It takes two things in order to twirl a pencil between your fingers.
The pencil and enjoyment of the activity enough to make you want to do so. Take away the enjoyment, and you'll wish to drop the pencil. All that's left now is to convince yourself into letting go.
i thought that i was so alone in this grey world
and i was so wrong and so right about it
so my point in this pointless topic is
that it's okay to be alone while you are feeling fine
but when i started speaking to and watching people
'cause my alone time started to be unhealthy
i realized we are not alone in that
that all of us are alone in this universe
HA such a plot twist, am i right...?
he was lost but never knew. life existed with no clue of what to do just the same routine run around and find new things. all he knew was he liked to eat, but never knew what eating was just a good feeling of fullness when taking another life but no worry what is life besides him. he ran across the forest floor and only he could enjoy the soothing patter of his feet across the leafs. he never knew about the world no matter how much he explored he just saw it as reality. never knew who he was to others or what he was. i am me but only known as a feeling for words where not a learn-able traite. unaware of knowledge but does he mean to be unaware. what if knowledge is pain? what do we gain besides a pointlessness when we have knowledge i wish i could follow in his footsteps but i cant imagine it. id like to hear the patter of leaves under my feet and live in thoughtless serenity.
There once was a king who stayed in a castle
He loved story tellers and listened to them often but mostly at night. sometimes before bed they kept him awake. the story tellers always kept him wondering what happened next so he never stopped listening.
If a story didnt have a happy ending he would have the story teller banished to the dungeon never to be seen again, true or not its time to believe them. he didnt allow them to tell stories of faiding species, the hardships of surviving.. Here.. and how we are all doomed eventually. He only liked stories about books written by ancient deciples, Wounds being healed, lovers meeting from past lives and infinite impossibilities. Those stories with the least evidence most easy to believe.
Some days the king corrected his story tellers “no no no its like this. I’m the king and i know how it goes” he said, “anyway you like your highness” spoke the story teller. The king realized the story made no since so he sent the story teller to the dungeon and asked for a new teller. The dungeon door opened to reveal all the lost story tellers had become ghost on there way to take the king to the dungeon. He tried to ask his gaurds to protect him but they disappeared along with all of the tellers he had in his castle, and he was doomed to spend the rest of his days in the dungeon incased in a dark void of silence
The mountains are alive with smokeless fire.
Yesterday I was running from it all,
I hopped in the car and threw my life out the window
And started to drive
Nothing but the stars in the sky devoid of the moon
And the thoughts in my head that spread out like the road before me.
I didn’t have a destination in mind
When I drove to the harborfront.
Getting out of the car seemed monumental
The cold outside was a barrier I didn’t want to risk crossing
But I braced myself for the slaughter
And opened the door up anyway.
My foot touched the ground
And I winced
But nothing happened.
Each step forward forward forward
Brought me closer to the ocean.
I think it was snowing.
Something was swirling around me in the cold
I couldn’t tell whether it was controlling me or I was controlling it
But it didn’t seem to matter.
My feet touched the sand
The sand was covered in white dust
The starts reflected on the calm water’s surface
But when I looked down, I didn’t see myself staring back.
Is emotion ponderous?
I suppose it is if I’m writing this,
If I can even ask the question.
Why do I feel so deeply
And have all these thoughts that wash my brain out like the tide
But never can find the right string of words
So that it will impact more people than just myself?
There are things that make sense to me
That don’t seem to make sense to anyone else.
In a fit of passion I see emotions in my brain
And write what I see
To the best of my fleeting ability
But what comes out is just a jumble of words
A couple of images
And not a through line of sense in it at all.
Maybe I should read more.
That’s what I always tell myself
Read more books with meaning
Instead of just the stuff that interests me.
Read more poetry that has words too big to follow
And morals so far buried
I need heavy machinery to dig it up.
Why can’t I write like that?
Why can’t I make words dance across the page
And up and around the minds of those that read it?
All you’ll ever be is someone who’s life has no meaning
Who can’t justify her place in this world
Because she chose the wrong thing to focus on.
There is no gift there
There is no talent
Whoever saw it there once was lying to you.
There’s too many ideas in your head
Too many grand feelings with emotions that can’t be put into words
And not enough concrete to solidify it
There’s no point in continuing.
They’ll just laugh, you know. They’ll read what you have to say and tune out their ears.
The writing is garbage
It lacks the je ne sais quoi
The kind of thing that needs to be had and not taught
The kind of thing that you thought you had, once, but now don’t think so at all.
Nobody else thinks so either
So what are you going to do about it?
You’ve wasted too many hours of your life,
Written too many thousands of words of nonsense
Of pointless nothingness.
You’re past the tipping point.
Keep on writing, I guess,
That’s all you seem to keep doing.
Some people say that once you write enough garbage
Once you dig through enough dirt
You can find gold underneath.
I sure hope that’s what happens,
Because if not then I don’t know what to say to you
I don’t know where you’re gonna go.
Try to write yourself back home.
What’s the point of living?
making things better
whats the point of making things better when we constanly fight and kill each other?
this world is a game and we all in it
not a single person can win it
why cant we all just put aside the
bullshit, races, ethnicitys
the color of our skin
in the end were all kin
developed from a higher power
the only way to win is to reach the gates but the way we're all headed we only finna see the flames that will burn us for eternity call it purgatory
And so, the war so weathered
many shells that hit, or missed
peace to be again, so treasured
surviving the bloody hell, and mess
Enemies, wounded and fettered
each wound, a sad remiss
no worse, and none the better
lives gone, awry, amiss
Hail and remember
the days that such, are this
as battle ground, so weary
a bitter, victory kiss
the most common question
that you may ask someone
how are you?
how's it going?
and i think that it's kind of
says anything other than
why do we ask questions
about other people
if we can't even answer it ourselves
i don't want to be a burden or anything
that's why i may choose
even when i'm not
i find that we
as a community
"are you okay?"
whenever somebody is crying
way more than we should
because i mean
i don't want to create a scene
and tell you i'm fine
i told you
i don't want to be a burden
find that the term
works quite well
it's still not the full truth
but i'm not a burden then either
so i think we need to
because life isn't always