A young disciple of discipline is just, trying to dissipate negative traits. Hesitations of change are often in frame but most balloons don't fly straight. Instead there's the choice of multiple fates, played upon through invisible games. Who is listening, we're nowhere near finished yet, when the drifter remains in stages to claim.
Draw upon those who have taught you before, are these new lessons or echoes restored in repetition. Persistent tricks formed from stubborn habits, hidden in-kind to the back of our brains, where a complete disregard is often retained. Try observing yourself through the eyes of others, are you sure we're the same when shuffling states.
Is the spirit A part of conscientiousness or is conscientiousness A part of the spirit? Is will deceived Or do we steer it?
Death can hardly Be part of life How can a part Of life be dead? If eternity continues At our last breath How can I When nothing’s left?
I’m sure you know Your words are many Dissecting the dictionary From end to beginning But... Mom let you know the anger of dad Stay out of his way and never be bad Questions are futile Eat your greens The answer is simply life is a dream.
There’s no explanation Only description.
Make no mistake we are self deceived
Perhaps we signed into some type of contract and we’re here to help this world evolve And you can’t die until you do your part
If my last existence was a micro Perhaps my next existence will be a solar system Perhaps in some future point I will be the all Perhaps
O' brother Today is the anniversary of the day you were born But Fear not for I have a Present It is a cake obviously Never doubt me never Either way cake For you should feed your Gluttony And though I ate nine-tenths of the cake you still ate O how kind I am How much more Retribution truth But I am higher of that Regarded as Saint that is what kindness I have
O' brother I write to you today for my anniversary of the day I died came I have seen a ****** I have seen a robbery I have seen the cruelty of humanity But all I am and is a bystander who keeps His Head down With mediocrity and hypocrisy Ego dominant while the Id is miniscule Either way It seems that I can't show my kindness no more
O' mineself I have a confession I may see the trash out of all the trash and though the foggy mirror blurs it I Still See Mineself For even though I have saved a kittens life I have saved a boys life I have saved a girls life I have saved an adults life I have saved my ego I have saved my Id How more trash could I be I can't say sorry no I can only say that I am no more a saint a bystander just the trashiest of all trash
‘First, the toilet paper panic. Then a cleaning frenzy, followed by a baking bonanza. Now, slow-cooked casseroles seem to be on the menu. It's like the seven stages of grief, …in groceries.’
Economists aren’t generally known for their ability to sustain a metaphor. Woolworth’s CEO Brad Banducci - the exception to the rule - watched the mood of Australians change during the COVID-19 outbreak through the prism of their shopping choices.
There are seven stages of grief The first being denial We deny that we are here In this hell on Earth We deny that some of our family members have been taken into the hands of death We deny that we went through what we went through In hopes that we will forget it ever happened The second is the pain The pain comes when it finally hits Your family is dead You will never be that same happy kid as you once were The happy-go-lucky kid you were before the camps The realization that your body will never work the same way The next is anger The frustration you have been holding back Not at the Nazis or the Germans You are frustrated at yourself You are mad at yourself for being in that situation You do not know why you are mad at yourself But you refuse to place the blame anywhere else The next stage is depression The hole in your heart where your happiness used to lain The realization that you are now by yourself and there is no one who will understand you anymore No one will speak the language that us survivors speak No matter how good of a therapist you are It is a foreign language only select few speak There is another stage we went through The upward turns The realization that you will be ok You realize that you do not need your family to be ok You do not need anyone who survived with you You only need yourself And that is all you have There is another stage This being particularly the hardest It is working in an everyday life With your new setbacks and PTSD The new you starts to work properly There is one more stage It is acceptance You finally accept what happened You accept the fact that everything that you went through Is not fiction It is real life You accept the fact that we went through inhumane treatments and tortures And we accept all of it We realize and accept that we were almost all killed off Weather by sickness or ****** We accept we were the lucky ones And never look back
I wrote this for a school assignment last year, and now it's being submitted into scholarship contests:)
I won’t lie. Once those eyes met mine, I imagined. When I watched you run your hands through your hair multiple times, I daydreamed. But when I saw that genuine smile and laugh you gave once I made you laugh, I fell.
it's crazy to think some people's lives just started some people's lives just ended all over the world. a celebration of life has begun a mourning of death has begun. no matter your age no matter what stage of life, everyone's still learning. experiencing healing growing making mistakes maturing. sure some have it easier than others sure some have it harder than others but in the end, we have the chance to live to live as in to be present. we are here on this earth while others aren't recognize your opportunity to be.
here is your reminder, here is your sign, to open your eyes.