it is so hard to know what you want, what you're trying to say. you're like a little bug with wings that won't quit bumping into my eyes and buzzing in my ear. but a cute bug one that reminds me of the ocean and summer camp and being in love. i would put you a a mason jar with holes in the top, so you can breathe. (duh) and i would take you to my favorite fields and alleys and stores. show you all the things that make me happy and try to make you happy too.
but i dont think you would like being in a jar. even one with holes in the top.
repost ~ because i **** now but i was cool then ~ cute lil' bug
chaos has a silver lining don't be afraid and quit your whining we're all in this, at the very same time we will get through this but it's a tough climb wash your hands, don't touch your face distant yourself and keep the pace the bug won't win if we do what it takes let's kick it's *** and put on it's brakes
You won’t read my words because I flounder in them I’m lost or something It’s clear and just as boring as the ones who Pretend to be So I wrote this dumb thing trying to say I’m better than them and nobody knows it but me It’s the truth! Anybody’s truth is theirs to hold They believe they’re just like me So they are just like me They hold themselves above all else The difference is that they strive for truth and count the tallies that make truths truthier There are moments I’m truly miserable but does that really make me better than others Or just a whiny ***** that can’t pull myself together after nothing really happens at all. Who am I to say My nose itches and I’m far away from home yet laying in bed like I’m so warm Is everybody else crazy or is it me I stole that
Ink is the heroine and pen the needle that moves guided by my fever. The ink pulsates within transmuting into words and phrases. My heart expands racing with visions. The side effect... a written poem that perhaps will give some peace. Peace from my addiction to live before it starts all over again. It is an addiction many a poet had to fight over centuries. Their lesson let it flow let it grow.
I wrote this in response to Suzanne Berlinsky response to my other poem Writing Bug (part one) Thanks