To those who complain about the mundane,
It’s just your paradigm changing your fate.
I hope you realize before it’s too late,
That being miserable isn’t a fun game.

Don’t you understand that the mundane,
Will be most of your existence,
Not every day,
Is filled with endless enjoyment and stimulus.
Some days are just meh,
That’s how the game is played.
It’s such a waste of your breath,
To complain.

“I’m tired!”
So am I.
Of listening to your endless whining,
About how today’s the worst day of your life.
You’ll survive.
I swear,
You’ll be fine.
Your complaining is so degrading,
And depriving me of life.

“I don’t want to be here!”
Neither do I.
I don’t want to listen to you speak one more time.
To hear another ungrateful leave your mind.
Do you not realize how lucky you are to be alive?
Breathe, take it in,
Just don’t make me sit through it again.

“I’m bored!”
That’s good!
You’ll learn that sometimes things aren’t always as interesting,
As you think they should.
Why does the world have to entertain you?
Why can’t you just be satisfied?
Why must you spiel your discontentment?
I’ve found that can lead to resentment…

Don’t you see that the mundane,
Can be beautiful in its own way?
Those days where you have no plans,
Whatever happens happens,
And that’s okay.
The simple days,
Where things don’t feel so complicated,
Or frustrating,
Yet you find a way to keep complaining!

It makes me feel like I’m going crazy!
If you can’t beat them, join them.
But if I did,
I would go against the theme of this poem.
Complaining is such a waste of words,
And time.
Is it worth it,
To waste it,
On that?
I’d say that it isn’t.

Count your blessings.
If you can’t think of anything,
Then you better think harder.
There’s always something,
That anyone can be thankful for.
It’s feels a lot more gratifying,
Than just incessant complaining.
I’ve got my mom and my dad,
The ones who make sure my head’s ******* on just right,
Who keep me in the fight.

Don’t you ever get tired,
Of saying the same old things?
Of complaining,
About what everyone already thinks?
Are you that unoriginal,
Uninspired, and bland,
That you can’t see the beauty,
In your hands?

I hope you get a good night’s sleep,
You’ll need it,
When you find that tomorrow’s just today,
With a different name.
And I know,
You’ll complain again,
To your friends,
And they’ll do the same.
I hope when you’re older,
You’ll see,
That this life is what you make it.
No one said it was easy,
So we have to keep pushing through it.
Your complaining adds nothing,
But fuel to the fire,
If only you could see it,
If you weren’t blinded by your ire.

To those who complain about the mundane,
I know that some days,
May be filled with hate,
Or pain,
But it’s not a good aim,
To wish your life away.

So alive and so in love
Like a single lily in the meadow, there we dance
Our waltz of love putting everyone to shame
We whirl and twirl, until the night fades away
As your coach arrives, I draw for a goodnights kiss
But away you ride, leaving me amiss
I awake to the sound of furious crashes
The ground shakes, It’s those ****** howitzers
The muddy trench comes in to view as my dreams fade
How I long this war to end so you and I can waltz again

A Poem By: Reece Ellison

Demons,
Everyone has them, hidden just behind their eyes,
And if you squint, you’ll find what they try to hide.
As the tears flow,
And their heart begins to open,
You’ll realize.
That part of being human,
Is suffering behind a smile.

Your head can tell you many things,
Not all of it is true,
But you’ll convince yourself,
That there’s nothing you can do.
Your mind can be your greatest friend,
Or your greatest foe,
A pain people can try to relate to,
But it’s one only you’ll truly know.

Pain,
Everybody has it, hidden just behind their eyes,
And if you squint, you’ll find what they try to hide.
As the tears start to flow,
And their heart begins to open,
You’ll realize,
That part of being human,
Is crying yourself to sleep at night.

Sometimes when you open up,
And you try to explain the abstraction of your pain,
People tend to take it,
Laugh at it,
Break it into pieces,
And wonder why you’re hurt.
People can be cruel,
They leech off of each other all the time,
Harm someone for the benefit of themselves,
Never understanding the other side of their actions.

Scars,
Everybody has them, hidden just behind their eyes,
And if you squint, you’ll find what they try to hide.
As the tears start flowing,
And their heart starts opening,
You’ll realize,
That part of being human,
Is masking anguish inside.

I think I have a wound deep down,
I don’t know where it is,
But I know it hurts.
I see things more pessimistically than I did a few years before.
Maybe that’s just cause I’m changing,
If so I wish it would’ve stayed the way it was before.
Sometimes I wonder if my presence changes a thing.
If I were gone, would it matter at all?
For a day, or a week, or a month, does it make a difference at all?
Perhaps that’s a stupid thought to wonder.
I’m no longer fooled when people try to act nice.
I see them for what they are,
A wolf in sheep’s clothing,
Trying to hurt an aching soul to save their own.

Fears,
Everybody has one, hidden just behind their eyes,
And if you squint, you’ll find what they try to hide.
As the tears pool dripping,
And their heart starts breaking,
You’ll realize,
That being human,
Is being afraid of what tomorrow will bring.

This may sound foolish,
And I know it is,
But I’m afraid of change,
Chronically afraid.
May be why I’m so anxious,
Watching things speed by so quick,
Whilst I’m left wondering:
Where did it all go?
I think I’m rather boring,
And nobody knows me better than me.
Introducing the fear of being alone,
Praying it doesn’t end up becoming real.

Demons,
Everyone has them, hidden just behind their eyes,
And if you squint, you’ll find what they try to hide.
And as my tears start flowing,
And my heart begins to open,
I hope you’ll realize,
That part of being human,
Is filled with pain and strife,
And sometimes,
Feels harder than it’s worth.

I am just a boy living in an unrealistic world.
Unrealistic yet the most real thing I could think of,
Full of words that are pictures and pictures are words.
They say a picture is worth a thousand words,
all you need to paint a picture is three.
This is the world I live in,
full of expectations verses reality.
Where the reality is the expectations and the expectations is not reality.
For in this Earth wealth is more and less than status.
Wealth is a gateway to education at it's finest,
while the rest of us learn book to book.
We all live paycheck to paycheck.
Whether we want to admit it we know it's true.
We all live with fears,
but those fears just might come true.

She walked,
Alone, unseeing of the clamour behind her.
Cold, and bereft,
Yearning - for what?
She left. Just disappeared,
Cocooning further as hands
Invisible to her, tried to land
On her heart.