"scornful" poems
like a cigarette, ignited and raised to your scornful lips
you made me your addiction
and i let you consume me
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 12:53 PM UTC
She was nature, beautiful
But deadly, her cheeks as
Scornful as a rose, the smile hid
The thorns underneath.
Her presence though unseen,
Could be felt, like the sun's warm
Breath on bare winter skin.
She led him somewhere secret
As the night lures the stars,
As clouds gorge on the
Fragile light of the moon.
Over the crumbled bodies
Of leaves, into the alien
Land of tranquility.
When he woke, hands burning,
There was nothing left to see.
Only a faint feeling glistening
In the air, a failing heart and
A tongue full of dreams.
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 11:43 AM UTC
Oh! a bare, brown rock
Stood up in the sea,
The waves at its feet
Dancing merrily.
A little bubble
Once came sailing by,
And thus to the rock
Did it gayly cry,--
** clumsy brown stone,
Quick, make way for me:
I'm the fairest thing
That floats on the sea.
"See my rainbow-robe,
See my crown of light,
My glittering form,
So airy and bright.
"O'er the waters blue,
I'm floating away,
To dance by the shore
With the foam and spray.
"Now, make way, make way;
For the waves are strong,
And their rippling feet
Bear me fast along."
But the great rock stood
Straight up in the sea:
It looked gravely down,
And said pleasantly--
"Little friend, you must
Go some other way;
For I have not stirred
this many a long day.
"Great billows have dashed,
And angry winds blown;
But my sturdy form
Is not overthrown.
"Nothing can stir me
In the air or sea;
Then, how can I move,
Little friend, for thee?"
Then the waves all laughed
In their voices sweet;
And the sea-birds looked,
From their rocky seat,
At the bubble gay,
Who angrily cried,
While its round cheek glowed
With a foolish pride,--
"You SHALL move for me;
And you shall not mock
At the words I say,
You ugly, rough rock.
"Be silent, wild birds!
While stare you so?
Stop laughing, rude waves,
And help me to go!
"For I am the queen
Of the ocean here,
And this cruel stone
Cannot make me fear."
Dashing fiercely up,
With a scornful word,
Foolish Bubble broke;
But Rock never stirred.
Then said the sea-birds,
Sitting in their nests
To the little ones
Leaning on their *******
"Be not like Bubble,
Headstrong, rude, and vain,
Seeking by violence
Your object to gain;
"But be like the rock,
Steadfast, true, and strong,
Yet cheerful and kind,
And firm against wrong.
"Heed, little birdlings,
And wiser you'll be
For the lesson learned
To-day by the sea."
7k
If there is any life when death is over,
These tawny beaches will know much of me,
I shall come back, as constant and as changeful
As the unchanging, many-colored sea.
If life was small, if it has made me scornful,
Forgive me; I shall straighten like a flame
In the great calm of death, and if you want me
Stand on the sea-ward dunes and call my name.
6.1k
You've heard me, scornful, harsh, and discontented,
Mocking and loathing War: you've asked me why
Of my old, silly sweetness I've repented--
My ecstasies changed to an ugly cry.
You are aware that once I sought the Grail,
Riding in armour bright, serene and strong;
And it was told that through my infant wail
There rose immortal semblances of song.
But now I've said good-bye to Galahad,
And am no more the knight of dreams and show:
For lust and senseless hatred make me glad,
And my killed friends are with me where I go.
Wound for red wound I burn to smite their wrongs;
And there is absolution in my song
5.6k
A hymn to paired planethood: Venus hits Pluto
as death, in cold orbit, collides with biology
smashing to fragments: demonic astrology
(more a black hole than a love-star, it’s true though).
Cynical cure for Eve’s womanly grievance
Concupiscent consequence: lust’s bitter fruit –
ah the thought… changing Sin into mere inconvenience.
Margaret sang her seductive refrain
about weeding the garden and progress and light.
Her sisters should view her with scornful disdain
but instead have adopted her murderous rite.
With sang-froid she promoted her racist eugenics
(as if she had never herself been a fetus),
condemning her heirs to postmodern polemics
while nurturing ardent desires to defeat us.
Suppressing the lives that she flushed down the drain
she would liberate Death – and resistance was vain.
