I’m aware of so many things
But it’s my choice to be sure or hesitant
I know I could pierce my ear for Sunday nights only
I wonder if it would make me seem more militant

we can talk at a party
what you don’t know
what I don’t say
it all depends

I decided how I look is only good for a few minutes
Then our minds take over racing past our eyes
The soft sidewalk exists if you let it carry you
Take off your shoes, smile a lot, don’t tell lies

we can talk in a bar
what I don’t know
what you don’t say
it all pretends

I do have so many doubts
But it’s my choice to let them get to me
Sometimes a headache is a relief from life
It forces me to stop thinking about the things I see

we can talk in a park
what I already know
what you already said
it almost ends

I decided how you look is good for a long time
I’m sorry if you need more but its where we start
You look interesting enough, especially your style
I wonder what you’ll be like after I break your heart

we can talk on a phone
what I already said
what you already know
it almost begins

See,
      Thy world is a smelting *** of whimsical worldchyme stew,
A goulash that aquire's carrots, beef, potatoes, and other uncanny things,
Well,
        As for me!
                                           I'm its gravy!!!!

You were the best
Among the rest

That's why we're weird together
Cause we do things in another manner
Now you ask, "What's the matter?"

I feel down
My face is in a frown

You two are going
leaving

Our weird antics
And those undeniably numerous frantic

All our laughs filled with glee
Are going to be missed by me

Now I don't want you to be blue
This poem is my greatest THANK YOU

There's a very fine line between
Weirdness and Greatness...

And often the transition
Is undetectable.

We're not meant to hate. I'm sorry but its true, no matter how much we say we hate someone deep down we know we're lying to ourselves.

You know how Love is the best feeling in the world. Don't you think hate is the alternative to when you're broken or something? Because with Love comes butterflies in our tummies, smiles in our faces, happiness and well thoughts of those you love. So with hate comes furry in our tummies, anger in our hearts, pain and memories of those who hurt us.

So does this mean we hate to remember those we love?
Because we don't really want to forget them?
Eh I think the heat is getting to me over here.

Procrastination,
My fair lady,
Why must you compel me
To worship you
When I have so many and so urgent things to do?
Fine. So maybe it is not your fault.
So I'm just lazy. Okay.
But you are so tempting.
Lulling me away
from so many chores
(Or a death by boredom - who can really tell?)
Sometimes you offer me the prettiest of pictures,
Sometimes the funniest of videos,
Other times merely my bed and the ceiling,
But more often books.
Beautiful, beutiful books.
So why should I scold you
For taking my time
When those are the hours
I most lovely spent?