caleb-azumah-nelson - Hello Poetry

We are the lost generation One would say we strayed If there was a path to stray from To be lost, to not know one's whereabouts is tough When one doesn't know themselves. A gap year will solve that problem Or two Or eight Perhaps a gap life might be more appropriate More appropriate than 3 years of falsities we label as education Three years of losing oneself -the self one never owned- For instant gratification, excessive debauchery Live now, pay later In full, with interest They never warn you of the interest At some point undergo transformation, Don't so much follow as pursue your passion as a detective seeks his criminal Craft your philosophy and prepare for war where Freedom fighters clash with crashes of the sharpest steel Shame really, To be fighting when one does not know what they are fighting for The world burns and we feed the fire without thinking The lights are on Yet we are shrouded in darkness Cast over by the shadows of our possessions Acquired as one collects stamps or stones Stones more like, for they will be too heavy to take with us As will the paper our degrees are published on As will the words I scribble furiously, daily All because my work is by extension, me, And so with it comes purpose A bumpy, undefined path for me to trek on For me to struggle and strive for an invisible finish line Sans friends and family Without anyone to shield me from my own monstrous thoughts Is it fear or control which prevents me from action? Perhaps a more suitable question for those who do Take action Seeing evil, hearing evil, contributing to it Ignoring it Ignoring the little boys and girls plucked from their homes Or forced into silence by the ones they trust Or watching countries storm their neighbours for no reason Or even the most ordinary, Where families are ripped apart and vows are broken Where we cut and chop and mutilate our flesh to become someone's doppelganger Where heart, honour and respect mean nothing. Don't tell me money started this When evil existed before money Long before we didn't know who we were Are. We are the lost generation And though I don't know how to be found Maybe the solution Is to find each other.

0

May 23, 2014

May 23, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC

Lost and Found

We are the lost generation One would say we strayed If there was a path to stray from To be lost, to not know one's whereabouts is tough When one doesn't know themselves. A gap year will solve that problem Or two Or eight Perhaps a gap life might be more appropriate More appropriate than 3 years of falsities we label as education Three years of losing oneself -the self one never owned- For instant gratification, excessive debauchery Live now, pay later In full, with interest They never warn you of the interest At some point undergo transformation, Don't so much follow as pursue your passion as a detective seeks his criminal Craft your philosophy and prepare for war where Freedom fighters clash with crashes of the sharpest steel Shame really, To be fighting when one does not know what they are fighting for The world burns and we feed the fire without thinking The lights are on Yet we are shrouded in darkness Cast over by the shadows of our possessions Acquired as one collects stamps or stones Stones more like, for they will be too heavy to take with us As will the paper our degrees are published on As will the words I scribble furiously, daily All because my work is by extension, me, And so with it comes purpose A bumpy, undefined path for me to trek on For me to struggle and strive for an invisible finish line Sans friends and family Without anyone to shield me from my own monstrous thoughts Is it fear or control which prevents me from action? Perhaps a more suitable question for those who do Take action Seeing evil, hearing evil, contributing to it Ignoring it Ignoring the little boys and girls plucked from their homes Or forced into silence by the ones they trust Or watching countries storm their neighbours for no reason Or even the most ordinary, Where families are ripped apart and vows are broken Where we cut and chop and mutilate our flesh to become someone's doppelganger Where heart, honour and respect mean nothing. Don't tell me money started this When evil existed before money Long before we didn't know who we were Are. We are the lost generation And though I don't know how to be found Maybe the solution Is to find each other.

