At the touch of a button,
flick of the finger,
swip of the screen,
I can know more than the generations before me could.
I'm exposed to people I could never hope to meet,
their thoughts and feelings condensed to numbers and words on a screen,
introduced to so many thing that i've never seen before.
I'm so overwhelmed by how the world is turning,
suddenly conscious of my own failings:
the homophobic uncle, the sexist teacher, the racist childhood television show.
The shame creeps in and there is no stopping it,
what I built myself up on has eroded as the new world is redecorated in glass and chrome.
I have friends I don't respect anymore, and films I refuse to watch.
Natural disasters and catastrophes are reduced to hashtags, people you've never met can tell you that you're too tall, too short, too fat, too thin.
The digital revolution has already begun, and there is no turning back.
I am exposed, developed, and forever changed for better and for worst.
It's a fact I find hard to accept, so I blame my service provider.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 9:10 AM UTC
They say that time heals all wounds,
But that doesn't mean I don't remember being wounded.
Cut to the bone and strung out on the rack,
I stitched myself back together and mended what you left broken.
Did you really expect me to let the bull back into the shop?
If I were to be wounded again,
the fault would not be with you.
And that's a cut I don't think I could survive.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 9:05 AM UTC
Sometimes my heart is heavy for no reason,
and I need to sleep,
and cry,
and scream.
I know I need these things,
but I just can't do it in a crowd full of people,
which never gets smaller,
nor any further away from me.
So I will wait for that blishful moment when I am left alone,
but then I will realise
that it was the crowd that held me together all this time.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 6:39 AM UTC
I love my sunburnt country,
But not when reefs turn white, and rainforests fall
I love my sunburnt country,
But not when racism, misogyny, and hypoceacy govern it's people.
I love my sunburnt country,
But not when we've boundless plains to share, just not if you come by boat
I love my sunburnt country,
But not when people are taught that because you cover yourself, you are a the enemy.
I love my sunburnt country,
But not when we pretend that this land isn't stole.
I love my sunburnt country,
But not when it's on fire
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 8:48 AM UTC
You are the chorus, the refrain sung on high.
You are the crash of the cymbals, mighty and echoing.
You are the drop of the beat after the pause, the build up and the fall.
But I am the crowd, sweating and breathing as one.
I am the song; on their lips, in their heads, and written on their hearts.
You may be my symphony,
but I the composer.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 7:21 AM UTC
Scars are **** until they're psychological
Confidence is envious, until it you find out it's false
Patience is a virtue, until people abuse it
No one knows what they're doing, so don't beat yourself up.
Just cover the scars, smile, wait patiently,
And fake it til you make it
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 9:16 AM UTC
You were like a 90's movie:
Completely consuming to my younger self, every line, catchphrase, and sequence embedded in me. Becoming as much part of me as my own personality.
Totally embarrassing and shameful to my older self, a harsh reminder that I was even young and ignorant. That I confused quantity for quality; in love, affection, whispered sweet nothings on stale bed sheets.
But remembered with a nostalgia that can't quite be recreated, no matter how many times I try to relive it in my head.
Perhaps it's because I'm still too young, and the best metaphor I can conjure up when people ask me about my first love
is that you were like a 90's movie.
As pathetic as it sounds, it is no doubt fitting, because we outgrew each other with age.
It was only with time that we saw each other as laughably outdated.
Perhaps we are all just products of our time.
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 10:45 AM UTC
Don't ever expect to own someone.
They may give you their heart,
their mind,
or their body.
You might know their thoughts and desires so intimately,
to the point where they become your own,
but don't misunderstand.
You do not own them,
they need to exist outside of you.
"You are mine" and "I love you" are two very different things,
one is ownership,
and the other a gift.
A heart might beat for you,
a body might ache for you,
and eyes might weep for you,
but they belong to the person you love.
And you don't take things away from the people you love,
even if they give them away freely.
Because it is a far greater expression of love to care for something you don't own,
than neglect something you've branded as yours.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 4:44 AM UTC
Burning,
yet cold to the touch,
we stood out in the street with the snow.
Flakes that danced on the wind,
steadily dampening our clothes and hair,
shook away our troubles with the flutter of a breeze.
You in your fluffy hat and scuffed shoes, me wrapped in your jumper and my too-tight jeans. Both of us content to be cold before we got hot.
Because we both knew the fire would come later, burning kisses and blistering contact could wait.
Right then, we just enjoyed the snow, before the fire could melt it away.
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 7:06 AM UTC
Human life takes three stages: Child, adolescent, and adult.
Childish optimism is wanting to be a knight or an astronaut when you were five.
Adolescent realism is recognising that some aspects of childish optimism are unobtainable, and taking the journey of self-discovery.
Being an adult is harder.
Adulthood is distinguishing mediocrity from passion, interest from insight, desire from commitment.
Adulthood is dealing with the consequences of adolescence, and living with the disappointment of childish optimism.
But within this liminal space exist the happy medium, the recognition of human condition.
To be an adult is to accept,
so grow up and accept being an adult isn't the best option
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 11:01 PM UTC