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Jean Sullivan May 2015
The difference between a writer and everyone else,
A writer needs no recognition for their work,
They do not lust for what wealth they might gain,
A good writer does not need applause,
Does not need praise,
Does not need rewards,
Does not even need to be published.
A good writer is partial talent,
A good writer writes often.
A good writer see's the world,
      and its finest details.
They stay behind for the ending,
         the rolling credits.
They make tea and drink coffee.
They fall in love too quickly,
and fall out of love just as fast.
A good writer translates feelings into words,
they form it to flow like a soft stream.
A good writer is quiet.
A good writer is loud.
They carry their tools everywhere they go.
They enjoy the tangible.
The soft paper on their hands,
the way the ink bleed from the pen.
A good writer writes in all ways,
about all things,
and all emotions.
A good writer is a historian,
an endless burning torch,
their words will forever inspire the world,
As a single soul.
Jean Sullivan May 2015
The beast follows her, day in and day out.
The shadow casts on her bones,
her skull comes dry.
The idea of running is too costly.
Her halted heart and plastic thoughts
no longer reflect her eyes,
now a misty glass.
My pen draws her on the paper,
words,
knowing I will never be the only mind to ***** through these words,
My innermost thoughts,
but still there are things my audience will never know.
As beautifully magical as words may be,
what could ever describe the feeling of a certain place,
on a certain day?
Thoughts too beautiful no words could give them justice.
So instead, we die with those memories.
Our minds immersed in the ground,
the sea,
the sky,
the stars.
So we sit,we wait,
in a white, blank, canvas.
Only painting in our heads.
I wrote this a long time ago and i just found it again. I'm happy because i thought it was a poem that I quoted from someone else!
Jean Sullivan May 2015
At the end of my sentence he laughs,
I see his appealing crooked smile,
his dark brown eyes covered by the Buddy Holly glasses he got in 8th grade.
He will look down and then back up,
our eyes meet for a few moments,
we both want to say much more than we already are,
I hope he doesn't get bored with me.
Does he hope the same?
Forget that.
For now, just for now, you have his attention,
and you have full permission to get completely lost in that.
Several months from now I will probably look back on this poem and think how pathetic it is and how petty I seem. Well guess what future me, *******! Unless of course things work out in which case disregard the '*******' previously stated.
Jean Sullivan May 2015
You find yourself in Pittsburgh
In the shackles of Sinead,
You hear your name in circles,
and you play it on repeat,
When all the drums start playing,
The marching carries you out,
You can’t hear what their saying,
The music’s just too loud,

I’ll carry on the night,
Brown stars and the moon fight,
Run around my kids,
And watch all the pigs,
Wearing suits and ties,
Lash out at all the agitators,
Procreators, Legislative, creatures of the night. Debators, and anti-human manipulators

Let them guess all your secrets,
Let them hear your soothing voice,
no matter who the leader,
their job is to devoice,
and once let your mind float away,
into the plastic techno joy,
it may only be an illusion,
but to be illuded is your choice

And everything they’re saying,
about all our future plans,
oh how I wish they’d realize,
the future is in our hands,
and this division in the world,
leaves and endless race,
where we separate our families,
based off race, or place, or gays.

For one second not to notice,
For one moment not to care,
and everyday we want to give up,
or wallow in despair,
youth only driven by parent goals,
Money leave the dreamers trapped in a hole,
And at some point we all must choice to lose or let go.
Briefly written but always thought about...
Jean Sullivan Apr 2015
Walking slightly hunched, and so very beautiful.
I can't say much about him,
What if he reads this one day?
But I will say what I see.

I see him and I can feel my heart beat fast and slow at the same time,
In my mind words fly all around,
hitting the walls and crashing to my tongue,
He makes me stumble in the best of ways.
I see him in the future,
and I hope so much that he still has wonder,
I see it in his eyes,
he questions everything and I admire that.
I see that he is sure of himself,
and unsure of himself at the same time.
I see his words and how they become softer when we speak.
I think I see his want for his father.
His desire for a family,
His need for knowledge.
I see the possible sadness that follows him,
I see that maybe he really is always happy.
I see how calm he is while listening to music,
how his actions are always slow and thought out.
I see his lust for adventure and something different,
I love that about him.
I see ow willing he is to try new things,
and the willingness to share those experiences.
I see you always craving something new,
so beautiful.
I see so much, so much more.
I hope you see me too.
I'm in a bit of a romance phase...
Jean Sullivan Apr 2015
I just want to remind you about life,
I want you to remember me after I have long been gone,
I want you to remember laying outside by yourself
contemplating the universe and your mind,
focusing on the moon even when you don't have your glasses on,
remember how you loved your grandmas house,
and the wind on your face during summer.
Remember the crowded home on Thanksgiving,
and going back to school and talking to people you love like family.
Remember the excitement of seeing that one boy,
You know who I'm referring to.
The freshman year crush that is forever on going,
remember his eyes even when they were hard to see.
Remember the first time you touched his hands,
how surprisingly soft they were.
Remember how everything was always possible to you,
and how you detested those who said otherwise.
How every day was potential for adventure,
and how you tried so so hard to not be a sheep,
October 20th, 2010

Dear Future Me:
As each day passes, you will think of a way
Through ups and downs to travel
New words shall walk your way
As dreams unfold
But never allow sleep, or your lacking
any Ambiguity
And so I say unto you
That this message be relayed
Until the hands on the clock
Stand still
When the Spectacular
Spectacle Labyrinth draws nigh
Lift your head up, kid
And remember the sky
This was a letter transcribed in code from an old journal of mine. The idea was inspired by the Thousand Suns album by Linkin Park.
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