"studies" poems
time is
the space in which we grow
without awareness
in our early years
structured by meals
arrivals and departures
light and dark
hot and cold
school studies play adventures
celebrations
and by waiting
anxiously or not
for things to happen
time is
that feeling
that we may not have enough of it
in our later years
busy with jobs and family and travel
covering long distances in order to
achieve and educate and care
time is
what starts to rush by us
with increasing speed
in our final years
making us wonder
what it really means
that space
by which we measure
our lives
our universes
our worlds
time is
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 3:29 PM UTC
Smash, slash, and if you're a noob you spam. Video Games the most interactive experience ever, it brings out the best and worst out of all of us. Combos and controls to study, instead of trying to study for an upcoming test. Some people say video games turns your brain into mush, but studies show that video games actually help people in the real world. Oh how I love video games they let me experience things outside can't, and even though movie versions of games aren't that good, I never usually get disappointed with sequels. Video games create more than fun times, they have also helped create my identity. So thank you video games for making me who I am.
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 4:04 PM UTC
Dear Future Wife,
I know that it wasn’t easy going through the tides of life. It will never be easy. You might find yourself looking for someone who would fulfil the emptiness that you would feel inside. It is my strongest hope that you won’t entertain anyone who would try to take your heart. I would like you to focus on your studies at this point. I know that studying could sometimes be boring or somewhat hard, but I trust you with this one. You can do it.
I’m writing this letter for a purpose. I would like to tell you some things before I marry you or before you become my girlfriend or even before I meet you. I would like to start this message by thanking you in advance. Thank you for choosing me out of the billions of men who are better and more handsome than me. I know that I never deserved somebody like you, and it’s kind of unfair for me because when we would be together, I know that we would look like beauty and the beast. You’d be beauty and I’d be beast.
Thank you for the patience that you will have with me for the next 10 to 70 years. I appreciate how you would make me smile and laugh and even cry at times. It wouldn’t be hard to be with me, because I beat a girl in terms of emotions. Thank you for being faithful with me. I just want you to know that I would not look for anyone else but you. You’re the one I am praying for every night before I go to sleep and every morning before you get up from bed.
It may not be my season yet to be in love. I promise you that I will wait. I will not rush anything with you. Forgive me if I wouldn’t give you flowers and chocolates for valentines while we are still students. I promise you that I will give you something more than that at the right time. I would reserve my hands for you, you and my mother will be the only women who would be able to grasp my very hands while walking. I would reserve myself for you. There would be lots of temptations, but beloved, I promise you that the only one who would control our relationship is God.
It would not be easy being with me. It will never be. But I thank you for choosing me. Forgive me if I can’t be as handsome as the celebrities you watch in movies. I may not be handsome, but I promise to love you with all I am until my final breath.
I’m Excited
I’m excited to be your boyfriend and experience butterflies in my stomach whenever I’m with you.
I’m excited to give you gifts every occasion.
I’m excited to text you the words “I love you” every morning.
I’m excited to see you walking on the altar.
I’m excited to hear the words “You may kiss the bride”
I’m excited to be your husband.
I’m excited to forestall you in waking up just to cook for you.
I’m excited to have dogs (we’ll name them Bacon and Goya)
I’m excited to start a family with you.
I’m excited to roam the world with you.
But while our story is not yet clashing to each other in His book, my excitement would not stop me from waiting. I will wait for you. I promise. I love you.
Your Future Husband
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 11:14 AM UTC
For centuries philosophers have speculated the role sleep plays in society
But it was not until the 1950s that sleep woke up in academia
And today sleep studies show what dormant minds really look like
Information about our rest we've never seen before
However, I've always understood the importance of bedtime
You see my parents taught me that sleep and love are soul mates
My mom
She's the sleeper
She loves to sleep
She cuddles up on any piece of furniture in my house and snoozes for hours
Never views a sitcom past the first commercial break when she's tired
And she's okay with that
Dad never lets her drive on road trips when night falls
Preferring his sleeping beauty tucked safely in the passenger seat
Their hands meet as she lets the stars serenade her to slumber
While he anchors his left hand on the steering wheel
Thanking his lucky stars for his real life princess
My dad
He's the snorer
He loves to snore
He roars like a lion on his love seat and naps for hours
Never views a sitcom past the second commercial break when he's tired
And he's okay with that
Mom never lets him sleep alone too long though
Keeping his nose plugged strong enough to signal for bedtime
They both stand together as he lets her guide him to slumber
While she ushers her left hand around his back
Thanking her lucky stars for her own prince charming
Now my parents call me the dreamer
And I sure do love to dream
It seems my parents are textbook role models for me
Because when you live inside a fairytale for far too long
Your reality becomes an endless stream of fantasies
Your expectations are exceptionally out of context
Strictly written for poetic lines in picture books
Never meant to be held
Never meant to be felt
Only meant for spines stuck on rosewood shelves
My parents call me the dreamer
And boy I love to dream
I believe in creating the unthinkable
And when you live inside a fairytale for far too long
Nothing is fictional
You picture a life with storybook endings
Praying the author never runs out of ink
You crown each syllable the king of the moment
Treating each page like royalty
And I've always been okay with that
So when I asked my mom when she knew she fell in love
She spoke of an instant of unadulterated emotion
She said she knew instantly
She didn't need to sleep on it
When I asked my dad when he knew he fell in love
He just smiled back at me
He must have known instantly
He didn't even speak on it
So when I ask myself when I might fall in love
I can't help but smile
Think of fairytale titles
Mile wide love notes in all shapes and styles
And a moment where my reality sets my hopes on fire
And I won't need to dream about it anymore
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 2:35 PM UTC
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
After days of long studies comes the
days of rest. My violet dreams were
slumber-soft filled with lucent lilies
of curling flames born of ever colour
known and unknown. And I stood
in awe of them as my fears fall back
and cower in the shades of my mind.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
I muse at how quickly my body
relaxed. Due to my marjoram'd
pillows and sheets of pure silk
and eiderdown? Or due to the
sips of the lavender tea in my in
my teacup decorated with a
butterfly motif?
