when that day comes; i don't want you to be angry at the world
i don't want you to hate life for being unfair
i want you to cry because you're sad for the loss
i want you to smile because you know that i love you
when the inevitable day arrives, i don't want to be pitied
i want to be respected for my acceptance of fact
i want others to be able to accept it, too
i don't want you to believe you could've controlled fate
on the day i am lain to rest, i don't want my body to be another seed planted into the ground
i want to be set free into the world that i love
i want to visit the sea of waves again
i don't want to be placed inside a jar
my body is not my soul. it is just the container that keeps it safe.
my heart is not the place where i love. it is just the pump that keeps my cheeks red.
my brain is not my ruler. it is just the control system i use to act out that of which i cannot explain.
when i am gone; i shall never truly have left. i shall always have been there.
my body is just a device i use to interact and to share what cannot be seen inside. when it decides to leave, it is not i who dies: after the novel is read, the book may be burned, but the story lives on. the meaning of its life shall never die and its essence shall live forevermore.
Sunday 27 November 2011
Saturday 26 November 2011
longing an everlasting youth. welcome to today.
i lie awake in bed each night
hoping for a glimpse of the joyful sight
of the young boy who travels by fairy-dusted flight
that is why my bed rests by the window
i doze by the sky so that i may be seen
so the boy knows where to look when he comes dressed in green
my teeth shall be shiny and my hair shall be clean
that is why my bed rests by the window
i study each star, each twinkle, each gleam
of ticking crocodiles and the lost boys team
of pirates and mermaids and a childhood dream
that is why my bed rests by the window
there is no way to summon the kind of magic he brings
i cannot meet him while fluttering my invisible wings
if i am deprived; no note shall sound from heartstrings
that is why my bed rests by the window
i live not in Bloomsbury; i am no Darling child
i live in a matrix and my soul dreams wild
is it so wrong that i long to be beguiled?
that is why my bed rests by the window
one day i know i shall belong to Neverland
i shall be blessed with my youth and it'll be grand?
to be trapped in a world where aging is banned
is this why my bed rests by the window?
hoping for a glimpse of the joyful sight
of the young boy who travels by fairy-dusted flight
that is why my bed rests by the window
i doze by the sky so that i may be seen
so the boy knows where to look when he comes dressed in green
my teeth shall be shiny and my hair shall be clean
that is why my bed rests by the window
i study each star, each twinkle, each gleam
of ticking crocodiles and the lost boys team
of pirates and mermaids and a childhood dream
that is why my bed rests by the window
there is no way to summon the kind of magic he brings
i cannot meet him while fluttering my invisible wings
if i am deprived; no note shall sound from heartstrings
that is why my bed rests by the window
i live not in Bloomsbury; i am no Darling child
i live in a matrix and my soul dreams wild
is it so wrong that i long to be beguiled?
that is why my bed rests by the window
one day i know i shall belong to Neverland
i shall be blessed with my youth and it'll be grand?
to be trapped in a world where aging is banned
is this why my bed rests by the window?
Thursday 24 November 2011
i hope you're not real.
greased, sweat slicked hair put back into the net that holds it captive to keep the dirt from dripping into that of which will soon be devoured.
you're wreaking of fried lard and potato skins and you're covered in everything that is anything with fast food.
you're eyes are caked with a dark, charcoal paste and your lashes primped to look full and chunked. hopefully today someone will notice the effort.
the pollution of your day job has crawled into your pores and shut the door. your skin is damaged; a bumpy road leading to nothing exquisite.
as you stand there flipping patties for just another overweight and unappreciative north american, you realize this is your life.
school is a joke when there's boys to try and please. what can education ever give you? some high numbers on another paper your parents don't care about?
every time you try and focus, there's another vibration of the little devil that you carry around with you everywhere. there's no way that whatever that old hag at the front of the room is blabbing about could ever be as important as whatever was just sent to you. when the day's over you sit and wonder what you were supposed to have done to be productive for the sake of your future. then there's another vibration and all is forgotten.
whatever.
you can just get married to some drug dealer that will be able to buy enough groceries to keep you from dying of starvation. it doesn't matter if he hits you; at least there will be someone out there that you can try and convince yourself cares about you.
oh. there's a bump now. you haven't gotten that gift you normally get and i guess that means something. you haven't been to that health class in so long now, you've forgotten what that means.
yep. there's a bun in there. and not the good kind that you can put butter on, eat, and forget about.
it's that kind of bun that never goes away.
the kind of bun that you have to pay for for the rest of your life.
i guess you see it that way.
i guess somebody noticed the effort you'd put into your caked face-paint that day.
you just wish you could remember which person that was.
there were so many.
too many.
whatever. life is worthless. life is unfair. you're a poor, deep soul lost in a hopeless future caused by a damaged childhood.
no.
you've done it to yourself, but you blame the world for your mistakes. you give up too easy and you're afraid to face yourself. you wallow in your self-caused trauma and you weep for your regrets.
you've been weak. but you can be strong.
you can be so much better. you can do so much better; but i hope you're just words on a paper. i hope you're not real.
you're wreaking of fried lard and potato skins and you're covered in everything that is anything with fast food.
you're eyes are caked with a dark, charcoal paste and your lashes primped to look full and chunked. hopefully today someone will notice the effort.
the pollution of your day job has crawled into your pores and shut the door. your skin is damaged; a bumpy road leading to nothing exquisite.
as you stand there flipping patties for just another overweight and unappreciative north american, you realize this is your life.
school is a joke when there's boys to try and please. what can education ever give you? some high numbers on another paper your parents don't care about?
