does[swimming in saltwater sorrows]reimagining time in an hourglass,she shot up infinities with a glanceand left me moondrunk in the night.she emits sparks throughout my systembreaking and entering--my kingdom under siege.her name was an amalgam of numbers1.61803399 . . . .and I loved her by design.
My Little Poemfoo barbar foofoo bar