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#sevenyears
Once i was seven years old, a dream had told me one day i'd be married under palm trees Once i was seven years old I was a girl with a plan but you thought yours was better You pushed me close to the edge then sent me sweet love letters By eleven i was broken, crying in your sweater Never again would i fall, you couldn't stand the pressure Once i was eleven years old, my brother told me, don't worry 'bout these boys just get your money Once i was eleven years old i always had that dream like my brother before me so i started working, grinding, started stacking money Everyone called me honey, cause i was still so sweet I didn't let the riches change me, never folded in heat Once i was sixteen years old, the parties got old The morning after was always so gloomy Once i was sixteen years old I almost went to jail, almost ruined my future who would want to be around a girl that's so stupid? I had my boys with me, at least that was in my favor Then those same boys went and put my ******* life in danger Once i was eighteen years old, being alone got old I went and found someone who was there at night to hold me Once i was eighteen years old Soon we'll be thirty years old, our story pretty bold We got married barefoot under the palm trees Soon we'll be thirty years old Little ones learning about life, our love is constantly growing I'm so happy as his wife, he's what keeps me going Most of my friends are in jail, dead or close to dying I did my best to save them but they just kept justifying and its so hard to talk to someone when their ego's showing If I reach sixty-years old, then he'll reach sixty-five We'll sit back and reminisce of simpler times When we were young and happy dancing in a waterfall with nothing to lose because we'd already lost it all If I don't reach sixty-years old, will my story be told? Or should i write a book detailing everything? If i don't reach sixty-years old If I don't reach sixty-years old, will my story be told? Or should i write a book so you wont miss a thing? If i don't reach sixty-years old Once i was seven years old, a dream had told me one day i'd be married under palm trees Once i was seven years old Once i was seven years old...
0
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 10:23 PM UTC
strangely-samantha
Seven Years (Song Rewrite)
Once i was seven years old, a dream had told me one day i'd be married under palm trees Once i was seven years old I was a girl with a plan but you thought yours was better You pushed me close to the edge then sent me sweet love letters By eleven i was broken, crying in your sweater Never again would i fall, you couldn't stand the pressure Once i was eleven years old, my brother told me, don't worry 'bout these boys just get your money Once i was eleven years old i always had that dream like my brother before me so i started working, grinding, started stacking money Everyone called me honey, cause i was still so sweet I didn't let the riches change me, never folded in heat Once i was sixteen years old, the parties got old The morning after was always so gloomy Once i was sixteen years old I almost went to jail, almost ruined my future who would want to be around a girl that's so stupid? I had my boys with me, at least that was in my favor Then those same boys went and put my ******* life in danger Once i was eighteen years old, being alone got old I went and found someone who was there at night to hold me Once i was eighteen years old Soon we'll be thirty years old, our story pretty bold We got married barefoot under the palm trees Soon we'll be thirty years old Little ones learning about life, our love is constantly growing I'm so happy as his wife, he's what keeps me going Most of my friends are in jail, dead or close to dying I did my best to save them but they just kept justifying and its so hard to talk to someone when their ego's showing If I reach sixty-years old, then he'll reach sixty-five We'll sit back and reminisce of simpler times When we were young and happy dancing in a waterfall with nothing to lose because we'd already lost it all If I don't reach sixty-years old, will my story be told? Or should i write a book detailing everything? If i don't reach sixty-years old If I don't reach sixty-years old, will my story be told? Or should i write a book so you wont miss a thing? If i don't reach sixty-years old Once i was seven years old, a dream had told me one day i'd be married under palm trees Once i was seven years old Once i was seven years old...
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sketch a thought for the girl who wanders the echoing halls of my mind, depression’s cold cousin, smooth as a seal’s fur, reaching through barriers - wrapping your fingers around my heart, only to pull, pull, pull; i am belly-up my guts exposed like the tears that dissipate in the wind for her. I once knew her: mirror, mirror, held up to myself and i scream - have i been a monster? does the gaslit lamp provide enough light? it misleads disfigures we mould ourselves to marry and martyr before we know how to speak truthfully love is as real and painful as the scars on my back, your wrists, my lips, yours eyes, my mirror mind shattered. you gave me magic, i gave you happiness and you returned it signed: “return to sender”. packaged, parceled-up, compartmentalized, fragmented; pieces of a beautiful thing cast out across the tide pulled along by the current then sunk below the water’s surface - freezing cold and isolated. i washed up on shore in a land not quite Europe not quite America with all of the problems both have, lovelorn and lost; i survived there, somehow - fresh eyes drew me forward to explore this land in the wake of exploring so much pain. now my heart is full but so is my mind: with the knowledge of seven years, who i’ve been, who i will be, because we have to change because i wanted change because i’m in love and too scared to utter those words out loud because i don’t want to rush or ruin or reverberate the madness. i will love new i will love strong i will love genuinely (even when it hurts) and i will not give up.
0
Dec 15, 2019
Dec 15, 2019 at 9:31 PM UTC
Afrotastic27
painting the past
sketch a thought for the girl who wanders the echoing halls of my mind, depression’s cold cousin, smooth as a seal’s fur, reaching through barriers - wrapping your fingers around my heart, only to pull, pull, pull; i am belly-up my guts exposed like the tears that dissipate in the wind for her. I once knew her: mirror, mirror, held up to myself and i scream - have i been a monster? does the gaslit lamp provide enough light? it misleads disfigures we mould ourselves to marry and martyr before we know how to speak truthfully love is as real and painful as the scars on my back, your wrists, my lips, yours eyes, my mirror mind shattered. you gave me magic, i gave you happiness and you returned it signed: “return to sender”. packaged, parceled-up, compartmentalized, fragmented; pieces of a beautiful thing cast out across the tide pulled along by the current then sunk below the water’s surface - freezing cold and isolated. i washed up on shore in a land not quite Europe not quite America with all of the problems both have, lovelorn and lost; i survived there, somehow - fresh eyes drew me forward to explore this land in the wake of exploring so much pain. now my heart is full but so is my mind: with the knowledge of seven years, who i’ve been, who i will be, because we have to change because i wanted change because i’m in love and too scared to utter those words out loud because i don’t want to rush or ruin or reverberate the madness. i will love new i will love strong i will love genuinely (even when it hurts) and i will not give up.
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