The Madness of blended reality, is confidently marching through my mind.
I could not resist the sweet sound of this haunting Muse.
She sang her dismal songs, which shook me something fierce.
Astounding words which resonate feelings I've never mustered.
Now comes the crazy, the loud bellowing of endless chords.
I'm running, clasping my ears ever so tightly, to no avail
The chantey is banging in the walls of sanity, louder and louder.
Tossing and turning, wide eyed and insane, her song goes on.
Even in my dreams, which have become their own nightmares, sing.
I cannot escape this tune, marching to the gates of some type of truth.
What am I missing, and shall silence elude me in my descent of ill will.
I roll back my eyes, to see the darkness play with such fever.
Hopeless, I give in, I let it play, over and over and over again.
I allow this cursed song to grace this shameful and unforgivable self.
For a moment, I try to believe it will end, knowing full well, its a lie.
Now, repeating with ominous terror, she sings louder, I began to crack.
Love hard, my friends. Love noticeably.
Love does not deserve to be shoved under the rug, to be disguised, or to be quieted. Love does not mean conforming to the idea that genuine affection is “sappy,” “cheesy,” or “cringeworthy”; instead-- love loudly.
The world wants to tell you that relationships are to be silenced. That posting multiple photographs of each other is tacky, uncomfortable, and something to make fun of. That devoting time with your favorite human being is disgusting, overbearing-- especially when you are young and the future does not exist in your hands.
Too bad, future. And how unfortunate, world. Because at the end of the day, the world does not own love. You do. It is yours to have, to keep, to share, and to do whatever it takes to hold onto it. It is mine.
When you find love, shout it from the rooftops and frame a million photographs. Post selfies of the two of you smiling wide and unwavering. Wear its colors on your face and shamelessly declare it to the whole universe and beyond: You are in love. You are alive.
And likewise, this is my philosophy: Love intentionally, fiercely, tirelessly.
Love so hard it makes people dizzy. Take it as a compliment. In an exhausted world that spins with violence, hatred, and monstrosity-- praise its joys. Snap those pictures.Tell your friends. Scrapbook it, publish it, make art out of it. Laugh about it, display it, live it. Put an end to the grotesque concept that something so beautiful, perhaps life’s most magnificent, should be sheltered. Let it grow.
This is a declaration. I am boisterously in love. There is no quiet here.
One day, you will find someone or something that your heart will never be able to shut up about. And that’s okay. Let it scream.
I like writing because there's all these words in my head that i'm never able to say out loud because of how introverted and anxious I am and people never seem to want to listen to me talk so by writing, I can actually speak. And the world will actually listen.
It seems to me that angry people drive big loud cars
and try to get around or go against what heaven bars.
Look what I’ve done.
World, look at me. I am pretty. Accept me.
Facebook like, love or whatever reaction cradle
Me in your arms like my mother never did
Tell me I matter.
Kiss me under the stars just
To prove to me that my dark past does not need
To overshadow my flickering happiness.
Let me breath you in just to prove that
This yin and yang mystery can be real.
Two hearts can synchronize.
Look what I’ve done.
Mommy look at me past my disappointments
Lover, look at me like I am the definition of perfection.
Toy with my bleeding heart like a porn in a chess game.
Dangle me. Make me feel whole and leave me empty.
Make me realize that I keep loving “deep” statuses
Because I find pieces of myself in them.
I keep trying to find my voice because
She ran away for me.
Look what I’ve done.
Look at what I am. I am alive.
I didn’t tap out. I survived.
I faced my demons and won some battles.
Lost more but I am here.
Look at me burying those I love.
I went out to hunt grief and before I left
I dug two graves.
One for my happiness and the other for my pain.
Look at what I have done.
God look at me!
Tell me why you never left
A suicide note to explain why I became a monster
The reason why you sent guardian angels
to protect us because we break everything we touch.
We hate happiness because it reminds us of something
we can hold onto for a lifetime.
Look at me. I hate death because
She reminds me of regret and the I love you
That I could have and should have said.
The I am sorry and the tight hugs.
A constant reminder that a beating heart
Is sometimes life distilled to its purest form.
Look at what I’ve done.
I became the human I promised to never become.
The alcoholic my mother is. The abuser that was my father.
My emotionless grandfather.
My voiceless grandmother.
The friend who ignores friends when
They need me most because I am afraid they
Wont reply to my 2am rants when I am confessing my dark secrets
How will I ever forgive myself for the things I did not become?
Look at me!
Look at what I’ve done.
unflumpin! timmy, dammit, shut up.
oil slick, don't pick, lost chicken head
luster gangrene on a pristine dollar
yelling, "ask her, ask her, she'll know!"
glancing behind my goggles, "whet?"
i know nussing at this fleeting moment;
hushed mouth, like cold barren winter
speak less, live fast; slow clarification
promising we'll all take care of one another,
when we're super crusty, rusty, trusting
age slowly creeps in a blooming joy;
band of bandeleros with nothing to lose
thong was far easier to maneuver a board
thirty years of draggin' ass, i can no longer,
before any ho knew about showing it off,
"shut up, it's just my butt, a chicken butt!"
burning our wicks in nature repeated,
always scrubbing, cleaning, caring for
soul reason she nourishes our shores
there yehling now, "darce, cant tipe!"
thongs are so pase, crica 86
wrotten 11,26 at the 2.36am our....fuuuugghhh
...shit it's drunk. i'm late.
gosh, men talk such poopoo!
nasty ass boys.
everything’s been a little cut-deep lately,
teach me how not to feel for once.
this isn’t the first time, y'see,
that my heart wears me down,
lungs a little too full.
d'you know the feeling?
but—teach me how not to.
how not to feel every quake of every bone,
every pulse of every vein,
let it fade into background noise because god,
only thing louder than the entire world is my own damn self.
either teach me how to make it hush
or lay me down