56

It was late And the night was beginning in earnest When I learned about love. I sat one night And eavesdropped without intention Into the intricate lives of a pair Creatives, artists doomed to a life of non-satisfaction Yet they are humans too They may conjure out (in this case) music out of thin air Melodic moments and sensuous sing-songs But they feel pain too And try to lose it in viscous, pungent, happy-making liquid. This fellow, bearded and thick spectacles atop his nose (Is there a more stereotypical artist?) Would lose his father soon Intuition and expensive healthcare told him so What to do? Well take a sip and another and another Because drunken words are sober thoughts. A dog he suggests, so that his mother will not be lonely Who will care for it? We will of course he says, And she is lost at 'we', a confirmation of their union To take over the world, together. Is this not love? I sat another night Encountering two whose sips became gulps And gulps become swallows Diving into the pool of intoxication Rid of all senses they walked, together Up and Down carriages, Stumbling in unison Destination unknown, they would find it together Matching trench coats flapping in rhythm Giggles as they rocked to the swaying melody of the train They may have appeared as two nuisances, inconveniencing others But they were two foolish lovers, Holding on for the moment in a night they would forget Is this not love? The last night on the last train A soft pitter-patter of midnight rain An arctic breeze had blown in Across me a couple huddled Touching Not groping and wandering with perverse hands Subtle sensual caressing Involving no movement Just the pair joined in body and soul Tucked into each others arms Clicking together as two jigsaw pieces Slowly slipping into splendid slumber I wondered Is this not love? And when will I find it?

0

Sep 15, 2013

Sep 15, 2013 at 12:19 PM UTC

Love on the Last Train

It was late And the night was beginning in earnest When I learned about love. I sat one night And eavesdropped without intention Into the intricate lives of a pair Creatives, artists doomed to a life of non-satisfaction Yet they are humans too They may conjure out (in this case) music out of thin air Melodic moments and sensuous sing-songs But they feel pain too And try to lose it in viscous, pungent, happy-making liquid. This fellow, bearded and thick spectacles atop his nose (Is there a more stereotypical artist?) Would lose his father soon Intuition and expensive healthcare told him so What to do? Well take a sip and another and another Because drunken words are sober thoughts. A dog he suggests, so that his mother will not be lonely Who will care for it? We will of course he says, And she is lost at 'we', a confirmation of their union To take over the world, together. Is this not love? I sat another night Encountering two whose sips became gulps And gulps become swallows Diving into the pool of intoxication Rid of all senses they walked, together Up and Down carriages, Stumbling in unison Destination unknown, they would find it together Matching trench coats flapping in rhythm Giggles as they rocked to the swaying melody of the train They may have appeared as two nuisances, inconveniencing others But they were two foolish lovers, Holding on for the moment in a night they would forget Is this not love? The last night on the last train A soft pitter-patter of midnight rain An arctic breeze had blown in Across me a couple huddled Touching Not groping and wandering with perverse hands Subtle sensual caressing Involving no movement Just the pair joined in body and soul Tucked into each others arms Clicking together as two jigsaw pieces Slowly slipping into splendid slumber I wondered Is this not love? And when will I find it?

53

My life is a paradoxical monstrosity A contradiction in itself Where to start? Anywhere, everywhere, nowhere perhaps Occupation, I play with words. How naughty does that sound? Really, I'm in a complicated relationship with words, terms, definitions, metaphors Writer by day, storyteller by night And of course I love what I do And I hate what I do How very poetic of you! Why thank you! Sorry, the inner child speaks. Back to writing, And the moments of fantastic ecstasy Where this jumble of verbs and nouns and adjectives you're trying to assemble Clicks. The bigger picture develops with crystal clear clarity No fastidious statements Or meaningless passages. Just words, feelings, meanings Soul. That doesn't sound so bad you say IT HAPPENS ONCE EVERY MILLENIA! For the most I am frustrated. Stumped to the point where rage overcomes and the only cathartic release is to sleep. When I do manage to squeeze something out of the depths of my mind, it appears substandard, to say the least. Zadie told me to get used to non-satisfaction So I am satisfied with never been satisfied; does this make me satisfied? Ow. Please, I need an answer I've been looking for answers for nineteen years, But have I been asking the right questions? Are there any answers? Another question No, that was the question Confusion and befuddlment ravaging through your mind? I recently realised there are no facts Only really good suggestions by excessively knowledgeable and esteemed I quite fancy being one of those guys A visionary complete with the stereotypical glasses and overgrown beard And I'd declare that being yourself is the first step to finding your purpose Fact. But what if finding your purpose is your purpose? I'll leave you with that. This is my life. Complaining would be ungrateful of me; it's a good one really. I can walk and run and play basketball and see my friends where we laugh endlessly. Oh and Saturday morning cartoons. I have problems, enormous world ending problems But it's all relative. Some think I'm strange, I prefer quirky. I wonder how life would be if I'd chose the 'normal' option Most likely, frightfully boring

