Darling, I know you are scared to **** your garden Because you are afraid it will look too bare But those pretty flowers you crave need space to grow So even if it takes you a lifetime Pull the weeds Disturb the earth Plant new seeds
we’re always waiting. we’re always waiting for tomorrow or the next we’re always waiting for high school to be over just so we could wait for college to be over just so we could wait until we’re married and then we have a family. so we have our whole life figured out? but we never stop waiting we wait for more money so we can buy more expensive cars or a bigger house we wait for vacations off work because we’re working too **** hard and somewhere between all this waiting we seem to miss time passing by our faces show the sign of it and kids get taller by every minute we begin to wonder whats the point but we wait for even that we wait until we find the meaning as if it takes waiting to find yet we’ll never really find it and so we’re never satisfied we assume waiting will fill the emptiness bring us joys and things we lack but it only pushes time ahead and leaves our souls dragging behind and when our bones become too weak and our bodies ache for rest we’ll even wait for that for the day that is our last
you still exist in the crinkled pages of my notebook. last autumn i dog-eared the top corners so i would find my way back. your veins dance with the curves and loops of my frail frail words. the contours of your dreams lay in the indents of my ballpoint pens. your fears bleed black and blue. your voice--the raspy scratching of graphite before bed. my sentences often sit incomplete because that's how you left-- in the middle without warning because you lacked a single transition. your breath echos at the turn of every page inhale--look back exhale--look forward (i can almost feel your lungs working alongside my own). your blood runs red as i scribble across the pages-- at times i am in a frenzy, lacking control as my hands skirt along the paper. other days, i am silent, waiting for my hand to pick up the pen and bring you to life.
i keep telling myself that you still exist in the crinkled pages of my notebook but every time i close its covers shut, i can't seem to find you.
it was an inevitability that we'd unearth the evidence to validate Einstein's theory of general relativity.
three cheers for the method of science, an appliance that liberates and enlightens, suffocating the miasma of dogmatic parasitism.
pariahs can't stand beneath the weight of empirical data. a culture of imperialism intoxicating inane idiots, inundated by asinine philosophy.
ideologues instigating turmoil— vainly believing an intergalactic being created the cosmos in seven days for the predestined elect.
to insist inanely that the legacy of our existence could be measured in seven millennia is to extinguish the light from the majority of our neighboring galaxies.
you read the opening lines of your holy text too literally. open your mind to the poetry of a reality that no deity could ever breathe into existence.
we are not special. our fate is tied to a planet choking on CO2 and you deny the truth in the same breath you disparage any challenge to your impotent, imaginary friend.
**** sapiens— mere animals cursed with conscience.
if you would deny the ancestral history of our evolutionary biology simply on the premise that it's “only a theory,” then i'd invite you to put your vain hypothesis to the test and take a long walk off a short bridge. perhaps the theory of gravity will provide with you some clarity.
Scientists recently proved Einstein's theory of General Relativity. This poem celebrates the scientific method.
love - noun deep affection, fondness, intimacy -where your jaw drops to the floor and your heart beats out of your chest like a cartoon character past tense -where time slowed down, or even came to a stop because you locked eyes with this one person across the room and your entire future flashed through your mind like a projector streaming home videos on a sheet hung upon your living room wall but it didnt last and eventually time caught back up and you ran out of film so again you were stuck holding your own hand
love - verb adoration, worship, idolize do you love me? could you ever love me?
dont answer that
i dont understand the meaning, and i dont mind if i die trying to