As a midwife to modern life (though on the “anti” side)
Old Matron Margie racked up quite a legacy
singing the praises of sanctioned infanticide
calling the shots for the coming sick century.
Planning, quite calmly, to “cleanse” certain races
her zeal was empowered by murderous graces.
She labored to bring us such pearls of subduction:
“dilation and curettage”, “women’s autonomy”
“viable fetus”, “procedure”, a “suction”
Hippocrates retches to hear the taxonomy;
words that turn Life into mere reproduction.
She enters the realms of the ****** and the motherless
roundly condemned by her feminine otherness.
Man’s first protection: the God-given womb
which no infant should have to regard as their tomb.
Dismembered dark cherubs, assembling, greet her
as demons (in scrubs) holding baby-parts meet her.
Long may she burn with the medical cynics
this mother of Moloch, this founder of clinics.
Convenience is king when abortion’s the Queen
and the profits swell big with each nubile teen…
yet the fruit of such carnage remains to be seen.
I send her this song as a funeral wreath
and a card inked in blood. You may read what is there:
“To the Matrix Supreme of our culture of death
from the souls of the infants you slew on the earth.
May your torment increase with the children you bear.”
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:09 PM UTC
In these rapid, restless shadows,
Once I walked at eventide,
When a gentle, silent maiden,
Walked in beauty at my side.
She alone there walked beside me
All in beauty, like a bride.
Pallidly the moon was shining
On the dewy meadows nigh;
On the silvery, silent rivers,
On the mountains far and high,—
On the ocean’s star-lit waters,
Where the winds a-weary die.
Slowly, silently we wandered
From the open cottage door,
Underneath the elm’s long branches
To the pavement bending o’er;
Underneath the mossy willow
And the dying sycamore.
With the myriad stars in beauty
All bedight, the heavens were seen,
Radiant hopes were bright around me,
Like the light of stars serene;
Like the mellow midnight splendor
Of the Night’s irradiate queen.
Audibly the elm-leaves whispered
Peaceful, pleasant melodies,
Like the distant murmured music
Of unquiet, lovely seas;
While the winds were hushed in slumber
In the fragrant flowers and trees.
Wondrous and unwonted beauty
Still adorning all did seem,
While I told my love in fables
’Neath the willows by the stream;
Would the heart have kept unspoken
Love that was its rarest dream!
Instantly away we wandered
In the shadowy twilight tide,
She, the silent, scornful maiden,
Walking calmly at my side,
With a step serene and stately,
All in beauty, all in pride.
Vacantly I walked beside her.
On the earth mine eyes were cast;
Swift and keen there came unto me
Bitter memories of the past—
On me, like the rain in Autumn
On the dead leaves, cold and fast.
Underneath the elms we parted,
By the lowly cottage door;
One brief word alone was uttered—
Never on our lips before;
And away I walked forlornly,
Broken-hearted evermore.
Slowly, silently I loitered,
Homeward, in the night, alone;
Sudden anguish bound my spirit,
That my youth had never known;
Wild unrest, like that which cometh
When the Night’s first dream hath flown.
Now, to me the elm-leaves whisper
Mad, discordant melodies,
And keen melodies like shadows
Haunt the moaning willow trees,
And the sycamores with laughter
Mock me in the nightly breeze.
Sad and pale the Autumn moonlight
Through the sighing foliage streams;
And each morning, midnight shadow,
Shadow of my sorrow seems;
Strive, O heart, forget thine idol!
And, O soul, forget thy dreams!
5.4k
The girl standing in the corner, all alone,
Wearing the face kept in a jar by the door,
Cries silently in the night when she's at home,
And nobody's there to see her fall to the floor.
Do you see the pink lines peeking out,
Under thick layers of cotton, in the hot summer day?
Do you hear the sound of her heart,
Cracking, shattering, with every insult she takes?
I don't think you do, I honestly don't,
From the way you stare with scornful eyes,
To the acid that drips from you lips,
I can tell that you don't know what your words can do.
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 11:25 PM UTC
That you are fair or wise is vain,
Or strong, or rich, or generous;
You must have also the untaught strain
That sheds beauty on the rose.
There is a melody born of melody,
Which melts the world into a sea.
Toil could never compass it,
Art its height could never hit,
It came never out of wit,
But a music music-born
Well may Jove and Juno scorn.