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
I remember the sips in fours as
I blew the steam from my cup;
The first sip balmed my lips.
The second soothed my throat.
The third lulled my thoughts.
The fourth stilled my soul.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Though the tea, the pillow and
sheets were had a hand in my nightly
rest, the real answer is on my brow -
for it was when the night's cool air
blew, and where you placed your
sweet Morphean kiss.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
With a smile, I wake.
Sat on my golden summer throne
located in my marble gazebo; a
jewel in my private garden. With
thin caryatid pillars, draped in
fine doric chitons encircling me.
Their sculpted limbs hold up the
frieze carved with acanthus
that has a stained glass top of
peacocks and stargazers.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
The sheer curtains billow when
the eastern winds blow. By me, a
gold side table with a mirrored top
supported by three Greek key legs.
A pewter quill pen with a steel nib
and violet feather rests by its clay
inkpot; both beside a silver sinuous
nouveau vase and a small stack of
poetry books of black leather and
gilt.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 7:48 AM UTC
I know it's just been a week
But I'm already beginning to miss you
And I'm not the only one
You do make an impact
On anyone who has been lucky enough
To get to know you
Whether it be family or friends
Or maybe even total strangers!
Anyway, we've had some great times together
I shall never forget our trip to the UK
And the fun we had there
Especially the Wimbledon camping experience
Would you have believed me then
If I had told you
That you would end up returning there to study
In a matter of three years?
Mysterious indeed, are the ways
In which Fate works
Our trip to USA was equally memorable
Who will ever forget that iconic moment
When you identified a McDonald's cafe from the plane?
Nothing, absolutely nothing ever
Escapes those beady eyes of yours
This is one of the many things I love about you
We may not spend a lot of time talking to each other
But you understand me very well
Perhaps more than I understand myself
And I know that I can always count on you
Anyway, I am getting too sentimental
Have a good time out there
I'm sure you'll find new friends
In fact, as I write this
You seem to be making progress on that front already
Try to balance studies and housework as much as you can
And most importantly
Take care of yourself
Whatever problems you might face
Know that you're not alone
We have your back always, no matter what
It is your happiness
Rather than what course you do
Or what job you may find
That matters to us the most
So, on that note
Let me wish you all the very best
Take care and stay in touch
Miss you loads
Sep 25, 2022
Sep 25, 2022 at 12:32 PM UTC
she put my heart in a jar.
wait here until i return, she said.
i waited two forevers for her to open it, my heart was suffocating.
i was drowning in her memories, her eyes danced like fireflies in the moonlight. timeless passion. she is my flower child.
flawless. my heart is in a cage, solitude sedates me. i recall memories we never had or maybe it was visions of a future we will have?
i sit down with a notepad and admire your movement. i pen down my studies, and try to understand your complexity. your face glows, your waist flows. like the beautiful Victoria Falls, African queen.
i digress, you still have my heart in a jar. open a few holes, my heart is suffocating.
hair like Rapunzel, fine spun gold, only love knows our connection. time is but a teardrop in our moments.
on my notepad, is stories of what i think you could be, yet my imagination is far from your real being.
your shadow is unique. i can see it dancing under the stars, it tells its own stories. faded, i am.
im loving, your heart. keep moving, beauty. i love you. stop arguing with your mind, you’re beautiful. every man knows.
o, to be young and feel love’s keen sting.
beauty.
je t’aime. belle âme, mon coeur appartient à vous.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 12:24 PM UTC
There's a yellow green gas,
You can't see in your glass.
Sometimes you can tell,
It's there by the smell.
It does a great job removing bacteria,
Like Diphtheria,
Or even Listeria.
But what do you think,
Happens to the chlorine in your drink?
I don't want to alarm,
But there's a chance it might harm.
