Who is Santa?
A tubby man who sports a warm, red coat?
A jolly man who devotes his entire year to pleasing and sorting the naughty and nice children of the world?
A grandpa who watches your every move in a sweet and childlike way?
He is none of these, in reality.
Hope for all of the children,
of the world.
Each year, people look forward to Christmas.
The saddest day of the year is December 26th...
Because hope is done,
And we must start the calendar over.
We must look again for hope throughout one more long year.
Many people debate whether or not Santa is real...
Evidently there is no proof of his existence.
People can find no proof,
Because they are not looking in the right place.
People look towards the North Pole,
Or they'll wait up all night by the fireplace,
That Santa will magically appear.
Santa can be found all throughout the world...
Whenever someone believes,
Santa is present.
What is Santa's mission in life?
To know all of the world's people...
To develop a relationship with them all...
To let the people know that the world has love in it...
Do we know anyone else like that?
Of course we do.
We may not realize it,
But every single person in this world has at least a speck of love in their heart.
The world is a troubled place,
And I think we all know that.
Santa merely makes the world a bit brighter...
People who don't think Santa is real,
Are lacking something in their lives:
Don't let the hearts of children die...
Keep Santa alive for them,
And for yourself.
Up and placed
In the ground
Eventually to be
Dug up again.
i want to help you not be afraid
not in a pushy bossy sort of way, (like the others go about it,)
poking and prodding you
when you're hurt
and saying "that's foolish, don't be afraid of that,
that's a stupid thing to do"
but because you're simply so wonderful that i don't want you to ever have to be afraid
I want to be able to hold you
and whisper softly into your ear that everything's alright
and that you don't have to be scared
and to grin at you
and kiss your hair
and for you to just never have to be afraid of anything that is not here and now, nor anything that ever existed in the past. (if you're ever in danger i'll protect you from it with my life)
not anything ever.
(til i'm with you then, i'm with you there,
sweetly buried in your jet black hair
you're no Johanna
but i'll steal you)
i want to fix you
i want to help you never feel broken ever again (this is my damned hero complex and i know it)
(I have never been very mechanically inventive, but i like fixing broken things, i always have to be the hero, be Alice, but in real life it's not like that and one must put away childish things and notions)
i want to help you overcome this
because what did i ever do in some past life to deserve a chance to love a soul as wondrous as yours
Courtney gets scared and i cannot help her from all the way in america
a long time ago some schoolteacher gave her necrophobia from being so horrible when supposedly teaching them about the holocaust, and now she has issues sometimes with things like nazis and gory television and sometimes she gets dreadfully stressed out thinking about death and i don't really know because she doesn't talk about it much but she got triggered the other day and it was scary and i wanted to be there and hold her but i could not and it was awful
this isn't really poetry, this isn't even trying to be poetry, this is just me being sappy and honestly i have no idea
Tim Burton's Sweeney Todd and its gr9 soundtrack is eternally ruining my life here have some halfassed lyrics to Johanna with some of the words changed because i am not even sorry
also nearly directly quoting Memories from Alice: Madness Returns but pfft oh well
NOT YOU AGAIN,
THAT'S WHAT I WAS GONNA SAY,
I been real busy for awhile
Gettin the place tidy for when I'm gone
Tryin to wash off all the blood stains
Gathering up alla the Love Poems
N burnin em in the Fire
Make a little room for Real Love
Even alla my friends're becoming stupid
All the people
Tossed into a suitcase
Picked up the the bell-hop
Who walks out the Door
WONDER WHERE HE'S GOIN
Like a story
Written on some paper
Blowing through some alley
Hot kiss in the cold rain.
A steady beat of a pulsing vein.
The fearful calm of the never the same.
The sweet aftertaste of your whispered name.
Two extremes inside one heart.
Living in the bewitched twilight of the after dark.
Made a little brighter by this perfect counterpart.
This perfect flame started by a lover's spark.
The relearning of what it means to mean.
Finding the greatest things on earth in the in between.
It's the transition of real life into a dream.
The infusion of love in this neglected bloodstream.
The perfect play of light on the perfect pair of eyes.
The look of which expels the bitter taste of goodbyes.
It's the safety rope for the deepest self dug holes.
Shes a harbinger of love, the savior of souls.
The North Star, that brightest bit of day.
That little feeling inside of you so you never lose your way.
A radiant hope in this desperate living death.
Every inch of her a place to catch your breath.
Made of the stuff of heaven, part blind trust
and perfect mixture of both love and lust.
It all boils and burns into left with only this...
A simple hot kiss,
in a cold rain.
With love flowing in every vein.
My mind is a cruel, cruel man.
He drags me in chains, and I bleed,
He leaves me to burn under the sun.
Where are these chain? I cannot see them, yet
He insists they are real.
