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.

TW: ed


She hates the way she looks
Big thighs
Smart mind
Or so she’s told

But in truth
She counts every calorie
And plays with her food
Because it adds to the number on the scale

She knows she’s sick
But at least she’s skinny

So she’ll keep skipping meals
And working out far too much
But all she’s thinking is
“At least I’m skinny”

Because in truth
She hates her body
And her mind does too
So she’ll  keep skipping meals
And working out far too much

Because at least that way
The number on the scale doesn’t go up

I like your pathetic.
Maybe it’s sick,
Maybe it’s wrong,
But the tears your eyes cry for me
Turn me on.
The way you beg me to stay,
The way your voice breaks—
It feeds something in me
I can’t even explain.
I don’t want to fix you.
I don’t want to save you.
I want you raw,
Ripped open,
Needing me.
It’s not love.
It’s the craze.
And I want every drop of it.

It frustrates me that I’m sitting here,
Staring at a blank page.
For I feel so much.
And I have so much to write,
On this empty page.
I have seen enough to write an endless novel.
So why is my page empty?
Not full of wooded trails.
Or life's many tales.
Not even the sympathies,
Of my many brothers,
And many sisters.
My page is empty,
Alas, the poet’s dying shame.

I’ve got a few more things to say,
More thoughts have fluttered into my brain,
And even if it may be slightly trite,
I’m going to give you another piece of my mind.

How I adore the sound of rain.
Pitter-patter,
On my window at night.
However, when the rain gets on me,
I become the Wicked Witch of The West,
And start to melt.
The rain relaxes me,
Puts my ever-sprinting mind at ease.
Snuggled underneath the covers,
In my comfy bed,
Shows that even on the stormy nights,
There’s something to be thankful for.

My music taste has evolved,
As most everything else has,
I guess it was inevitable,
To broaden my horizons.
I was raised on Reba,
My mother made sure of that.
I’ll give credit where it’s due,
She’s a stunning singer,
And her songs touch the heart,
But I’ve found another,
Who, for me,
Fans the same spark.
His name is Alec Benjamin,
I’ve quoted his song in a poem once before,
Rarely can you find a musician,
Where every song you adore.
I haven’t heard every piece of art he’s created,
But from what I’ve heard,
They’re very relatable, meaningful songs,
Which are filled with impactful words.
He’s an amazing lyricist,
Who, to my knowledge, writes all his own songs,
Here’s a sample,
From a track titled “Hipocrite,”
Yes, titled just like that.

“It's hip to be a hipocrite, well, that's how it goes
Saying and portraying things, but only for show
They talk, throw rocks
Living in a mansion that they made out of glass
Always throwing tantrums, always getting a pass
All talk, they don't stop.”
And here’s the chorus:
“All these pompous fools,
With their broken rules,
And their noses in the air,
Keep pretending that they care.
All these stubborn mules,
Went to fancy schools,
But the only thing they learned to do is talk.”

Some of the music I like,
Doesn’t even have any lyrics at all.
Just a light somber melody,
To take me to serenity.
It’s in those moments,
Where my mind is clear,
That I treasure,
All I hold dear.

As much as I fear the future,
And which direction, of the countless, it could go.
I’d be lying if I said,
I wasn’t curious to see where it goes.
Where I’ll be,
Ten,
Twenty,
Thirty years from now,
Nobody knows.
On the bucket list,
Is to be invited onto a talk show.
Fate is uncertain,
That’s precisely why I fear it,
Yet, there’s a beauty to the undetermined.
Funny how that is.

I’m very impatient,
That’s a negative trait I’ll admit,
However, I understand,
That patience has its benefits.
Impulsivity leads to mistakes,
While patience leads to mastery.
Patience leads to understanding,
While impetuousness leads to travesty.
Waiting makes me feel,
That fleeting time is wasting,
We don’t have forever,
And our presence is always fading.
Yet, breathing in and out,
And taking a moment to rest,
Reconfigure, reassess,
Is the best form of reconciliation,
The body can get.

Another poem written,
A set of words said.
Another view of the world,
Hidden in my head.
Another random word,
To help me rhyme.
Another,
Piece of my mind.

I give advice with steady grace,
A calming smile, a patient face.
I tell you things you need to know,
To lift you up when you're feeling low.

I say, "Stay strong, you’ll make it through,"
"Don't give up, there's light for you."
But deep inside, where no one sees,
Those are the words I truly need.

I offer comfort, warm and kind,
To soothe your heart and ease your mind.
I tell you, “You’re enough, don’t fear,”
But how I wish someone were near,
To tell me the same, to ease my pain,
To whisper hope through pouring rain.

I say, "Take heart, you’re not alone,"
"Keep going strong, you’ve always grown."
But late at night, when I can't sleep,
I wish those words were mine to keep.

For every phrase, for every guide,
Is what I crave but can’t confide.
I lift you up, but silently,
I wish someone would do that for me.

You see my strength, you see me there,
Always someone who seems to care.
But the truth is, I’m barely whole,
My words are bandages for my soul.

I’ve built a wall, I’ve played my part,
Yet no one sees my breaking heart.
I heal the wounds of those I love,
But never speak what I dream of.

So every time I say, "Be brave,"
I'm longing for the love I gave.
For in the wisdom that I share,
Is a voice that whispers, "I'm still scared."

I guide you through, I help you fight,
But in the dark, I lose my light.
And though I’m strong for everyone,
I’m still waiting for someone to come.

To give me back the words I give,
To remind me why it's good to live.
To lift me up when I can't stand,
To hold me tight and understand.

But until then, I’ll carry on,
Be strong for you, even when I'm gone.
For even if I break inside,
I’ll never let you see me hide.

I'll be the voice that clears your doubt,
Even as mine is drowning out.
And maybe, one day, I’ll believe
The words I speak, the love I need.