the little blue bird from my dream,
it told me I would be okay,
it told me I would get through it,
it told me not to worry
but then,
that little blue bird from my dream died.

Daffodil, sweetheart you're just like the rest,
plain and simple, still ugly at your best,
your colours are dull and you don't have a nice smell,
there's hundreds and thousands of you, oh
small and fragile daffodil, you thought you were
special sadly you're not, you even lack the
simplistic things the weeds have got,
you look like a unfinished piece that God forgot,
why do you try so hard to be that beautiful rose
because it seems to be that everyone but you
knows,
its hard to be a sweet sweet Daffodil, but that's what you are.

there are three kinds of people, the breakers, the fixers and the broken, the breakers cannot handle happiness in others and so they have to break those who are happy, the fixers are the ones who cannot handle others being in sadness or dispair and they do all they can to fix the broken, the broken people are the ones lost between being breakers and fixers, constantly breaking themselves down and trying to repair themselves back to normal again. /and everyone is trying to find there place between the breakers, the fixers and the broken, everyone wants to be a fixed person perfectly okay without cracks or broken pieces, but there are only three kinds of people.

-moyees

only ignorant fools fall under the pressure of their friends boots and find themselves  customised to the ways of ill minded and stupid, yet only they know the workings and non workings of their mind to change these ways into better ones than they have been pushed into
/ ignorance /
-m

just when it all seems good, the dust stirs and the choked blackness prevails and I suffocate in the midst of all these problems and the more people's feet step in the more the dust flies, I can't stop the cries, this everlasting circumference of circumstances. my heart it vents to die, oh why, do I believe the goodness will ever stay.
-