Thy beauty, if it lack the fire
Which drives me mad with sweet desire,
What boots it? what the soldier's mail,
Unless he conquer and prevail?
What all the goods thy pride which lift,
If thou pine for another's gift?
Alas! that one is born in blight,
Victim of perpetual slight;—
When thou lookest in his face,
Thy heart saith, Brother! go thy ways!
None shall ask thee what thou doest,
Or care a rush for what thou knowest,
Or listen when thou repliest,
Or remember where thou liest,
Or how thy supper is sodden,—
And another is born
To make the sun forgotten.
Surely he carries a talisman
Under his tongue;
Broad are his shoulders, and strong,
And his eye is scornful,
Threatening, and young.
I hold it of little matter,
Whether your jewel be of pure water,
A rose diamond or a white,—
But whether it dazzle me with light.
I care not how you are drest,
In the coarsest, or in the best,
Nor whether your name is base or brave,
Nor tor the fashion of your behavior,—
But whether you charm me,
Bid my bread feed, and my fire warm me,
And dress up nature in your favor.
One thing is forever good,
That one thing is success,—
Dear to the Eumenides,
And to all the heavenly brood.
Who bides at home, nor looks abroad,
Carries the eagles, and masters the sword.
3.8k
Swift swallows sailing from the Spanish main,
O rain-birds racing merrily away
From hill-tops parched with heat and sultry plain
Of wilting plants and fainting flowers, say--
When at the noon-hour from the chapel school
The children dash and scamper down the dale,
Scornful of teacher's rod and binding rule
Forever broken and without avail,
Do they still stop beneath the giant tree
To gather locusts in their childish greed,
And chuckle when they break the pods to see
The golden powder clustered round the seed?
3.4k
*She built her walls high and mighty
For many have entered who only brought upon agony
Most were the lovers who promised her happiness
But eventually left her heart to pieces
Now, I knock upon her door
To her I promise no tears falling on the floor
But days with smiles and deafening laughter
And that I would be her happily ever after
Through her walls, she peeks carefully
Considering me, my words and sincerity
She said, I could come in
But trusting me, she still didn’t mean
She looked at me with scornful eyes
Still doubting, believing I was telling lies
If only I could take away all those hurtful times
If only I could return the girl with unbroken smiles
It would take time before I she would believe, years maybe
But I wouldn’t mind, I’d still love her eternally
I’ll make her happy once more, this I know above all
Until the lovely day her mighty walls would finally crumble*
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 11:06 AM UTC
Those envied places which do know her well,
And are so scornful of this lonely place,
Even now for once are emptied of her grace:
Nowhere but here she is: and while Love’s spell
From his predominant presence doth compel
All alien hours, an outworn populace,
The hours of Love fill full the echoing space
With sweet confederate music favourable.
Now many memories make solicitous
The delicate love-lines of her mouth, till, lit
With quivering fire, the words take wing from it;
As here between our kisses we sit thus
Speaking of things remembered, and so sit
Speechless while things forgotten call to us.
3.2k
here is something that
mother told me
about god complexes:
“everyone believes themselves
to be gods among men:
even that hideous monster from your
half-remembered Hellenistic dreams
will retreat back to
his craggy hideaway and continue
with his hedonistic ways.
the poor creature:
he will don a halo,
iconize himself in caricatures
pretending that if for a moment
his veins flow ichorous that
Icarus may have envied when his wings
beat in tandem with the footfalls of
the sun chariots’ horses.
“the sun shines upon
hallowed ground, though Polyphemus
will avoid Helios’s scornful gaze.
he herds sheep––his only acolytes––
an unabashed king in his realm,
like a god plays war, or as a child
would play house,
humming hallelujah,
veins running gold-blooded.
when moon rises,
he will hang his weary
shadow at his door and retreat
to his fire-pit. perhaps this will be
the closest he will be to the gods,
basking in the heat of Hestia’s
humble hearth.
“in the end,” mother said,
“Nobody will end up deified.
Icarus may have rained down wax and
feathers in godlike fury
before tilting his head to Helios once more;
Polyphemus waded into the sea,
eyes clouded in godlike fury
before resigning himself to fate, head bowed.”
