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The openness that the curtains were giving me
is terrifyingly peaceful —
the bundle of joy I felt when a little boy creeps in
and peeked through while his eyes roam around
and I gazed upon his hopeless dilated pupil.

Around the bushes outside, there are roses
blooming in the night — while his shirt has been struck like lightning laid his hands on him
and there were bloods sticking out his nose;
Ceased brows were heavily in my forehead
then I saw him enter my room with a knife
glued into his hands.

The eerie tic of my shivering body
must have given him the freedom to do the stabbing and I let him do that — closing my eyes
while I wait for him to shout and beg,
I kneeled down in front of him and let my tears get a hold of me.

"I must have left you on the cold, I apologize."
I said and he stabbed me right in the heart.
The little boy smirked while I lost consciousness and everything seems slow in motion — the colors began to fade and my mom suddenly swayed through the door.

The curtains are swaying back and forth and I woke up with a bliss.
There's a little boy outside.
Before you read this, you can listen to 'Bundle of Joy' by Jartisto.

This was inspired by the little boy I saw on tiktok. Anyways, it's been 21 days since I last posted. But, I was always checking this site. It's just the will I don't have. Happy reading.
Maja Mar 8
It’s the little things
that makes us.

It’s that hug before bed
It’s those ’love you’s that are said

It’s the little things
that makes us.

It’s the smile from far away
The gaze that asks if you’re okay

It’s the little things
that makes us.

And it’s
the little things
that breaks us.
Brumous Feb 26
Your love is a music box,
a melody that surrounds me;
it intoxicated me.

Love me now,
so that I can feel safe

Love me now,
so I feel complete

Love me now,
so all worries bid goodbye

Love me now,
so I won't be wanting things;

Things I can't have

Love me now,
so I won't be paranoid

Love me now,
so I can escape this everlasting winter snow

Love me now,
so I can be in your arms

Love me now,
so I won't feel like an empty vessel

Love me,
like those people with happy endings

Love me,
so I can feel warm

Love me now,
so I can breathe

Love me now,
so I can see

So I can live...
Yet I can't force you, not because I know that it is wrong
I'm just too tired now.
this is pretty much a fail or something. But, the music I am listening to right now makes it seem so perfect, a lullaby.
The title of this is the title of the song in the game
Bardo Feb 8
There was something wrong with the adults I always thought
When I was young... when I was little
The Grown Ups
There was something, well something missing in them
They seemed a bit preoccupied, a bit faraway by times,
Maybe it was the great responsibility they had, looking after us
Or running after us, we used run around a lot back then,
Out on the beach under the big blue sky
On our way out to meet the tide
The wonderful colourful houses of the village seen from afar,
With the big chapel on the hill
And the lovely blue mountains of the headland sloping down to the sea
We'd be lost in the joy and excitement of the moment, thinking
"Isn't this wonderful, isn't it amazing, this thing called Life, Wow!!!"
And Mom she'd be there with us, tagging along
And on her face this kind of... kind of lonesome smile
There seemed to be a great sadness in them somewhere
They didn't seem to have the same joy that we had
Etched on their faces was something else, something haunting
Days of struggle and hardship... and pain.

Their own parents had died when they were very young
They used tell me, tell me gravely
"One day, one day we won't be here son"
And you'd go off to school feeling very tearful inside
Hardly able to do your lessons, mulling over those terrible words,
And at night in bed, you'd listen for their voices downstairs
And if you couldn't hear them, you'd get up and sit on the landing listening intently for their spoken words
So as to be reassured, that they were still there,
That they hadn't gone away and left you.

                      II

The adults they loved  to sit and talk and drink tea
We didn't like talking much, that was boring stuff
(We liked the biscuits though)
We wanted to be outside playing, up and about
Yea! We wanted action and adventure instead
Playing games, kicking football up the garden
Running down the wing, shooting for goal, scoring!
O! the thrill of it all,
Or playing soldiers, cowboys and Indians
Or down the beach among the rocks exploring
Whereas we probably lived a lot still in our bodies
And in the thrill of the moment
(I remember I used talk to parts of my body when I was very little, when there was no one else around)
The adults they seemed to live in their heads most of the time
Locked away up there in their lonely towers
Adults I suppose had decisions to make.

Often Mom would find it hard to keep up with us
We could get away with a lot of things with Mom
But it was different though when Dad would come home
Then the atmosphere in the house would change
There'd be this strange tension
The Dads they were strange ones
They were like that Rodin sculpture "The Thinker" (a man bent over thinking)
You'd watch them warily, and move around them very carefully and quietly
You'd have to have your antenna switched on
You didn't know which mood would be on them
Whether they were going to be gentle or flare up like a firestorm.

