You know what… I forgot to be awesome one day.
Got all boring and bored… I un-learnt how to play.
People stopped me and questioned:
“Hey yo Timmy! What’s wrong?”
And it felt like my heart badly needed a song.

So began I to sing (to myself before all),
And the world around me got more joyous a tad!
As if shackles were broken, melted was the ice wall
That imprisoned my love, where dull hatred was bred.

All the braver, the sweeter, the freer my song –
Voice so clear, the whole world would listen!
Hearts a-warming, ill thoughts all gone before long,
People smiling, their faces would glisten.

...And as long as you live will your dreams be alive,
Will your happiness be in your hands.
Sing a song, while small – overflowing with life.
Don’t forget to be awesome, my friends!

Pack up my personality,
make sure the tape really sticks.
This home has been my totality,
every board and all the bricks.
Throw away my secrets,
we'll need a bag just for those,
and I hope I won't have to repeat this,
but I don't want those stains on my clothes.
The woman makes the threads anyways, I suppose.

It'll be the last time that I close that door,
on those twenty-four years before,
it gave me warmth and so much more,
when I was stranded it was my shore,
home is where the heart is, so says the lore.

Put away my memories,
in a box that's labeled "fragile,"
'cause even though they'll lift with ease,
I'd prefer for them all not to pile.
Throw away the forgotten fights,
the ones that always left the scars.
Make sure to only bring the nights,
with the brightest moon and stars,
but they won't fit into such small cars.

It'll be the last time that I close that door,
on those twenty-four years before,
where I sat dazed on the floor,
feeling high enough to soar,
home is where the heart is, but I'm lacking that core.

Store away my personality,
the one that fits me like a glove,
all the things that compile of me,
and illustrate all the things I love.
Throw away the parts of me that are broken,
I don't think I'll ever long for them,
but wait, maybe I've just misspoken,
cause that's the root of my twisted stem,
even a damaged jewel is still a gem.

It'll be the last time that I close that door,
on those twenty-four years before,
and there won't be twenty-four more.
It'll be the last time that I close that door,
I have no idea what's now in store,
home is where the heart is, but my chest is bruised and sore.

So say goodbye to Tower,
a street where once I walked each path,
where I knew each tree and flower,
and love's bliss and heartbreak's wrath.
Also say farewell to family,
well essentially it's only the dwelling,
but I don't know what life has planned for me,
as with the future there is no telling.

It'll be the last time that I close that door,
on those twenty-four years before,
there won't be twenty-four more.
It'll be the last time that I close that door,
I'll open a window to even the score,
home is where the heart is, but the beats feel like a chore.

When you feel a tad bit down,  
Remember the happiness in life,  
And move on.

When you feel lonely,  
Remember that God is always here,
For you.  

When you feel like dying,
Remember the people who loves you,
And be stronger.

When you feel good,  
Remember to thank all the people,  
Who brought you to,
Where you are now.

Be grateful to life,  
And life will be good to you.
Be glad that you're born,  
Be happy that,  God created us.

When I was young,
I had long curly hair
That cascaded down my back
Like an ominous waterfall;
So dark and thick, it seemed to go on forever.
But, when I was in school, it was always *******.
It was a challenge for my mother to tame it with a brush
And keep it in the confines of a bun.
She said it was to keep my hair
from getting to my and others’ faces.
But some people still managed to make me feel bad for having such “unruly” hair
when the most it’s been exposed is when I take out my hair tie just to tie it back up again.
For years I tried to straighten it;
Hair rebonding every year,
Straightening iron ever morning,
Damaged hair and damaged pride every day.

They say a woman’s hair is her crown;
She must wear it with her chin up
And flaunt it unabashedly.
This is to the girls who do.
This is to the girls who dye their hair magnificent colors
To match their colorful personalities.
This is to the girls who cut their own hair
Because hair salons charge so much for a trim.
This is to the girls who shave all their hair for charity
Or for support of the girls in chemotherapy.
But this is also for the girls in chemotherapy,
Who are still thriving even though they’re suffering.
This is also to the girls whose hair are being treated like an anomaly,
Their braids being pulled and afros being patted.
This is also to the girls who can’t land a job
Because their skills were degraded by their “unprofessional” hair.

A woman’s hair is her crown
But a queen does not need a crown.
A queen is not just some girl with a shiny thing on her head.
A queen is a figure of power, compassion and grace.
She wears the crown, not the other way around.

If you read it from the ******* book it's
"True," not just for you, for me for everybody,
We're all just here to waste, make our own sole filthy space,
What you believe is always "truth for everyone" and not just you.
No matter what we say or think or feel or know or do.

In a lazy mood
Lots of chores sitting waiting
Now what's on TV :)

OH The Grand Old Duke of York he had ten thousand men.
He ****** them all up the **** then he ****** them all again.
And when he was up, he would ****.
And when he was down, out of luck.
And when he was only half way up, his men would have to ****.