every time you try and focus, there's another vibration of the little devil that you carry around with you everywhere. there's no way that whatever that old hag at the front of the room is blabbing about could ever be as important as whatever was just sent to you. when the day's over you sit and wonder what you were supposed to have done to be productive for the sake of your future. then there's another vibration and all is forgotten.
whatever.
you can just get married to some drug dealer that will be able to buy enough groceries to keep you from dying of starvation. it doesn't matter if he hits you; at least there will be someone out there that you can try and convince yourself cares about you.
oh. there's a bump now. you haven't gotten that gift you normally get and i guess that means something. you haven't been to that health class in so long now, you've forgotten what that means.
yep. there's a bun in there. and not the good kind that you can put butter on, eat, and forget about.
it's that kind of bun that never goes away.
the kind of bun that you have to pay for for the rest of your life.
i guess you see it that way.
i guess somebody noticed the effort you'd put into your caked face-paint that day.
you just wish you could remember which person that was.
there were so many.
too many.
whatever. life is worthless. life is unfair. you're a poor, deep soul lost in a hopeless future caused by a damaged childhood.
no.
you've done it to yourself, but you blame the world for your mistakes. you give up too easy and you're afraid to face yourself. you wallow in your self-caused trauma and you weep for your regrets.
you've been weak. but you can be strong.
you can be so much better. you can do so much better; but i hope you're just words on a paper. i hope you're not real.
Wednesday 16 November 2011
Angels.
I finished reading the book "Kit's Law" last night and it made me really emotional. It was a beautiful book and the only one I've ever read that had me feeling like I was living the life of the main character. While my emotions were running wild afterwards, this kind of just burst all over a page. I guess I can share it. :)
We all have angels. Angels that come to us on our darkest days and shine a beacon of light upon our gloomy souls. They come to us in times when we need them the most and can appreciate them the least. Shattered; it is so hard for us to see how much we really rely on their blessings to challenge the darkness we're feeling inside. These angels save us from being devoured by ourselves and they pull us back to the world where we belong. They tread the Earth's beaten paths with us and live in our hearts for the rest of our days- whether we realize it or not. Whether they physically are there for us for a long period of time or just for a split second; they have the ability to change our lives. Without these angels, we would not be able to live and prosper. Without these angels, we would only see black and white.
Thursday 10 November 2011
Some Philosophical Spewage.
so many people just listen to the music instead of coming up with their own melodies. such is a metaphor for the way people live their lives. we're too busy following and listening to others to create our own fate. everything we do- every decision we make is based on the actions or opinions of others. there is no originality anymore. it's all been done before.
do we ever really act out of kindness? is everything we do; nice or cruel because of our own conscious or subconscious selfishness?
every person who exists has a lack of self respect.
the over-rationalization of so many things in life are what lead to our demise.
for the ones we love: do we ever do anything for them, or just for the benefits of ourselves? this may be in a conscious or completely subconscious mindset.
do we ever really act out of kindness? is everything we do; nice or cruel because of our own conscious or subconscious selfishness?
every person who exists has a lack of self respect.
the over-rationalization of so many things in life are what lead to our demise.
for the ones we love: do we ever do anything for them, or just for the benefits of ourselves? this may be in a conscious or completely subconscious mindset.
Tuesday 1 November 2011
Not A Poem.
So I was having a discussion with some wonderful people today.
For some reason, while I was speaking with these incredible beings, a strange conversation came up.
All the sudden, I was telling the story of how one day I had a confusing conversation with my mother.
I was eleven years old and very much a tomboy. I refused to wear anything but boy's clothes and my hat. My brothers were my idols and I wanted to be just like them. (I was also ridiculously jealous of the fact that they could go to the washroom while standing up) The only thing that differed was the fact that I loved boys. I never shared this fact with anyone, because I was afraid of being mocked.
Anyways- now that you have the back story, this is a paraphrase of the conversation my mother and I shared:
- "Honey, do you like girls?"
"Yes..?"
- "No, honey.. I mean do you like girls?"
"Um.. yes? I have lots of girl friends?"
- "No, I mean do you think that girls are pretty? Like, would you ever want to really like a girl?"
*flabbergasted expression* "OH MY GOODNESS, MOM. NO! I love boys! Did you know I've had a crush on Cole Sprouse from the Suite Life of Zack and Cody for years?! He's the cutest thing ever! Ohmigosh, ohmigosh, ohmigosh."
- "Oh.. Oh no."
... It went something like that. Just thought I'd share. I find the awkward questions our parents feel obliged to ask us sometimes quite humorous.
For some reason, while I was speaking with these incredible beings, a strange conversation came up.
All the sudden, I was telling the story of how one day I had a confusing conversation with my mother.
I was eleven years old and very much a tomboy. I refused to wear anything but boy's clothes and my hat. My brothers were my idols and I wanted to be just like them. (I was also ridiculously jealous of the fact that they could go to the washroom while standing up) The only thing that differed was the fact that I loved boys. I never shared this fact with anyone, because I was afraid of being mocked.
Anyways- now that you have the back story, this is a paraphrase of the conversation my mother and I shared:
- "Honey, do you like girls?"
"Yes..?"
- "No, honey.. I mean do you like girls?"
"Um.. yes? I have lots of girl friends?"
- "No, I mean do you think that girls are pretty? Like, would you ever want to really like a girl?"
*flabbergasted expression* "OH MY GOODNESS, MOM. NO! I love boys! Did you know I've had a crush on Cole Sprouse from the Suite Life of Zack and Cody for years?! He's the cutest thing ever! Ohmigosh, ohmigosh, ohmigosh."
- "Oh.. Oh no."
... It went something like that. Just thought I'd share. I find the awkward questions our parents feel obliged to ask us sometimes quite humorous.
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