Don't let them dull your shine,
Like a cloud drifting in front of the sun.
Don't let them alter your mind,
For it is a special one.
Don't let them ever change you,
As only you should have that right.
The stars above they shine for you,
because you're their shining light.

You are a magical, exceptional, iridescent, sparkling human bean.
You have an incredible power to sense what others around you are feeling.
You give your all to everything, and are constantly developing.
You are always pushing forward, you are never looking back.
Your love, you share with everyone through; your words, your songs. Your Voice.
It resonates and reverberates truth and honesty with affection.
Your voice is being heard out there it's getting some truly deserved attention.

Don't let them dull your shine,
Like a cloud drifting in front of the sun.
Don't let them alter your mind,
For it is a special one.
Don't let them ever change you,
As only you should have that right.
The stars above they shine for you,
because you're their shining light

Your voice, your smile, your aura, your body, your heart, your mind.
They are all such powerful things you possess,
you should share them with mankind.
You should give your all to who you are and stand up proud and state.

"I'm a magical, exceptional, iridescent
sparkling human bean.
and I'm also ******* great."

So as I approach the all to familiar landscape I used to call my home, I look up to the sky above and, well what do you know...
Its beginning to rain, just a bit of light drizzle overhead.
Yet I know once I step foot off this bus and on to solid ground.
The heavens they will open and the umbrellas will be out.
I shall be soaked from head to foot.
In precipitation and perspiration whilst  running for shelter from the storm.
It's kind of irritating but it also what keeps me warm.
The knowledge that it doesn't change whilst I am away.
This dank and dismal place called Manchester.
Can still brighten up the grey.

Life is one of those questions we would all like to answer
Love is a game that we all like to play.
Play with our hearts and feelings
we do this every single day.
Sometimes through happiness,
sometimes regret,
sometimes things can happen that we'd all like to forget.
Yet we will get on with our lives and rarely ever let,
another player roll our dice
to decide on where we go,
a day to go by without letting someone know.
Know the feelings that are in us, the need to speak the truth.
We merely just get stuck in a game, a game that we get used.
Used to playing,
together or alone.
People state that.
the heart it is a home
A home we welcome visitors to,
Stay.
Linger there forever, or just spend a day.
A memory is a moment that is forged down deep within our heart, it is a single solitary snippet of life with which you cannot part.
Let go of or forget.
It's part of our life.
It's become part of this game.
It's there until game over, it shall always here remain.
Pulled into contention as part of the big question that is;
What's the meaning of life?
as within yourself you question,
what if?
What of this love I felt, how can it now cease, was it destined to be my life, my answer, my secret *** of gold.
The love the stories mention that you shall never get to hold.
Hold in your arms, with their head upon your chest.
Hold upto the skies as they rise above the rest.

Its something to always ponder on, as if that were the case
I thought I understood the question and found my own meaning of life
Yet I'm still part of this race so there's still time to decide.

So maybe there might just be a chance, that it could be true.
Life has more than one meaning.
and maybe for me it wasn't you.

the sound of the wind is a lullaby
sang by each and every blade of grass
their voices so distinctive no noise can they amass.                                        
Except omitting the motion of movement in the wind,
they play a silent lullaby to echo in the dawn of spring.

Living the dream or so it seems
Riding the waves, cascade after cascade
Jumping through hoops,
going round loop de loop,
like a roller-coaster
Believing you've got closer
To what:
you're supposed to do.
what you,
perceive to be
what you,
intend to see.
Knowing that, this is your goal.
The thing that drives your soul.
To reach to the sky,
stretch up to the stars,
float upon the clouds,
make yourself proud.

Because this is your dream.
it's something that means,
everything to you.
there's nothing that you wouldn't do, to reach the heights of success.
Continue to achieve your best.
Push through till there's nothing left.

Because this is a passion, a craft, a choice.
Don't listen to nay sayers,
down players,
people who say:
This isn't the way to go,
this is something you should know.
And it is something you know.
Why wouldn't you.
It's drummed into you day after day,
you get used to the people being that way,
it's a hard business.

Okay, okay
I get what you're trying to say but I don tell you day after day;
That your job is monotonous.
A corporate chain,
whose only aim
is more money to gain,
from your daily pain
of trying to maintain the face of joy
when your boss walks by
and asks how it's going.
With a nod all knowing you reply
"It's going great Mr Johnson."

