Just football field's length away Depression I've been keeping at bay Right beyond where eyes can see Lies waiting melancholy I play safe not moving an inch Facing fear Dare not flinch Knocked on my *** one time before Managed to rise from the floor Up standing on shaky feet I fall again Might admit defeat Heard each laugh except my own Instead insecurities have grown And counted every last one in shame Only my own flaws to blame Know responsibility solely mine Sins and sorrows intertwine Abusive My own emotion Catering unhealthy devotion Environment riddled Poison and blood Washed by tears pouring in a flood Gave many parts of me Now I'm not whole A broken shard of glass where there used to be my soul
I wish my teardrops could wash my conscience clean
No uniforms. No white plumes and capes on Senior Night. No fitting 30 people on one row of bleachers. No hugging after the run of the halftime show. No slapping each other's heads during. "Good Luck, Don't ****" No linking arms and singing as a section for the rituals before the show. No competitions. This is what COVID has taken away from my high school marching band. But. We STILL play. We STILL march. We STILL laugh. We STILL say "Good Luck, Don't ****" and "slap" each other... but from a distance. We STILL do our chants and sing our songs in 6-feet apart circles. We STILL have fun.
COVID has taken many fun things away from my senior year in marching band. But even with social distancing, marching band is still family.
We had our first football game tonight and it was so much fun, even though we were so spaced out. I lost my voice from screaming so much, since the band had to make up for the student section that wasn't allowed to go. Band had to leave after 3rd quarter because of rain, but it was so much fun. Also, we won 35-10 so that's exciting.
It was in my mother’s father’s final days when Beckham curled it in against Greece It should have been wrapped up months or at least minutes prior But for the English Football is a beautiful form of torture Some relief in the dark and painful last of his days It may sound dramatic from the outside But from the inside When you’re in on the secret Football has always been the beautiful game for a reason And fate was sealed that day
The infamous Zidane headbutt It came at a time when I was realising people aren’t perfect and heroes are human For me, not a disgrace, but a lesson The world’s greatest are also flawed
Lampard 2010 World Cup It was over the line I know it You know it But the greatest journeys all have their ups and downs Their misfortunes and their injustices Our time is nigh It’s coming home
The psychopathic work ethic of Ronaldo The glue on the boots of Messi The precision of the Pirlo pass The ‘Why always me?’ The ‘You’ll never walk alone’ The wins, the losses The joy, the heartbreak The frustration of supporting a yo-yo that never goes all the way up An ode to my forever unmentioned Plymouth Argyle The screamers, the blunders From Thierry to Titus Bramble Alonso to Okocha The once-club-record-signing whose name now evades you The heroes, the villains The naive dream that maybe one day you’ll make it And the hope that maybe this will be our year The diving, the referees, the relegations, the failure The 4-0 thrashings by the rivals, the penalties and quarter finals
I don’t know why I do it to myself But I know that I wouldn’t have it any other way This is the beautiful game This is football
They rode out of the water, flanks steaming and chlorine stinking. The words of the two left behind in the hot tub floating, iridescent in the air. The white ball standing in the dewed grass like an opportunity. They played, passing the ball between them. The leather stung their legs, but they didn’t care because the mist rising from the rhododendrons and the wet of the grass and the sparkling wine in their stomachs sang enough to drown it out. The moment transcended them. The sigh of the old trees that had seen more rule-less games like theirs than they could conceive encouraged them. The torn grass in between their toes said: "Yes. I feel you. You feel me. Our meeting has only been delayed. This is pointless." And in its pointlessness there was a point – that they were young and could use their bodies to run on wet grass and wait till risen sun drove them to their beds. "I am alive; and so are you."
I long to feel that feeling again The feeling inside-like a surging tide That feeling you can fly as emotions touch the sky That excitement,adrenaline That keeps on flooding in That determination,not giving in A desire to see the win As your dream rise higher Keep feeding that fire So dear beautiful game, Life’s not the same I long to feel your heartbeat again