they do not know you. they only know your name, your face, your skin, your eyes, your fears, your cries, your hair, your smile, your voice, your dreams, not you. baby, they do not know you. no one does; not even you.
who i am, even what i am, i couldn't care less. every time the answer comes, it soon becomes trash. am i me or am i not me? who is this me? what is this me? who i am, even what i am, i never know. i never find the answer. i've had enough of questioning. let me be a speck of dust blown by the wind or a dead fish following the stream. i am not conscious. i cannot be. i am an object. i am not living. i am dead. whoever i am, whatever i am, it's not important --- *anymore.
This sad scent on my fingers reminds me of the two kids I saw on the bridge. They were supposed to be selling peanuts and crackers, but they were playing with it instead. It reminded me of the photograph of a child ******* with a shabby barbie left on the ground. How cruel the world is. How come the government let this to happen? This must be stopped from happening. We must rise. Revolt. Unite. Yeah. Rise. Revolt. Unite.
"If there is not justice for the people, let there be no peace for the government." ~Emiliano Zapata
Lol no just kidding. Who cares about it. This sad scent on my fingers just reminds me of
1/ i say i don't break things so easily i just tend to make the neat messy
we both know it's not anything so good to be proud about i don't because i can't i am so weak, fragile as early glaze one touch and i scatter to water
2/ you are the king and i would like to be your nightingale but i am the kind of bird that doesn't sing i soar high and kiss the sky for my king has spoken that i long to fall and yes i do
you are the king and even with broken crown your people still love you but one thing i know there will always be the love that soon becomes burden i know that being loved is such a burden you are the king not god only god greed for love you greed for work you farmer king your farmland spans acres and acres and acres until you can't recognize it anymore because bigger picture is always confusing that's how i long to fall even when i think all i long is to tear these wings off to fall you say do not for i would fall just because i am learning to fly and i believe in you i will fly and kiss the sky and soar so high so i can see your farmland from above smalling and becoming smaller and smaller --
i will take pictures for you or write it down for you as i always do
3/ you didn't manage to save the bird and it died
and i said, why care; it would die anyway i meant it for i was also a bird i would die anyway but i would never forget this regret even though you said i was right
you didn't manage to save the bird but you saved the tree and me and we will die but before we do we live and it's all thanks to you
4/ i do not worry about you, let alone too much i worry about the me in the east wing on the tower above the plath heart
she loves thunders but doesn't want storms and she is lazy even to talk or breathe but she still wants to explore the kingdom she wants a journey to the head not to mess, not to change a thing only to look around to come again later
but the king says no, there is not pretty and full of anger not much beauty to find there -- does he really think that she seeks beauty?
let me remind you; even when i do, my king, you don't doubt my purity.
"I will die today," she whispers to me "Well, congratulations!" I reply in glee Her cheeks become rosy Eyes be sparkly Like the ones you see in those who soon will marry; but truer and far more pretty. She will die today-- She will die today, really! I am happy and so is she, oh, so is she.