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 12:24 PM UTC
Ambush
An azure curtain is ripped in two
With scornful arrogance
Needle-points glow
Weaving the rift with intricate wefts
Of red
Of white
And blue
Heady aviation fumes
Lift us swimming
Skyward
Imaginations looping the loop
Jun 21, 2010
Jun 21, 2010 at 12:26 PM UTC
A farce melanin melancholic soul floating through a void of intertwined paragons.
Trying to be a single entity and not being subdued by the stereotype that is ageism which is ingrained and embedded in the plethora of knowledge which is - the brain
Trying to destroy this boundary in her psyche which has covertly limited her growth and expansion
But this thought is slowly manifesting to those around her
This retrospect thought will only spread through an act of malicious behavior which is inevitable and scornful
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 6:42 PM UTC
The empty air has a bitter tone
When it bites at my fingers
And yells profanities in an unrecognizable tongue.
It stings when it sings.
It has an aberrant gait
And a detached mien,
This lack-of being.
The tempest’s strides jounce its overly-wide shoulders;
Its prominent brow sends an antagonistic shadow
Cascading down its lip and jaw.
This active silence whispers age-old secrets
Its fingers tousling the amber leaves
Of my autumn’s long-dead trees.
The sound resonates,
And this taunting, all-knowing,
Omnipresent, nonexistent-but-still-there wind
Smiles at my naïveté.
Weary under the weight of the world
And the smog of self-importance.
Its eyes are clouded with grey rain,
Its teeth sharp with a bitter resentment;
“I’ve disliked you since the 1700s,” it breathes,
Throwing an airy, acrid gaze at humanity.
(“I’m sorry, but it is you who made me this way,
With your scornful industrialization.”)
Its eyes are frigid, piercing,
Wicked, yet reserved.
Cruel in their taunting assumptions,
Yet,
In those forget-me-not eyes
I found the sky.
May 8, 2010
May 8, 2010 at 5:36 PM UTC
The wind is violent,
Knocking, flapping and rustling,
Slapping, tumultuous
Rolling like waves
I am swept
Savoring the mad sea-breeze
Savoring life
Rolling the sweetness on my tongue
Palm fronds slap delicious
A storm is brewing
Ocean spray spits smartly
Birds give way
Mother Nature is respected here
Nothing is contained
To the Queen we all bow and give way
Glance furtively under slit lids
Perhaps her wake, her eye will pass us by
With no more than a slap or tweaked cheek
Her notice, her scornful gaze
Can turn our hearts to waste
Our lives to dust
Our ocean mother laughs at the weak
Barricade of glass
Her tinkling laughter can shatter dreams
But oh, her majesty
What glorious banners she weaves
To trail her horizon is fool’s folly
Her train may wreck,
Her abuses bruise us
But to behold her wake, her glory
Her tresses, her face
Risking defeat and death is
A small price to pay
Surfing the wind, surfing the sun
After all nothing remains the same-
And my life is but a mere passing dust speck
In the mote of her eye
Keep me here fair queen
Bowed by your feet
Please don’t rub me out-just yet
All sadness departs when I hear your music
In the rustling flapping of leaves
The ocean roars and thunder booms
Your symphony oh sweet dear
Your symphony this day
So priceless to pay
Melon rolls sweetly on my tongue
Drops of honey linger-a **** tang
Like a mermaid lying beached upon the sand
Gathering in the ancient hush of the sea
These rumblings of the planet
Sea spray bathing my face
Foam like the spurts of ***
From a loved one
Lovers embrace
The rhyme and song is ancient
I feel a soft hush rumbling lullaby
Sea song siren cry
The rhythm and lull
The beat like ***
An ******** crescendo
Again and again-my heart beats in rhythm to hers
The goddess of the sea
Surfing the sun, surfing the wind
Rays like waves splash my face.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 7:26 PM UTC
Some ladies love the jewels in Love’s zone
And gold-tipped darts he hath for painless play
In idle scornful hours he flings away;
And some that listen to his lure’s soft tone
Do love to deem the silver praise their own;
Some prize his blindfold sight; and there be they
Who kissed his wings which brought him yesterday
And thank his wings to-day that he is flown.
My lady only loves the heart of Love:
Therefore Love’s heart, my lady, hath for thee
His bower of unimagined flower and tree:
There kneels he now, and all-anhungered of
Thine eyes grey-lit in shadowing hair above,
Seals with thy mouth his immortality.
