My obsession lays only with Calvin Klein.
A proper noun with capitals.
A drifting strong aroma.
Another obsession in my world.
Is sometimes somewhat lighter.
I am an obsessed pusher.
Obsessed only with my pen.
If I can create an image well.
Then hell so be it.
Real people I don't like much.
It's only words I wish to touch.
Desire fires obsession.
It's just a bunch of words.
Sweet strawberries so succulent bring words of summertime.
Clouds weigh down around my head
Dark winter days of misery.
Moments when I wish I was dead.
I put my pen to work.
Writing darkness scarily black.
About bursting eyes.
Where no-one dies,
Except emotion cruelly slaughtered.
By the one known only in kindness.
As the smiling devil's daughter
Definitely no relation.
Just the mother of eccentricity.
Kindness in persona.
To be so dark.
That's very rare.
In a heart that's ribbon bound.
I write my words with tender care.
Sometimes, just to remind the world that I am still there.
Moreover, like a hornet.
I cheese you off and get stuck in your hair!
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Why is it that we give people so much control
Over our thoughts and feelings
Over our lives and well-being?
Why is it that our hearts yearn for one thing
But that one thing
Is the most detrimental to our eudaemonia ?
Why is it that we sit around and ponder
And hope, and wish, and wait
For things to change?
When we are the sole creators of our lives
And any second can be the second
That we choose to change our situation?
Why is it that we rely so heavily on others
To find happiness
When all we have to do is create it?
Where I'm not trusted
to talk with people
I haven't met.
I was just becoming social,
and now I'm regressing back
into the shell I long
to leave behind.
All because I lost you.
My sanity's glue,
my dignity's heart,
my life's reason.
You're everything to me sis.
And I won't be the same without you.
I'm gonna fall apart without ya.
is a weird thing.
I haven't realized that I've grown up.
Being a Summer baby I've always focused on the fact that everyone's getting older than me.
The only time I realize how much time has passed is when I look at the people around me.
Cousins who I saw the day they were born are now entering kindergarten.
Sisters go from being innocent little girls making words out of barrettes have suddenly picked up smoking, and a number of boys with bad reputations, and a hatred for me.
Friends are planning their futures, living in cities far from the ones that we had known.
And I didn't even realize what I've become.
I'm living the dream I've had since I was small, walking the streets I've thought about since I was a little girl, being responsible after realizing that 'out of control' was not a phase that suited me.
Time passes so quickly, and I didn't even realize it until I took a step back.
It rained in the city today,
and for the first time I didn't rush to tell you how badly I wished I were with you.
How badly I wished to be curled up next to you,
watching a movie,
laughing at your stupid jokes,
talking about the memories and the people from home.
I wonder if that means something.
I find it funny that I used to count each month as something special,
now we just round up to the closest year (two).
I wonder why you can't hear me when I talk to you,
why you can't do simple things like text me back,
or call me on the phone.
I could drown myself with memories from last year,
the phone calls,
the harsh words,
the times when I was the one who was too busy to talk.
But I try not to.
I don't know when things changed,
when you got too busy for me,
and when I decided to care too much
and then not at all.
It rained in the city today.
And I didn't think of you,
not even a little bit,
not at all.
his eyes were blurred, half open
and constantly shifting, his mouth
a soft gash along his chin, his hand
twisting among the grey, wiry curls on his head
and with one arm along the seat behind him
he slouched, facing the doors
like an uncomfortable silence
like an awkward comment
like someone who didn’t belong
and yet i could see that he did
there on the bus at one in the morning
this man was at home, as he tried
to make eye contact with me and i turned
to the window instead
and the woman behind him moved
to the back of the bus as soon as she could
to escape his wayward, grasping fingers
and i felt pity for him
grey, gasping pity
pity that made my eyes travel back and forth
between the window and indoors
as, inexplicably, i tried to capture
the creature sitting there
and i watched his feet shift
as the bus rocked beneath us and somehow
i saw the world from his eyes, the shady seats
and the angular, beautiful people
each one passing him by
hands gripping the posts and avoiding his gaze
and his mind was swimming in amber liquid
i knew that, i saw it
plain as day, this man was drunk
and though when he met my eyes
my brow was furrowed, my face uninviting
inside, i felt that same aching pity
and i thought damn, i’ll make poetry
from this somehow
and perhaps the words are simple
but i’m sure it’s the first time
that anybody has ever put that man
down on a piece of paper
in full colour
Swords clashing as knights swing
The sharp daggers create an obnoxious ping
The knights are only a small piece of this fight
People fighting for what they think is right
The evolution of war begins with the gun powder
Small particles, creating explosions getting louder
Once gunpowder was used, hand to hand was rare
More national armies used after westernization’s appear
Nowadays, the deadliest weapons ever created
With the nuclear bombings, making populations deflated
Killing off people who are defenseless from these killers
Fighting war for not freedoms as much, but for oil drillers
I am slowly deteriorating.
The world ceases to exist in my head, and hours pass quickly,
And seconds feel like hours.
I stare blankly at a wall, for these mindless periods of time,
And it does not seem real.
Who says that the life I live serves a specific purpose?
What purpose does my life have if I do not accomplish anything?
These questions have ripped me apart, so I strongly suggest you do not take them to heart.
I am depersonalized,
Nothing is right in my head, and I fear my emotions are too fake for people to feed off anymore.
Do I live this way, in a constant confusion, for the rest of my life?
Or will this condition of questioning go away?
I have deteriorated myself,
And caused myself to decay at too young of an age.
It is true,
Curiosity killed the cat, the cat being my brain.
Footprints line the harshest ground;
Signs that life can spread and grow,
No matter what might bring it low.
The bells chime once, and no one makes a sound.
A nations stands together for a day,
Joined as one beneath a single name;
How odd it is to see the world this way.
Sorrow helps us realise we’re the same.
He took their pain and turned it into joy,
Chose sacrifice to show them what was wrong;
He made a mark that time cannot destroy,
And taught the people how to sing love’s song.
I hope we haven’t found his path too late;
Love comes to us more naturally than hate.
Some people may say I “day dream”
I’d call it pre-occupied
They say “absentminded”
And that I’m “wasting my time”
But I call it time well spent
My father says I “waist the day away”
Laying around with my cat
And laying on my bed,
In the woods, or just in my own head
But I know he is wrong
My mother would say I “dilly-dally”
But she would just be assuming
And the world would never wonder
They are all busy making money
That will never make them happy
I think it’s sad…
Because I see this strange world form a much different,
More beautiful angle
And I believe that if they all stopped for a second
To what I just want to show them
They would see
How beautiful simple can be
My friends say my mind is “complex”
That I’m “dramatic”
Because they don’t see the world through my lenses
My best friends know my mind is like a book
They want me to write one
They would read it if I would
Because when I’m “wasting my time”,
Or “just wasting the day away”
The gears in my mind are turning
As they sink deeper and deeper
To converge with my soul
As I figure my life problems out
As I realize where to start
And what are my goals
The ideas start rolling
You could ask me about them all
And the stress roles off my back
Its one of the ways I attempt to cope
Sometimes depression sets in
Sometimes I feel more beautiful within
So if you ask me
You will find that I see it as something different
Ill ask you, is my time wasted
Or time well spent