Yet in your head you weep
And wish to retreat, back to the age when you could openly phrase a strong affirming gesture.
A finger raised to the sky,
Stating ******* and goodbye.

But you don't.
You nod and say "yes"
Cause that is your best
There's no passion inside you.
No craft that will drive you, to achieve.
So stop for a minute and believe
Believe in the strength of desire in your heart
let me take my path, leave me alone and then start on your own.

I need a job.
To start living, start earning some money, am begging.
Begging you like Madcon
The cv handout goes on, and on.
Like a record that's skipped,
beginning to feel like I've been tricked.

It's not like I wouldn't work hard
I'm willing to work hard for my pay,
willing to work everyday,
willing to earn my way.
I ain't fed on greed,
I only need what I need,
only one mouth to feed.
I'll even work on my knees
scrub till my fingers bleed

I'm like a seed sprouting, roots up routing,  with stem as long as my sadness has resided.
Pent up emotion continuing to grow.
As the roots begin to take hold below.

Take hold of my tongue and its words, my heart and its love, and my lungs and its breath.
Got Nothing left; to push through to the surface beginning to feel its all worthless
What's the point here?!
I'm stumped.

"I JUST NEED A JOB YOU... Chumps"

Feel like I should take a jump.
Not a jump of suicidal intention, just a jump for attention
Attention for a life to begin.

For a business to take me in
give me the experience I lack.
In return I'll give back: hardwork, effort and sweat.
Which will help me to show that I'm able to grow.
And I deserve to leap out
from this pit,
trudging in ****.
From the depths of this dirt and weeds
where it all began as a seed.

A seed, a thought, a prognosis.
So now it's my time to show this;
Show what I've got on the surface.
Show that I am not worthless.
Show from a seed I have grown.
Show that I deserve a home.
A place to call my own.
Then once I am there I will know...

How?

I'll have blossomed

Basically I'm broken, shattered, pulled apart and torn to pieces, shards of sharp shimmering glass amass into a clump of crunching sounds. Crush. crack. Crunch and crumble.

My whole innards begin to tumble, whirr around like clothes in a dryer. Pockets not  checked, so their contents are set. Set to begin a cycle of being flung from side to side, swishing around, drowning in a swirl of cleanliness which should of course, ease the pain and wash away those steeped in stains and cleanse a spirit that's been pulled apart. Like a cotton thread. Slowly being pulled away from a wooley jumper as its caught.

Okay, it's caught on a zipper. from an old pair of jeans. Whose paths have crossed many times in outfit combos but now tumbling around together they no longer meld, together. They clash like; tartan and polka dots and conflict each others path to rightful cleanliness.

Basically I'm broken, shattered, pulled apart and torn to pieces, shards of sharp shimmering glass amass into a clump of crunching sounds. Crush. crack. Crunch and crumble

Alas, the thread is now long and wearing thin. It has lost its shape and would have to begin again. Once aired out to dry its a mound of mess, a cotton bundle looking all distressed. It tried its hardest to fight the emotion, the tug, of its strings to maintain its strength; but bowed down to defeat when knowing full well that it was beat. How could it now go on in life when it's torn. Torn to pieces and now ceases to exist in a form that would generally state: It! Exists!
Exists as a life form and a living part, how can things continue to breathe without a beating heart.

Thump thump, beat beat, thud thud. It starts. Thump thump, beat beat, thud thud. My heart.

Trying to mend the cracks with this battered *****. Mangled with regret and forlorn with spite, how can this reassess itself until it is right.

Thump thump, beat beat, thud thud. It starts. Thump thump, beat beat, thud thud. My heart.

It takes time to mend a broken ticker. Time passes by and memories become bitter, tainted with a brush that's tarred, marred with the longing for those moments to still occur. Not for your mind to now blur.
Blur those memories you once held so dear, remembered with a chuckle or a wry little smile. How can you comprehend these again for a while?!

You can't.
You shouldn't.
You couldn't.
So don't.

Thump thump. Beat beat, thud thud. It starts. Thump thump, beat beat. Thud thud. My heart.
broken, shattered, pulled apart and torn to pieces, shards of sharp shimmering glass amass into a clump of crunching sounds.
Crush.
crack.
Crunch.
Reassemble