Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
i want to stop being angry
but i saw how you looked at her
i want to stop being angry
but i saw how you kept looking at her
i want to stop being angry
but you haven't talked to me since last may
when the sun was beating down
and the grass was too green
and you held my hand
and i broke your heart
but you swore we were still friends
because i was more than a girlfriend to you

i want to stop being angry
but nobody looks at me the way you look at her
not even you
and you said you loved me
did you tell her that?
When I was small
I walked on fairy dust and
my dreams were as tall
as skyscrapers towering
above the universe
inside of me, was the galaxy.
I was born of the cosmos,
full of light and love
passionate in my quest to
give this to others.
But as I grew my star began to fade,
stars need love and light to survive
and deprived of both my blazing fire
transformed into weak candlelight.
At school I had learnt it was easier
to hide your light
than to stand out as different
and be extinguished in an instant.
So I kept myself to myself
at the back of the class,
knowing the answers but not
shouting them out.
I daydreamed, and doodled
stars on the corners
of my books, all the while
I could hear the universe
calling out to me to trust,
that we are all born of this
cosmic stardust.
Perhaps the greatest faculty our minds possess is the ability to cope with pain. Classic thinking teaches us of the four doors of the mind, which everyone moves through according to their need.
First is the door of sleep. Sleep offers us a retreat from the world and all its pain. Sleep marks passing time, giving us distance from the things that have hurt us. When a person is wounded they will often fall unconscious. Similarly, someone who hears traumatic news will often swoon or faint. This is the mind’s way of protecting itself from pain by stepping through the first door.

Second is the door of forgetting. Some wounds are too deep to heal, or too deep to heal quickly. In addition, many memories are simply painful, and there is no healing to be done. The saying ‘time heals all wounds’ is false. Time heals most wounds. The rest are hidden behind this door.

Third is the door of madness. There are times when the mind is dealt such a blow it hides itself in insanity. While this may not seem beneficial, it is. There are times when reality is nothing but pain, and to escape that pain the mind must leave reality behind.

Last is the door of death. The final resort. Nothing can hurt us after we are dead, or so we have been told.”
How to cope
when everybody’s screamin’
He doesn’t care,
better stay away


How to know
who to believe
who to trust
who will deceive?

Well what does it matter
if it’s his word or theirs
she knows all are leaving
so why must she care?
Out there in every tree
Each and every leaf a face
Watching, waiting
Judging my every thought
And there, deeper out back
Watchers clad in camouflage
I gear up knife in hand
I approach them where they stand
With my snow dog companions
As brave as I am they disappear
Not even a footprint in the snow

There under the door
A shadow passes
Yet I am here alone
I search the back room closets
Under each bed
Checking the locks on each window
Where in the hell did that shadow go
What do they want with me

I attempt to lay down to sleep
But the shadows of unrest
Swerve and swirl around me
Images appear in the darkened mirror
Upon the dresser without blinking
I stare waiting for my ******
To slowly close the veil
Between the worlds
My braveness comes mostly from the fact that I have 2 large Huskies.
As I sat reading
one of the bards tales
the laughter within me
could not be quelled
he wrote with authority
he wrote with some wit
his words seemed to match
with the joint I just lit

As I continued
to peruse the tale
A voice from the kitchen
slightly derailed
my narrowing focus
had suddenly gone south
it seemed that I now
had cotton in my mouth

I reached for the glass
beside on the stand
intending to quench
the thirst I now had
but not taking an eye
off the page before
I clumsily knocked
the drink to the floor

I looked around
if any had seen
where was the cat
when I really need
a lackey , a scapegoat
on which to lay blame
The voice from the kitchen
called out my name

"What was that noise?"
inquired the voice
looking around
I had but one choice
Take off my socks
and sopp up the mess
down the hallway
came her footsteps

Quickly I scrubbed
and scrubbed some more
the cranberry juice
had stained the floor
suddenly there
before me appeared
the fuzzy red slippers
which I so feared

"You've stained the carpet!"
spat my angry wife
I quivered and shrank
hopefully out of sight
"I've told you before
"your not allowed."
"to sit and read stories
with liquid around."

With my head bowed
I went for the door
containing the machine
I'd used before
patiently she watched
as I cleaned the spot
removing the stain
which I had wrought
Thanks goes to Roger Turner,who got me thinking!!
Hey there **** Roller girl
you really drive me mad
with that tiny bodice on
racing around the track

The swirling mass of energy
goes swiftly round and round
yells and screams ,and ****** knees
performing for the crowd

A once great sport returning now
a ladies game they say
but I have seen more contact there
than any hockey game.
Another sleepless night is spent
wishing to be with you
but knowing that it won't happen
is really nothing new

a passing fancy nothing more
yet a hope was hung upon
the body language you'd display
stringing me along

it seems as though a year has gone
since I last held you
I wonder if you feel the same
when I am not with you
Next page