I wish I was talented,
to sing your heart out,
to dance like a graceful ballerina,
to paint beautiful landscapes,
to play all kinds of instruments,
to cook as if you're the next famous chef,
to be quick and and strong like a sportsperson,
but I guess my talent is to write experiences that people can relate to,
to connect and feel empathy for one another.
If you're not supposed
to stop dreaming
when are you supposed
to be happy?
When you are working on that really important history project, before you can even begin, there is always that one person who asks: "So how much is this worth? How much will this count towards our mark?"
Ugh. Welcome to the Bauer state of mind everybody!
All that matters in life is how successful you are. And as long as your average is a constant 100%, you do not need to worry about anything else.
What a life huh?
These people are the perfect people for office job life. Nothing but numbers, no life, no soul.
Nothing else matters to them.
And singling these people out in high school is the saddest thing, and the most hilarious thing I've done.
Because these people brag at 100% and cry at 99%.
How can you not be satisfied with anything less than overdoing it?
I mean, you go on and live your life.
But I'll stay here with a more than satisfactory 85%.
I can work with that.
Some days, I want to punch the tryhards in the face.
Truth be told, I probably need therapy, or counselling I'm not sure.
But I'm not going to get involved in that.
So instead I go to a karate class twice a week. And it's a good outlet for anger.
Just imagine the person or thing you're currently mad at and go crazy. Punch, kick, fight!
Make it known that you are blazing mad! Don't back down until you have won!
When the class is over, you're probably tired, you've used a lot of your energy, so you can maybe sleep your anger off.
But somedays, you rage does not give up, it sticks with you and you're still not satisfied with the service, you want a refund? Well too bad, you don't get one! Remember, this is not a real therapy session...
Maybe I should go into therapy -- or counselling.
Because even if you fight with all your rage and anger and hate, you won't win a fight if the person you're mad at --
If the person you are fighting...
Let's go! Hands up! Let's start this fight shall we?
Left empty, void, hollow.
It's nerve wracking, unable to follow.
No matter what you try to make it fit
Nothing is perfect, nothing is right
Nothing is working and it's all simply ****
It's ****, it's ****, it's ****.
I struggle and I fight.
I scream and cry and groan and whine.
People tell it's not a problem;
That it's really absolutely fine.
Both you and I know that it;s not
and it never will be
because it's not going to be perfect
And I don't think it ever will be.
No denying who or what we are.
If there were no clocks would we really think of time
If there were only forests then trees we would climb
If there were some water then grapes together would make the wine
If there were all the animals then my conscience would be fine
If I had done my work then I would spend the rest of the day in sunshine
If all knowledge was a page away would I read it or forever be ignorant no less I guess is thine
If life was yours to give how could you take what isn't yours to understand in a simple rhyme
Easy answer to a simple problem
Raise my hands and scratch the **** thing
But then again, why should I have to?
Why must I immediately raise my hands to scratch my itchy nose?
Is it because the itch is caused by a parasitic alien?
Hellbent in destroying my body by tickling my prickly nose hairs?
And thus if I scratch my nose I would rid myself of said parasite?
No no no, the idea of such a thing is of the utmost absurdity
The most logical answer is that I must rid myself of discomfort
Discomfort: Quite a word indeed to one that lives well
Where I can sit comfortably on a couch in an air conditioned house
And I can still find something that causes discomfort
Perhaps after I rid myself of this infernal discomfort
I shall go to the kitchen and make myself a lovely roast
With some scallion potatoes on the side with green beans
And then rub uncomfortably on the chair because my ******* itches
The fire inside my belly
Doesnt let me sleep one night
And when i try to put it out
It gets bigger & bigger inside
It slowly tries to reach my mind
Flaming new dreams with time
And when i ask for peace
I can see the only end
It craves for passion and desires
They're like the wind to its lungs
No matter how hard you preach them
Still one day you will be left to burn
And when that day comes to meet us
When we'll have stopped to look for answers
That morning you wont see the sun rise from
We will all be just ash; left with no more questions