I am jealous of spiders
Those small, poisonous creatures
They don't care how small they are
Or how weak they are
They fight for their life despite the conditions
They hunt their prey without hesitation
They can enter any room
They don't need your permission
They all know their purpose
They all fight for their purpose
They catch or become food
They can create their world however they want
No one tells them how to connect their strings
They are clever
That's what makes them deadly
They are small
That's what extends their limits
They are selfish
That's what helps them survive
Their tiny-dark eyes
Those small marbles that extend their vision to places the human eye could never reach
Their infestation of twisted legs
Those agile limbs that move them with surprising speed and balance through any kind of frictional surface
They exist in every corner
Creep through every opening
They could crawl up your skin,
Plant their deadly kiss under the tissues of your outer layers,
Leading you to an agonizing swell of chemicals that tare and torture your nerves and muscles
The aftereffects are as countless as the number of their species
And if you are lucky enough,
You could have one of these
You could have all of these
They don't care
They are spiders,
And for them
You are a their predator
And their next victim
This might sound like a threat. Sorry for that. This is just a small picture of what goes through my head when I see a spider. You will be their next victim...
life is a success
there are mistakes that make opportunities
and opportunities that makes mistakes
there are sad moments that are followed happiness
but don't take it to far because you can make a mess
Life is a success
life is like a beautiful dress
it's a fancy purple vest
So create your life as good as you can like a nest
be good and the best
life is not a game
it is a dangerous test
don't be that person that tries to be the same
as other people, they even change your name
That is not how you get to the hall of fame
You are perfect with your unique frame
You're a success
If you ignore what other people think of you,
you are unique
and that is the best thing that you can be
The sweet breeze of air,
I hate it,
I prefer to be in a room,
inside my house,
Calm and silent.
Surrounded by loneliness,
because it is the only thing that loves me.
I hate being alone.
It worries and depresses me.
I hate myself.
I am not like anyone,
I don't belong anywhere.
And society is too messed up.
Am I glad that I am unique?
I hate to be confused.
It means I have to think the problem out.
But would I really want to know all the answers?
What's the fun of knowing everything?
What's the fun of being dumb?
I hate being short
It makes me feel special
I'm sometimes so scared of death,
I want to die
Maybe this is why I have never been in a relationship
Do I want to be in one?
I don't want people's attention
I just want them to listen to me
People call it a cage, but I call it my room
I was born here, this is my very home
The lights are starting to shine
Is it already showtime?
The spotlight in the middle of the arena,
All eyes on me.
You yell, and I put on a show for you.
Your demand reaches my ears,
Your words are my commands,
Commands I Follow without questioning.
My only purpose is to entertain you,
My only desire is to hear you cheer.
You deserve it
You are better than me
I'm just a useless beast.
I got hurt?
It does not matter,
The show must go on.
After all, this show is for you specifically.
All of you are important
Let me be your slave
It would be a pleasure.
Make fun of me
Make me feel miserable.
Just don't hate me
It would ruin my purpose.
Do you hate me?
Am I not entertaining you?
I will change how I look!
I can make you laugh!
I can act better!
I will torture myself if I have to.
Is that not enough?
I can do better.
Just tell me what you want
I will do anything to please you
Am I still not enough?
WHAT DO YOU WANT?
I PROMISE I CAN DO IT!
Am I not entertaining anymore?
I CAN SAVE YOU THE WORK
i will **** myself
anything to satisfy my audience.
Have you ever wanted something so badly,
You would do anything to get a hold of it?
Ever wanted something so badly,
You can't help but avoid it?
The simple thought of not having it boils you blood.
Your mind takes you far
You wonder, and imagine
Just what could you do if you had a grasp of it...
But you don't have it,
And the only thing that you can do is dread it.
It is impossible to get your attention away from it,
For everything reminds you of it.
It tortures you,
And it pleasures you.
It leaves you with a bittersweet scent.
One question remains
Would you be dangerous without it,
Or with it?
How far would you go to get it,
How far would you go to keep it?
Once you have it,
Would you ever let it go?
I detest when people ask: are you OK?
It gets even worse when it proceeds to: what's going on?
I avoid the answer to these questions, for their answer is neither clear nor joyful.
I wish they would never ask
I wish they would just stay quiet
They think they know what I have
They think they know what I need
I don't need their attention
I don't want their attention
I Just want to be in an empty room...
Where the only sound is the echo of my thoughts...
And I don't have to talk...
But they come back....
I want them to leave.
I don't want them to wonder about me.
Leave me alone.
Stop torturing me.
Only then can I torture myself
I remember I used to use it a lot more a long time ago. I would go up to any adult just start talking about the first thing that crawled into my infant head. I never lacked the knowledge or courage to start an interesting talk, but they told me to stop getting into other people’s conversations, so I stood quiet.
I used to have a great sense of sarcasm and a contagious shine that I always carried around. I would laugh my head off at every single thing I found funny, but they told me that I was being too loud, so I stood quiet.
They told me to always say the truth, and to keep their secrets. They told me to follow their orders, and to not answer back. They told me that they knew best and all along I stood quiet.
Just like that, they slowly cut my vocal cords one by one, and I stood quiet because I could not say anything wrong…
If I didn’t say anything.
As the years went by, my voice kept getting more used to being out of order. Its silence was so strong that I would have to force it to work when I was around them.
There was a point where they started uncomfortable with the absence of my voice, so they tried to make me open up to them. However, it was too late for that. I could no longer push my broken voice to do things it was not used to do, no matter how much I wanted it to.
They closed my voice, and I’m not ever opening it up to them again.
Be that as it may,
I don’t know, though, if my ears will be able to keep up with my voice.