The Dads they used to drink beer and black stuff, the Guinness
Sometimes they'd give us a sip
Ugh...the taste of it, it'd give you the creeps
You'd think " How do you drink that stuff and Why!!!
It wasn't sweet like orange or lemonade
It was another mystery, the strange world... the strange world of the adults.

(Once while walking along the beach we came across this well dressed young man fast asleep behind the sea wall
Lying on the cold ground, a few empty beer cans beside him
Of course we didn't know yet about people getting drunk
We were very puzzled at this scene, we looked at one another baffled
Why did he want to sleep there for ?
Did he not have a home to go to and a bed to sleep in ?
What we were looking at was the World... the strange world of the adults).

The Dads they were always watching the News and talking politics
Once when we were on holiday down the country at our Auntie's place
We were outside playing football
While my Dad and Uncle were inside drinking and talking politics
Arguing heatedly about who was right and who was wrong
Suddenly they both appeared in the doorway, all smiles and strangely jolly like
They said they wanted to join in, in our game
Something they'd very rarely do
I remember looking at them and thinking
These people...these people are in pain
I was so afraid they might fall and hurt themselves
I thought them that fragile
I was afraid to tackle them properly for the ball
I thought I should only pretend
Should let them win, let them score a goal
"Maybe then," I thought, "maybe then they'd be happy".

                          III

They seemed to be always trying their best
But being reined in by their limitations
One Christmas I remember, I wanted things, exciting things, toy soldiers, electric cars, a toy gun
They gave me this small model passenger plane, wasn't even a War plane (no machine guns or rockets)
And this cheap little plastic antique globe of the world thing
I looked to see was there any treasure marked on it, but no!
I was so disappointed, these were ****** presents, not what I wanted at all
But when I looked in their faces, at the expectancy there
Them expecting me to be overjoyed and delighted with what I'd got
I felt this huge pity and sorrow for them,
So I smiled back at them and pretended their presents, they were the best presents of all.

                            IV

There was this tragic sadness about them, the adults
Almost like they weren't feeling the joy anymore, that for them the magic had gone out
Like the little child within them had all but died
You realized that what you were feeling was probably something they no longer felt
They were off lost in some other world
Overrun with cares and worries and fears  
Yea, there was something wrong with the adults I always thought
When I was young
When I was small.
The Child is father to the man, someone once wrote. I sometimes do paintings of my past and when I do, I remember things. Although the memories above are often sad, there were a lot of happier memories too. Given the lives they had and the times, they were truly heroic people.....This is a poem of memories/recollections from early youth & how the young child views the strange often dysfunctional world around him. Children instinctively know their good and beautiful when their young because they can feel it inside them, it's the time their closest to their source, where they've come from. There's this natural beauty present inside them which gives them a great strength. Unfortunately this is rarely investigated & explored. Instead the child is packed away to school where their taught they must compete with their fellows & that their worth as a person depends solely on how they perform at school. School often produces strain though and struggle in the child & by the time they reach secondary school, the traces of that early natural beauty have greatly diminished, & sometimes tragically become just a distant memory. -I suppose this is just a homage to that special time and to those early feelings of Joy.
JoyAndPain Feb 4
Ten little soldier boys went out to dine;
One choked his little self and then there were nine.

Nine little soldier boys sat up very late;
One overslept himself and then there were eight.

Eight little soldier boys traveling in Devon;
One said he’d stay there and then there were seven.

Seven little soldier boys chopping up sticks;
One chopped himself in halves and then there were six.

Six little soldier boys playing with a hive;
A bumble bee stung one and then there were five.

Five little soldier boys going in for law;
One got in chancery and then there were four.

Four little soldier boys going out to sea;
A red herring swallowed one and then there were three.

Three little soldier boys walking in the zoo;
A big bear hugged one and then there were two.

Two little soldier boys sitting in the sun;
One got frizzled up and then there was one.

One little soldier boy left all alone;
He went and hanged himself and then there was none.
This is not an original poem. it was written by Frank Green in 1869
i found it in a book called "And then there were none." it is very good. i recomend it. if you want to know it is about 10 people who are stuck on an island called soldier island after being tricked into going. one by one there are all **** by a madman disquised as a guest. ther is a lot more to the story but i dont want to spoil it.
See beauty where others don’t see beauty at all.
See happiness where others don’t see happiness at all.
When something less comes along they will realize it was beauty and happiness after all.

Shell✨🐚
See beauty in the little things in life!
Be grateful for what you have, even if it isn’t much!
karly codr Jan 10
i don't understand
the hatred in the world
so grand
that one little thing
can make you hate
sorry, strongly dislike,
someone for the rest
of your life
Leah Carr Jan 5
I just want someone to protect and look after me.
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