Know anything about Idealism?
it says reality is made up of minds and ideas.
Theres a branch which says
reality is made up of my ideas
but alas I know that cannot be true.
why would I create a world like this
its like I don't exist.
if the world is not some branch of idealism
maybe if it is
these ideas belong to someone else.
maybe a sick sociopath who likes to torture and watch me cry.
But he or she is merciful
so I don't cry every night.
Why put me in a world and make me something thats probably as controversial as the existence of god.
For if you are my creator you would go by a different name
one that would probably put Satans to shame.

I could walk in there naked
but they still wouldn't look.
set myself on fire
I'd still go amiss.
walk in with a gun they would probably
laugh in my face.
I want to scream.
I can dance like know one is watching because no one is.
In a club with all these people
but I may as well be here on my own.
I could shave all my hair off paint myself green walk in and go amiss
I once read a famous quote that said to be perceived is to exist
so where does that leave me?

Give me writers block
and I will still be better with words than her.
Because she may know the right things to say to you.
But at least I mean them
and that means more than she should mean to you.
But alas we romanticise and pray
for words we one day want to hear.
We all know these words
she does too.
Just be careful because when she says them better
than me I know they will never be
true.
She can never mean them not like
I mean them when I say
I love you.

I don't believe in a heaven or a hell.
I believe when we die we fall asleep.
Never to wake again.
never to dream
you don't notice really.
Its my little fantasy.
I do not wish to be judged.
To either be forever tortured by the flames that come from the ground
or to be blissfully resting upon a cloud.
I find I cannot sleep to long my head starts to hurt.
This is my body telling me I've passed my limit.
So I imagine what it would be like to pass my limits and not suffer the wrath of a migraine.
To not dream
to just sleep for eternity.
I will never look anything like snow white
but at least I will be happy.

I'm stuck here.
Forever in this moment in time.
I feel like peter pan
never growing old.
All these things I want to achieve
just dangling in front of me.
If I bite just one.
Then the waiting game
begins.
Round and round I go
where it stops I will not know.

That smile.
Those eyes.
Those round lips.
These are the things I see before
I go to sleep.
If I were to try and cry right now
no tears would fall.
Stuck feeling empty
as an old wine bottle.
the good thing inside is now all gone.
Just  this sort of lost girl
in the middle of it all.
Im sorry Im not making much sense
just writing what comes and goes.
Up up and away
my thoughts are in the clouds.
But I really just wanted
to write a poem today.

I may not be Shakespeare with a quil
no mind a keyboard or a pen.
I work with what I have even if its a bad vocab.
To which I may bore and so follows my bad grammar and punctuation
I've really got it all.
So just
scroll
scroll
scroll.
Ignore the words I bleed on to the page.
Call it a waste of time a waste of ink.
its just nice to know maybe someone will read this
even if its not appreciated.