0

Jul 30, 2013

Jul 30, 2013 at 7:36 PM UTC

My Life

My life is a paradoxical monstrosity A contradiction in itself Where to start? Anywhere, everywhere, nowhere perhaps Occupation, I play with words. How naughty does that sound? Really, I'm in a complicated relationship with words, terms, definitions, metaphors Writer by day, storyteller by night And of course I love what I do And I hate what I do How very poetic of you! Why thank you! Sorry, the inner child speaks. Back to writing, And the moments of fantastic ecstasy Where this jumble of verbs and nouns and adjectives you're trying to assemble Clicks. The bigger picture develops with crystal clear clarity No fastidious statements Or meaningless passages. Just words, feelings, meanings Soul. That doesn't sound so bad you say IT HAPPENS ONCE EVERY MILLENIA! For the most I am frustrated. Stumped to the point where rage overcomes and the only cathartic release is to sleep. When I do manage to squeeze something out of the depths of my mind, it appears substandard, to say the least. Zadie told me to get used to non-satisfaction So I am satisfied with never been satisfied; does this make me satisfied? Ow. Please, I need an answer I've been looking for answers for nineteen years, But have I been asking the right questions? Are there any answers? Another question No, that was the question Confusion and befuddlment ravaging through your mind? I recently realised there are no facts Only really good suggestions by excessively knowledgeable and esteemed I quite fancy being one of those guys A visionary complete with the stereotypical glasses and overgrown beard And I'd declare that being yourself is the first step to finding your purpose Fact. But what if finding your purpose is your purpose? I'll leave you with that. This is my life. Complaining would be ungrateful of me; it's a good one really. I can walk and run and play basketball and see my friends where we laugh endlessly. Oh and Saturday morning cartoons. I have problems, enormous world ending problems But it's all relative. Some think I'm strange, I prefer quirky. I wonder how life would be if I'd chose the 'normal' option Most likely, frightfully boring

55

Rule number 1: There are no rules. Are no schools To this life thing No wrong thing, no right thing Only decisions and choices Which amplify our inner voices Paint pictures like pablo Are you a sinner or a saint? Are you bold or are you faint Like the lines I use to write these rhymes Etched with such force they will never fade Aesthetically brilliant like the everglades Rule number 2: Why are you still reading? Did you not see There are no rules Are no schools to this life thing Do you not understand? You can do what you want. Do good or do bad, Make another happy, make another sad You can hug, harm, help, **** It's always your choice Some hesitate, many think twice Some are reckless, some fear consequences, Repercussions which can will haunt and terrorise you for the rest of your life A life shrouded in regret That you did not get Rule number 3: What is your problem? Did you not see There are no rules Are no schools to this life thing Your life is yours to lead Yet I give you great advice Which you don't heed And live a life, gasping for air Desperate for grip Gripping at the ledge of the window of the good life Angling for a glimpse of the other side Forever wandering, always wanting more Yet you could be satisfied Happy, joyous or content Or a be lost without cause And the choice is simple The choice is yours

0

Jul 9, 2013

Jul 9, 2013 at 7:42 PM UTC

New Rules

Rule number 1: There are no rules. Are no schools To this life thing No wrong thing, no right thing Only decisions and choices Which amplify our inner voices Paint pictures like pablo Are you a sinner or a saint? Are you bold or are you faint Like the lines I use to write these rhymes Etched with such force they will never fade Aesthetically brilliant like the everglades Rule number 2: Why are you still reading? Did you not see There are no rules Are no schools to this life thing Do you not understand? You can do what you want. Do good or do bad, Make another happy, make another sad You can hug, harm, help, **** It's always your choice Some hesitate, many think twice Some are reckless, some fear consequences, Repercussions which can will haunt and terrorise you for the rest of your life A life shrouded in regret That you did not get Rule number 3: What is your problem? Did you not see There are no rules Are no schools to this life thing Your life is yours to lead Yet I give you great advice Which you don't heed And live a life, gasping for air Desperate for grip Gripping at the ledge of the window of the good life Angling for a glimpse of the other side Forever wandering, always wanting more Yet you could be satisfied Happy, joyous or content Or a be lost without cause And the choice is simple The choice is yours