2.5k
I am sorry if I'm just a mediocre
for not being good enough
in everything
I am sorry if all I could do is whine
crying out like a swine
how imperfect the world can be
I am sorry if I'm not beautiful
if I'm not friendly
if I'm messy, stupid,
insolent, sensitive, and grumpy
I am sorry for being so quiet
that it makes the air awkward
for being a sickly *******
or when I sometimes talk a lot
as if I know everything
I'm sorry if I sometimes feel special
like a protagonist of some story
looking at everyone with scornful eyes
for being so disgustingly melodramatic
for always making excuses
for piling lies on top of lies, on top of lies
or for not even trying
to make these ****** words rhyme
I am sorry for being so hard to like
let alone, to love
and if I ever made you frown
of any of the above
or simply of my existence
know that I am deeply,
truly, and terribly sorry.
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 8:30 AM UTC
Orphan roots are banished into Bermudan-like triangular realms of presumed stability off the coast of Neptune,
Whilst abandonment firmly establishes her ancient dendrology.
Are your connections deeply entwined in the postmodern era of presumed certainty and deluded rationalism?
The method of self-transfiguration is evidenced on the mountain-tops of vanity, where the purging of the soul with self-flagellations is an archaic and scornful memory to those who claim to be enlightened.
How rooted are your roots? Does your reason stand trial in the docks of uncertainty?
The autumn leaves are changing color, and the birth of death reveals a beauty which, when embraced, flutters her powerful wings in the dawn of a frosty voyage.
I believe in ripples of probability.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 4:11 PM UTC
Sweet girl
I feel i must tell you that the worst is not over
But you are cold and steely
Churning and relentless
even in mosaic bits.
And you will slip silently into places you have not want nor have been.
You will at some points be nothing but a reflection of your own pain.
And you may hide from mirrors and even food will lose its taste
And comfort
And you will fade and think a
Hundred million times
I am broken
I am less than ...
Because falling into the abyss is a cold fighting wait
So cold you may not be but numbing ache
So cold you will lose yourself to sharp words
Stripping you right off your hollow bones
And you will lose all your hope and love and life
And laughter will be scorched right out of you by scornful looks
And you will be torn through by hands so gentle as to have loved you once.
And over and over you will let them .
If only for the hope of the touch of something warmer
Every bit torn exposing more vacancy inside where something important used to hide.
Sweet girl
I feel i must tell you
Do not forget then
That the woman standing on frigid waters
Edge cursing and red
Is not but twisted picture angry sister of all that's loved you
Of your mother
And your friends
While she holds your head just above bleak motionless surface
Only long enough to paint you worthless
In the words she sings you in
remember then, sweet girl the legs your mother had born you in
Legs made of stone and electric grace
pedestals made to carry you to safe distance at swift pace
’pedestals
To lift you to your highest self
Even under the incredible weight of this disappointment and pain the nothing ringing out of everything of this disdain weighing inside you
You will be strong enough to walk the distance
Brave enough to endure
Until you
Are caught unexpected not by the sharp demise you hear echo in your mind
but by the soft sweet echo of someone who loves you more than you can imagine
You will be aching and breathless and born again
In love with your persistence and patience and paint yourself courageous brighter than anyone ever said
Because you proved it when every time you died you lived.
No death nor hate or pain of disdain can hold you down no yearning heart not or wanting can stand you still you will sing yourself creator of your universe
You will love all that brokenness all those anxious moments and scars for what they are because it takes every scrap of things to build yourself up.
When you finally see yourself
You will find you burn so deep and bold and wider still
than the bits of the girl that died inside
Sweet girl
I feel i must tell you
The fall you have taken will be the longest you have lived.
At all angles there is wind
That hurts
But sweet girl do not flinch
You will be the strongest then
You have ever been.
The strongest yet you have ever seen.
