Questions unanswered, never know why
Filled our mouths with Maypo, our brains with lies
The facts we are given are all their own view
Hypocrisy and hate are all that they spew
Remember I tell you faith can revive
Instincts in us we need to survive
Listen to you soul, open your eyes
Have trust in yourself and they cannot arise
Some nights we sing, some nights we cry
Some nights we live, some nights we die
Some nights you win, some nights you take it,
Some nights you're happy,some nights you fake it,
But we live to the fullest, for life is sacred.
Not to God or Fate, but to ourselves, and those who love us.
That which starts bitter, And that which starts sweet,
Rarely end on the same note, Rarely end with the same stroke
But you must walk the road nonetheless,
You must always finish the painting
Fate will often be cruel, Destiny often unforgiving,
But you must finish the life,
You must walk the road of time
For the love of some, For the insult of others,
You must complete the life,
Or else those who made you suffer take your life
Its not always the where and what,
But the who and why that keeps us alive
Sometime's we need someone else's wings to fly.
Some days we're armed to the teeth, Some days we must fight alone,
But fight we must to live, or else we only live to die.
Or else our tears are not worth the cry.
And if you must cry, have a good reason why
Or else you waste your pain on a lie
And if you must live a lie, live it fully and alive.
Embrace it until it becomes your life.
For if the lie is not worth the life,
Than it is not worth lying.
For if our lies are not the worth the truth,
Then what are we fighting for?
Only to die.
I want to age
I will not type
'how to look youthful' on google
or buy anti-aging cream to cover my wrinkle
I will wake up everyday
looking at the mirror,
touching my wrinkle,
thanking my future self;
'you have been through a long journey,
thank you for choosing to survive
and face the same hell everyday.'
I will show the world
how proud I am of my wrinkle
as it is my
monuments of survival.
I love you
I pushed you
I love you
I lost you
I love you
You used me
I love you
You played me
I love you
You said you loved me
I loved you
You lost me.
What is an oxymoron:
It’s a contradiction in itself
That still exists anyway
Would be thunder on
A clear day
Or an ocean
For a while, I wrote
People into being oxymorons
Girls with eyes that
Burned with wildfire
Yet hearts that were
Colder than the northern ice caps
(I thought that the colder
Your heart was
The better chance of being
Okay you had)
I wrote of people
Who had the gentlest hands
But the hardest eyes
I loved my story
Of the girl who was in the
But didn’t believe in love
I wanted to be
Something hard to fathom
And figure out, something
Miraculous and curious
Then I realized
That I’ve always been an oxymoron
I’ve been told that my smiles
Were the brightest
But I’d look in the mirror and see
That my eyes were dead
I saw that I became an
Oxymoron of my own
The second that I became
A perfectly controlled catastrophe
So that my ragged edges
And awful mess
Wouldn’t touch anyone else
I knew that I was an
Oxymoron the second that I
Started doing everything
Out of love
Yet I did not believe in
Love at all
I became an oxymoron
And I hate it
Because I want to break apart
And fall into a million pieces
But I need to hold myself
Together even if it’s agony
I am an oxymoron of sorts
And I do not know
If I am weaker
Or stronger for it
They call us survivors
I call us leftovers
They tell us we're heroes and deserve better than the hand life dealt us.
They use us as examples of inspiration and make shiny metaphors out of our trauma.
But they never look at you long enough to see that you flinch when they reach, with greedy hands, towards you because to look at you too long would mean seeing the hand wrapped around your throat.
They are never around long enough to know that panic sets in while you shower and scrub at your skin until it's raw and bruised.
Sticking around would mean knowing that you were touched by Poison Ivy and they've heard it's contagious!
They don't watch when you're seventeen and crying into his shoulder, asking him to tell you he loves you, just so you can sleep because that would mean that maybe..you aren't that heroic afterall.
If they got too close they would see that you aren't surviving so much as submitting to being alive.
They sit on the edge of their seats gobbling up details about your so-called courageous story, eating up the nitty-gritty details because they know it will end in some form of you rises from the ashes.
But YOU didn't know that you'd be rising from the ashes when he was lighting his match.
When you tell them, you're still in therapy learning to breathe and count to ten, they have to realize bandaids don't fix gaping wounds, so they stop listening, notice the crows feet and crooked teeth, and turn away because suddenly...you look like a victim
a chilling light seeps in
as my restful night
turns gnarled teeth on me.
and in my questioning state,
I dare not leave stones unturned.
I pick, I poke, I tear
under the surface of the sun,
until I not only know the answers,
but hate myself for them.
selling my soul to the devil
may be my only chance of survival.
If someone wanted you
in their life
make the effort
to see that you are.
That old cliché term
louder than words"
and I am just here
to warn you
that not every
is a friend
do not care
the way they
say they do.
out of Ten
face your hardships
and even though
it is not always
and it takes about
twenty something years
most humans will never be good to you.