44

Who do I trust? When all of you disgust Me With your hypocritical Analytical dissection I'm guilty too I'm just as bad as you I look at you, you look at me I cut you, metaphorically Stick and stones may break bones But words will destroy you. And it doesn't matter if you don't know If I sing a song but don't put on a show? If a tree falls and no one hears it, has it really fallen? If I break your trust, and you don't know, is it really broken? Who do I trust When all of you discuss Me When my back is turned I know you speak in hushed tones Passing the final judgement upon my saintly mind and sinful soul The paranoia will take it's toll You'll be the end of me, you'll be the fall My mind will slowly unwind until you find my innermost thoughts which you sought to extract, as if they were facts, which would **** me forever. Show my face, this I won't I fear you will cast the first stone Irrespective of your flaws which I respected, I accepted Or did I? Did you find out I brandished my sword, Sliced through your soul, sliced through your ghouls There was no trial yet I banged the gavel I dropped a bomb but you were hit by shrapnel Oh dear me, what have I done? Who can I turn to, where do I run? Who do I trust When I cannot even trust Me Stuck in past, intangible present The future's bleak, like the moons full crescent The horrors of yesterday haunt me My evils of today taunt me My future transgressions daunt me I promise I'm trying to be good Promise I'm trying to do what I should But who's example do I follow When all your actions are so hollow And there I go again Mr hypocrite, judging his friends But who am I to judge everyone else When I do the same myself? I voiced my issues to a friend That I feared I would never trust again She dished out a few words which set me free If I don't trust myself, the who will me?

0

Jun 22, 2013

Jun 22, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC

Trust Me

Who do I trust? When all of you disgust Me With your hypocritical Analytical dissection I'm guilty too I'm just as bad as you I look at you, you look at me I cut you, metaphorically Stick and stones may break bones But words will destroy you. And it doesn't matter if you don't know If I sing a song but don't put on a show? If a tree falls and no one hears it, has it really fallen? If I break your trust, and you don't know, is it really broken? Who do I trust When all of you discuss Me When my back is turned I know you speak in hushed tones Passing the final judgement upon my saintly mind and sinful soul The paranoia will take it's toll You'll be the end of me, you'll be the fall My mind will slowly unwind until you find my innermost thoughts which you sought to extract, as if they were facts, which would **** me forever. Show my face, this I won't I fear you will cast the first stone Irrespective of your flaws which I respected, I accepted Or did I? Did you find out I brandished my sword, Sliced through your soul, sliced through your ghouls There was no trial yet I banged the gavel I dropped a bomb but you were hit by shrapnel Oh dear me, what have I done? Who can I turn to, where do I run? Who do I trust When I cannot even trust Me Stuck in past, intangible present The future's bleak, like the moons full crescent The horrors of yesterday haunt me My evils of today taunt me My future transgressions daunt me I promise I'm trying to be good Promise I'm trying to do what I should But who's example do I follow When all your actions are so hollow And there I go again Mr hypocrite, judging his friends But who am I to judge everyone else When I do the same myself? I voiced my issues to a friend That I feared I would never trust again She dished out a few words which set me free If I don't trust myself, the who will me?