My mind is a cruel, cruel man
he loves her
she refuses to accept herself
she loves who he is
he despises it
so much difference between them both
but they're together nonetheless
"we have so many differences,
we can't repel"
to me, it's more than that, so much
those words hit me so hard
i didn't expect them, so unpredictable
i fell for you hard, real hard
it was a mistake as maybe you'll leave
one day and i'll get hurt
but trust me, it was the best mistake
i've ever made
and right now
this very moment i'm missing you a whole lot
it hurts me
i long for the next time i see you again
i crave for your skin to be on mine again
i crave for you
I don't know who I am, what I am, where I've been
These memories are coming as if through sludge
Dedication to the planned obsolescence of our lives
Burn bright to burn out quick
Before they see what we've done here
There's a face haunting me with no name I can trace
Bright red lips just begging me to remember the taste
Death's sitting on her shoulder head shaking in disgrace
I guess it's alright to forget we're part of the human race
And just focus on the fact we're so full of hate
Racing to the end of the hall where I remember the fall
No stairs to meet my descent I tumble like a bouncing ball
Dust off my knees I'm sure I was wrong you seemed so pleased
As my broken bones sink into the mud at my feet
I'll see if I can find a place where we can meet
In tired moment we'll hold ourselves close
Clinging to memories that might not even be real
I don't remember anymore if I forgot
The silence in this embrace is haunting
Why can't I remember your face.
Every fiber of my body is on edge, seething with a burning urge to be alive.
More alive than this repetitive stasis that is Educational routine.
My blood thrums and sings with the desire and yearning for otherworldly adventures.
The uncontainable demanding within my soul that CRAVES more than a dull life set within the confines and standards of a society that has disbanded the thrill seeking pleasure that is and was the old world. Now we have to pay a small fortune in order to obtain a moment where we transcend grey and our colors blast and shoot through the spectrum in solar flare heartbeat pulses of excitement that dulls far too soon.
I want to taste sea salt and raindrops on my lips, grains of sand beneath my feet.
To feel every nerve in my body alight with the spark of something more.
To face the unknown, not in a city nor my home cowering for the remainder of my life.
But to claim my destiny with both hands, clutching my glaive firmly in battle stances while gazing unafraid into the eyes of my nemesis, my enemy. To duel it out on stormy seas, sails billowing, lifelines secured, braced upon the slick decks of pirate ships soaked with rain while torrents of wind lash at my body during a dangerous battle between lovers, demanding my downfall at the hands of nature but instead of falling to it I would prevail and arise. Where lightning cracks across the sky like a golden whip, where thunder roars in agony across the cosmos like Atlas holding up the weight of the sky.
Engaged in the throes of battle while the air is rich and pungent with the scent of steel and the satisfying clang of blades locked in combat. Sword against glaive, antagonist and protagonist.
To battle and seek, to pursue those who dare take whom and what I love. To become MORE. To transcend the fabric of dreams and turn all this into something tangible, to grasp it tight and shower the seeds of dreams into the soil of the real world, and to help it bloom into a reality I've wished for my whole life.
Instead of sitting around writing about how much more I long for. I don't want to be trapped in columns, in places at certain times.
To change the world, to alter my dull fate and the chance to make the stuff of my daydreams and night visions into more than just letters on a page. To whisper and weave the song of those worlds into the fabric of this twisted reality and watch as stardust mends the frayed edges.
Perhaps it is this fate, that my dreams never see the light of the midday sun
that there is not a strong enough conviction nor skilled weaver to bring about the change I long for.
We grow up in a world filled with fairy tales and books filled to the brim with stories to capture our imagination and you cant expect me to suddenly still be content and satisfied with the damnable grayness that is the black and white of our world that will never be filled with color.
And I will be doomed to write out worlds and cultures I can never touch and interact with, never will I be able to grasp the soil of the other worlds and exist within the places I make.
Never will we, of earth, trapped inside dull grey columns ever truly experience freedom.
Not even with our words for we cant even paint the sky a different color other than grey, and the ground beneath our feet will only ever be black. Despite the colors we think we see, they're not the colors we want. Just pale washed out shades of worlds we will never be a part of.
When she was five none of the books she read included an underlying love story, why would one want them at that tender age? Magical rainbow fish fed her desires and the real love story was when her grandma held hands with her granddad whilst they were walking along the Seine. She whispered to her mum in hushed undertones: 'I think they're in love!'
By the age of ten she got tingles every time she sensed a ripple romance in the sub-plot, she would picture the characters together and wish, wish for them. She could feel her happiness bubbling over when they got together and found that happily ever after, never caring about what came after.
They probably got divorced.
At fourteen she honestly believed that love could solve all- and spent endless hours planning her first kiss, her first boyfriend, her first love. She watched everyone whisper, doe-eyed, through white, virgin lips, about The Taboo. And that scared her.
And then at sixteen she fell in love. With blades and drinks and smokes. After that, well, she didn't live much longer.