This refreshing sensation fills me up,
I exude optimism and happiness.
I realise what makes me happy,
Family, friends, occasions to celebrate.
Celebrate the life that we have,
Our success and our wins.
Learning to grow and be happy,
to accept things which have happened.
Experiences are great. I yearn to be more open minded than I am, to take every chance I get. I want to experience life to the fullest, the good times and the bad because, as clichéd as it sounds you do only live once. What do I want to do? Travel. Meet new people. Push myself out of my comfort zone. Learn another language. Go skydiving. Write a good poem. Eat new foods. Reunite with old friends. Relax. Enjoy the view.
Obviously not a poem but just started writing and it happened.
I mean like...
i feel like God is telling me to do something right now.
But then i think of it.
Its probably just me.
I don't know
Maybe i should do it
Maybe i didn't do it
I hope it's not Him
Because im going to do some else first
Do i feel guilty about it?
No... not really
But i can't help it
If only i let myself not be lost
Since i don't do everything i know is the right thing to do
Stress is on me
Smoke a cigarette
My obedience is a joke
I believe I'm in His mercy
But if i am
Its certainly not because of mine own will
So let's make sure that this ending is happy
I wrote it all down, to calm me
and then I panicked.
How do I transcribe panic?
Can I communicate the need
I have to be perfect for you?
To watch the pain in your
body fall so far that your
eyes lose their limitations?
I'm bringing you painI'MBRINGINGYOUPAIN
I need it to stop but doesn't seem to end
When you just won't lay down your own fear.
And my projections run wild, like your hair in the morning.
And our poetry has paused. Me write pretty someday yes?
You say you're a job, but I can't see the work?
There are no bags to lift or accounts to balance.
You're a rewarding addiction, a puzzle to piece
butpleasemyGOD lend me a hand, climb into my lap.
Let me put you where you were wednesday. Just then
The smile and squirm after "I love you."
Can't that happiness sustain us forever?
OK fine. I'll write about him.
I think a lot about the things you left me.
1. The ability to get excited about anything. "I'm excited." But for me it isn't a lie, while I think it always was for you.
2. Osama bin Laden didn't make his bed. So make yours.
(Is yours made? Bet not.)
3. A note that says "Prouda you." Were you?
Will anyone ever be? Will I ever be "prouda" me?
4. The word "scran." That's a good one.
5. A toothbrush too big for my mouth, that tears at my gums every time I use it.
Every morning, every night, sometimes mid afternoon.
6. The knowledge that, as soon as I start loving my own skin, the person I want most won't want me anymore.
7. Pictures of us in Christmas sweaters.
Or your *** all over my face.
8. The inability to keep my phone by my bed, lest I look for you in it late at night.
9. The sneaking suspicion that God makes mistakes.
10. An obsession over the moment when you stopped caring, and the quantity of time in which you lied about it.
11. The uncovering of my festering holiday crock *** of false hope, which has now boiled over into waves of sloppy disillusionment.
12. Deep suspicion of my own hopes, dreams, fantasies... and other's professed goals.
Nothing is achievable.
13. A need to hear it from your lips, what a piece of ******* **** you turned out to be.
14. A hatred of ****.
15. The memory of the sound you made, when your lips said
— The End —