61

There was one. A young man, Smart, confident, eloquent. Lost. Popular, the leader of the pack Yet courage doesn't always roar, and neither did he Strong whispers echo with thunderous force He is the humble king; What he says goes. But he did not mean it this way, Did not ask. Such responsibility is a heavy handed task. He wanders amongst his squires and compatriots The omniscient light in a realm of darkness, Bringer of love, and peace and hope. But inside of him these emotions have been abducted By the predatory tenebrosity of his own mind. An everlasting, ****** battle takes place But who is to be deemed victor if he is fighting himself? There was another A young lady. Smart, confident, eloquent. Withdrawn. Her desperate need to please others saw her relegated to the outskirts of society Clingy and desperate, when it suited them, Helpful and irreplaceable another day. Until she'd had enough And cast herself away in exile, From anyone and everyone. She sought to make herself invisible, After all, you cannot plunge a sword into the heart of one you cannot see. This she knew was her blessing and her curse Her savior and her foe And just like that she was back to square one The girl they had pushed and pulled, Until she was permanently subdued, A mere ghost of the exuberant being she was before Then one day The wandering souls fused in spectacular fashion His bright beam illuminating the corners to which she had receded A meeting on extempore, of broken hearts, broken minds. They looked deep into each others minds, Their internal recesses open Showing a continuous film of horrific abuse Damaged products drawn together And then There were two. A young man and woman, Whose lives became intertwined like weeds in flower beds Twisting and wrapping, suffocating and strangling Choking with a vice like grip Unable to breathe, having to fill each others lungs Company was no longer a want, but a need If they were to survive, it would be together. This mangled and gnarled love was anything but smooth sailing But it was worth the struggles and continuous setbacks for those few moments of bliss. Moments when responsibilities and pain and direction were forgotten Where being lost was okay, because neither of them knew were they were going The pain would subside, the revolting stench disguised by the scent of love. And happiness and hope were tangible. Still there were two Yet she knew not what to do Thoughts raced through her mind in befuddling fashion Like a horse who hears a gunshot She panicked. The distance, her safety blanket was long gone But she had only just realised her guard was down White flag waved That her path took her into the firing range Where he was behind the gun. A vow came to mind A self-promise that she would never hurt again And if she were, It would be by noone but her So She ran, knowing it would crush the life out of him A mother leaving her child in the wicker basket A father saying he would be right back, And never returning. She was all these things and more; Thief or plunderer would be an accurate description. And then there was Well, there was not much For when she left, she took most of him with her His shell remained seated, waiting patiently for her return Even after day three thousand, when he had become a brobdignagian mass of dirt, grime and hope. That's all he had left; hope. For nothing else but her reappearance. Life; he had given up long ago. But he never gave up on their reunion; on the opportunity, if only briefly to return to the bliss, the joy, The exhilaration of his eyes locked onto hers, Both so broken they could only maintain for a few moments. He never gave up Until he too, was gone. And then there were none.

0

Jun 10, 2013

Jun 10, 2013 at 6:03 PM UTC

One. Two. None.

There was one. A young man, Smart, confident, eloquent. Lost. Popular, the leader of the pack Yet courage doesn't always roar, and neither did he Strong whispers echo with thunderous force He is the humble king; What he says goes. But he did not mean it this way, Did not ask. Such responsibility is a heavy handed task. He wanders amongst his squires and compatriots The omniscient light in a realm of darkness, Bringer of love, and peace and hope. But inside of him these emotions have been abducted By the predatory tenebrosity of his own mind. An everlasting, ****** battle takes place But who is to be deemed victor if he is fighting himself? There was another A young lady. Smart, confident, eloquent. Withdrawn. Her desperate need to please others saw her relegated to the outskirts of society Clingy and desperate, when it suited them, Helpful and irreplaceable another day. Until she'd had enough And cast herself away in exile, From anyone and everyone. She sought to make herself invisible, After all, you cannot plunge a sword into the heart of one you cannot see. This she knew was her blessing and her curse Her savior and her foe And just like that she was back to square one The girl they had pushed and pulled, Until she was permanently subdued, A mere ghost of the exuberant being she was before Then one day The wandering souls fused in spectacular fashion His bright beam illuminating the corners to which she had receded A meeting on extempore, of broken hearts, broken minds. They looked deep into each others minds, Their internal recesses open Showing a continuous film of horrific abuse Damaged products drawn together And then There were two. A young man and woman, Whose lives became intertwined like weeds in flower beds Twisting and wrapping, suffocating and strangling Choking with a vice like grip Unable to breathe, having to fill each others lungs Company was no longer a want, but a need If they were to survive, it would be together. This mangled and gnarled love was anything but smooth sailing But it was worth the struggles and continuous setbacks for those few moments of bliss. Moments when responsibilities and pain and direction were forgotten Where being lost was okay, because neither of them knew were they were going The pain would subside, the revolting stench disguised by the scent of love. And happiness and hope were tangible. Still there were two Yet she knew not what to do Thoughts raced through her mind in befuddling fashion Like a horse who hears a gunshot She panicked. The distance, her safety blanket was long gone But she had only just realised her guard was down White flag waved That her path took her into the firing range Where he was behind the gun. A vow came to mind A self-promise that she would never hurt again And if she were, It would be by noone but her So She ran, knowing it would crush the life out of him A mother leaving her child in the wicker basket A father saying he would be right back, And never returning. She was all these things and more; Thief or plunderer would be an accurate description. And then there was Well, there was not much For when she left, she took most of him with her His shell remained seated, waiting patiently for her return Even after day three thousand, when he had become a brobdignagian mass of dirt, grime and hope. That's all he had left; hope. For nothing else but her reappearance. Life; he had given up long ago. But he never gave up on their reunion; on the opportunity, if only briefly to return to the bliss, the joy, The exhilaration of his eyes locked onto hers, Both so broken they could only maintain for a few moments. He never gave up Until he too, was gone. And then there were none.