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 8:44 AM UTC
To look, or not to look: that is the question:
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to forsake
The entertaining of such fanciful thoughts of love or lust
Or to pursue them against all odds of a benign response,
And by seeking, obtain? To look: to see:
Maybe more; And by a sight to find
In the glitter of an lined eye the interest and wanting
That impels said actions; ‘tis a reciprocation
Devoutly sought. To look: to see:
To see: perchance to lose: ay, there’s the rub;
For in that subtle glance what times may follow after
Whether the ice is broken or the heart instead,
Must give us pause: there’s the respect
That makes calamity of a choice to peek;
For who would bear the hurt of a scornful return,
A finding that the goddess is a medusa,
A turning of the fancies to stone,
A realization of disinterest, a knitting of the brows
A frown’s beginnings on a face so fair,
When she herself might her peace make
By refraining to meet the intended’s eye? Who would want
To face a rejection that is in all chance,
But for the regret that comes with a chance not taken,
Leaving what could be as what could have been
Forevermore, which makes us turn
And face the one to one million
Than never to face it at all?
Thus fear of rejections makes regretters of us all,
And thus the resolve to be one of a million
Is weakened by weighty o’erthought,
And an attempt to contemplate her soul through her eyes
With this regard are abandoned,
And lost to remain as fanciful thought.
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 10:51 PM UTC
In the ghetto
Huh they say you can be anything
You wanna be
So i joined the army
Notknowing that I'll still
Face tragedy and racism aint went no where
It feels ghostly evil stares
Of past scornful memories
They traded stock off the fields
And put us in the penitentiary
I got my first arrest in elementary
Just for being black on a sunday
Walkin' on a one way street
Preachers aint talking about that
Cuz they know theyll get lynched for that
Now they follow anything
And everything
That attracts money fortune and fame
You know the name?
We die more for the name of the father
Religion is ********
No matter whats coming out the puplits
They still gone ****
Think of you as a nigguh belittle
Troublesome and only good
For cheap labor
Be good and ya might get a penny raise
For good behavior
Still lookin' a savior?
That ***** been dead think abiut it
He died at 33 ?
Now ask yo self how many nigguhs
Died before 33? Ships full of slaves?
Lots of babies young men and women
Mothers fathers to sons n daughters
Two thousand fifteen and we
Still seeing slaughter ???
Can you see me running from the police
And we still think we run the streets
Peep game homies
Its no longer about racism
Its about us as a minority
Wither white black mexican or puerto rican
We all slaves
Payin' debts to society before we
Took our first ****
**** how could this be ?
My birth belongs to a bank industry
So all my real gangstas thugs to hustlers
Yea even wall street yall slaves too
Wake up the time is now
Gotta mind gotta use it
Or else these muthaphukkas will abuse it
This aint nothing new
Since the sun been shinin'
The same from beginning to end
The world was castedwith sin
There was darkness before light
Now that I'vegot the light
Its time to enlightened others
With the torch i aquired
Not long before ill be retired and life expired
For trying to reach for the truth
And many more
Live carefully
Cuz this is somethin' 2 die 4....
The ghetto!!!!
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 6:58 PM UTC
Fire
Like Fire, I’m brave
Courageous
I have spark
Passion
Vigorous enthusiasm
But, like fire,
I’m also irritable
I destroy love, relationships,
And I burn bridges
I burst into sudden anger
Jealousy
Eruptions of past heartbreaks
But, unlike fire, I can be calm like
Air
I’m carefree
Kind-hearted
Too easily trusting
I’m independent
Optimistic
Diligent
Light and free flowing
But, like air,
I can be dishonest
Cunning
Backstabbing
Inconsistent
But, unlike air, I am forgiving like
Water
I am devoted
Modest
Intuitive
Loving
But, like water,
I’m taken for granted
Often over looked
Unstable
Unreliable
Rigid
Lazy
Violent and moody
But, unlike water, I am humble like
Earth
I am cautious
Resistant
Responsible
Sober
Ambitious
Respectful
Punctual
But, like Earth,
I’m touchy
Timid
Scornful
And periodically dormant
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 4:11 PM UTC
There is no stop
There is no yield
Red means nothing to me
The fat lady does not sing until my last breath
They use to push me down
Point their scornful glares towards me
I laugh
They thought I was like glass and tried to shatter me
You only made me stronger
Sure I was coal back then
But thanks to you I'm a diomond
Shining brighter than you
I'm still running
Running for the Zenith of a mountain I call my life
There will always be obstacles in the way
But thanks to you I'm use to it
I do not fear the unknown anymore
I invite it
Come forward and show me what you got
I will not stop
I will not yield
Green is the only thing that means anything to mean
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 1:34 AM UTC