96

I am empty, yet I am whole I burn with passion, desire, hot Yet I am frozen to the core, cold. My steps are surer than a Lions, Yet insecurity ravages my mind like a bad disease. My thoughts impulsive, extemporaneous Yet cool, calm and calculated are my middle names. Sometimes fear makes me weaker than a withering flower But usually I'm bolder than a boxer, ducking, diving, bobbing, weaving I can be loud, raucous, unbecoming or quiet, shy and unwelcoming I prefer my own space But I'm your best friend I can follow with the obedience of a dog But I love setting trends. I am an honest liar A well read idiot A losing champion A logical creative Beautifully ugly Perfectly flawed What I'm saying, is I'm human. A walking contradiction I'm an Oxymoron, Yet I am not.

0

Jun 4, 2013

Jun 4, 2013 at 7:48 PM UTC

A Walking Contradiction

I am empty, yet I am whole I burn with passion, desire, hot Yet I am frozen to the core, cold. My steps are surer than a Lions, Yet insecurity ravages my mind like a bad disease. My thoughts impulsive, extemporaneous Yet cool, calm and calculated are my middle names. Sometimes fear makes me weaker than a withering flower But usually I'm bolder than a boxer, ducking, diving, bobbing, weaving I can be loud, raucous, unbecoming or quiet, shy and unwelcoming I prefer my own space But I'm your best friend I can follow with the obedience of a dog But I love setting trends. I am an honest liar A well read idiot A losing champion A logical creative Beautifully ugly Perfectly flawed What I'm saying, is I'm human. A walking contradiction I'm an Oxymoron, Yet I am not.

25

What is your greatest fear? Do you worry about the past The present, the future? Do yesterdays woes play on your mind? Or the worries of tomorrow? How about the angsts of today? What is your greatest fear? Does money concern you? Do you envision that a lack of material wealth will make you a lesser person? Or that you won't be able to provide For your mother, wife or children? What is your greatest fear? Do you fear great adventure? From missions across treacherous terrains, To learning something new. Or maybe the unknown? Does a non-existent threat debilitate and paralyse you? What is your greatest fear? I would say mine own is the fading of a great ability To make words dance across a page as if they possess a life of their own To link together phrases, to bring life to seemingly dreary monologues To paint pictures with nouns and adjectives Record films with verbs and adverbs This is a gift I have been blessed with Yet I am scared For I do not know when my time will come And this pushes me But until then? I shall do what I know best I shall write, query and ponder all the great questions life has for us So I ask you What is your greatest fear?

0

May 25, 2013

May 25, 2013 at 8:40 PM UTC

What is your greatest fear?

What is your greatest fear? Do you worry about the past The present, the future? Do yesterdays woes play on your mind? Or the worries of tomorrow? How about the angsts of today? What is your greatest fear? Does money concern you? Do you envision that a lack of material wealth will make you a lesser person? Or that you won't be able to provide For your mother, wife or children? What is your greatest fear? Do you fear great adventure? From missions across treacherous terrains, To learning something new. Or maybe the unknown? Does a non-existent threat debilitate and paralyse you? What is your greatest fear? I would say mine own is the fading of a great ability To make words dance across a page as if they possess a life of their own To link together phrases, to bring life to seemingly dreary monologues To paint pictures with nouns and adjectives Record films with verbs and adverbs This is a gift I have been blessed with Yet I am scared For I do not know when my time will come And this pushes me But until then? I shall do what I know best I shall write, query and ponder all the great questions life has for us So I ask you What is your greatest fear?

33

You were different As you repeatedly pointed out You weren't quite like the others You possessed a quietness which only titillated me further We had moments which will lie etched in memory forever We were different Together But then, like twigs under the feet of a giant You broke me. You may be the one I thought I desired You may be the one I thought I required But you are not Nor are you the only one for me There are plenty of fish in the sea Should I choose to go fishing. For now, the rods must stay in the barn; I have bigger fish to fry. Like changing the world, for instance Which to you is a preposterous and fanatical notion To me, is another thing to tick off my to do list I am different Knocking me down did not serve any purpose but to strengthen my resolve I rose slowly, like a flower amongst weeds of pain I came through, bigger, better, scarred but stronger Oh look what you've done I wish you no harm But I'm not exactly rooting for team **** anymore You're on your own there And rest assured, give me a few more years, And I'll show you just what you are missing. In that moment, poetic justice will truly be served.

0

May 22, 2013

May 22, 2013 at 9:49 PM UTC

A little different.

You were different As you repeatedly pointed out You weren't quite like the others You possessed a quietness which only titillated me further We had moments which will lie etched in memory forever We were different Together But then, like twigs under the feet of a giant You broke me. You may be the one I thought I desired You may be the one I thought I required But you are not Nor are you the only one for me There are plenty of fish in the sea Should I choose to go fishing. For now, the rods must stay in the barn; I have bigger fish to fry. Like changing the world, for instance Which to you is a preposterous and fanatical notion To me, is another thing to tick off my to do list I am different Knocking me down did not serve any purpose but to strengthen my resolve I rose slowly, like a flower amongst weeds of pain I came through, bigger, better, scarred but stronger Oh look what you've done I wish you no harm But I'm not exactly rooting for team **** anymore You're on your own there And rest assured, give me a few more years, And I'll show you just what you are missing. In that moment, poetic justice will truly be served.

31

Let's go on adventure Deep into our minds Running with child-like curiosity Where there is no issue of time Or money Appearances Perception There is merely the world to explore Schedule me for the lifelong tour I want to see anything and everything If possible But of course there is For there are no limits Or so I believe But this is not what they say Instead it is 'Play it safe' Or 'Settle down' Or 'Find a routine' To which I scream back 'Where is your sense of adventure!?' When did you lose your spontaneous spark When did you lose your will to love To learn To live. When did you decide that mediocrity was safer than the extraordinary? Was it not you who reminded me to dream big To take action To take the risks for the great reward? Shame on you! But alas, I cannot lambast For there is no right way or wrong way You have yours and I have mine But I know which I prefer. If life is either a daring adventure, Or nothing at all I shall take the adventure option.

0

May 12, 2013

May 12, 2013 at 8:17 PM UTC

Adventure Anyone?

Let's go on adventure Deep into our minds Running with child-like curiosity Where there is no issue of time Or money Appearances Perception There is merely the world to explore Schedule me for the lifelong tour I want to see anything and everything If possible But of course there is For there are no limits Or so I believe But this is not what they say Instead it is 'Play it safe' Or 'Settle down' Or 'Find a routine' To which I scream back 'Where is your sense of adventure!?' When did you lose your spontaneous spark When did you lose your will to love To learn To live. When did you decide that mediocrity was safer than the extraordinary? Was it not you who reminded me to dream big To take action To take the risks for the great reward? Shame on you! But alas, I cannot lambast For there is no right way or wrong way You have yours and I have mine But I know which I prefer. If life is either a daring adventure, Or nothing at all I shall take the adventure option.

36