It protects at a price,
Attacking our bacteria that are nice,
And I'm sure it excels,
At killing your own cells,
Forcing new ones to grow,
When a mistake could cause woe.
Some studies have found it an enhancer,
Of bladder and bowel cancer.
Whether old or young,
Do you want it in your lung?
You have the power,
To remove it from your shower.
It's rather grim,
To have to breathe it when you swim.
You're more likely to wheeze,
Or sneeze.
Do you think it will please,
Your inflammatory bowel disease?
Perhaps it's the key,
To why there's Crohns and UC.
Do you think that your skin,
Might become a little thin,
And be filled with dread,
As it starts to turn red.
Can you not feel,
How it's harder to heal?
It makes our tissues grow old,
From what I've been told.
Our cells can only divide,
A few times before they're stupified.
With asthma and chlorine on a map,
You can see they overlap.
Sadly in the West,
Not everyone has guessed,
That there may be a link,
With the gas in our drink.
“But!”, I hear you cry,
“Without it people will die.”
Let go of your dread,
We can use something instead.
The answer is well known,
It's called 'ozone'.
Made from pure water,
It's gone when it reaches my daughter,
Unlike chlorine it's life is brief,
What a relief.
There's many a city,
That make it with electricity,
Splitting water into hydrogen,
And best of all, oxygen!
For ozone is made from O2,
Yes, it's true!
Imagine if you had,
Water with nothing they add.
Already there's Paris and Nice in France,
Where people can dance.
San Diego and Los Angeles in the USA,
Have water that's ok.
And Osaka in Japan,
Now use this plan.
But you don't have to be rich,
To make the switch.
Ask a clever committee,
To stop chlorine in your city.
See if you can arrange,
To have your water change.
I hear you shout,
“Can 'I' get this chlorine out?”
If you leave water in a jug overnight,
What's left will be slight.
Boiling will send it away in the air,
So there's no need to despair.
You can also remove it with a filter,
Or a water distiller.
To learn more have a look,
At 'Question Chlorine' on facebook.
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 5:05 AM UTC
Exams are a great fear,
Less marks,no one can bear
Exams are like ghosts,
During exams,our mind gets roast
Exams are full of studies,
Everyone gets tensed even the WhatsApp buddies
No one laughs, no one plays,
Empty roads empty ways
Study study study,
Exams are on the way
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 10:29 PM UTC
Mr. handsome stranger
He’s coming after
Desperate like a last request
Frantic delusional lunatic
Unhinged fragile losing what’s left
Self serving sadomasochistic
Easy on the eyes but doesn’t quite fit in
Playing it cool in social situations
His intelligent banter he claims as his own
With somewhat smart comebacks he practiced at home
Trying so hard that the sweat beads down
Onto his stressed wrinkled furrowed brow
the stories he skillfully misdirected
Carefully darting unwanted questions
Mr. Indiscreet can’t blow his cover
Disarm the girl of his unrealistic dreams
How quite average and normal he can be
Mr. Stalker walks over to the Girl
works up the courage and talks to her
Strikes up a witty conversation
With his movie star smile and education
Using the words that he pre rehearsed
Says all the right things and compliments her
Looking past his rather peculiar behavior
And when politely asked gives up her number
He rings her up the very next day
With a romantic scenic picnic date
Under the shade of a lush green tree
Upon a blanket with wine and cheese
Playing the part of the handsome boyfriend
Gains her full trust and faith in him
Joking in a effort to make her laugh
To put her at ease and follow his plan
Jealous of her ex boyfriends
Knowing their names and full address
And when he drops her off at home
Tracks and follows her every move
Knows all her weekly kept routines
Threatens and blackmails all her friends
Studies everyday mundane errands
Unaware of his decent into madness
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 8:28 AM UTC
This trumpeter of nothingness, employed
To keep our reason dull and null and void.
This man of wind and froth and flux will sell
The wares of any who reward him well.
Praising whatever he is paid to praise,
He hunts for ever-newer, smarter ways
To make the gilt seen gold; the shoddy, silk;
To cheat us legally; to bluff and bilk
By methods which no jury can prevent
Because the law's not broken, only bent.
This mind for hire, this mental **********
Can tell the half-lie hardest to refute;
Knows how to hide an inconvenient fact
And when to leave a doubtful claim unbacked;
Manipulates the truth but not too much,
And if his patter needs the Human Touch,
Skillfully artless, artlessly naive,
Wears his convenient heart upon his sleeve.
He uses words that once were strong and fine,
Primal as sun and moon and bread and wine,
True, honourable, honoured, clear and keen,
And leaves them shabby, worn, diminished, mean.
He takes ideas and trains them to engage
In the long little wars big combines wage...
He keeps his logic loose, his feelings flimsy;
Turns eloquence to cant and wit to whimsy;
Trims language till it fits his clients, pattern
And style's a glossy **** or limping slattern.
He studies our defences, finds the cracks
And where the wall is weak or worn, attacks.
lie finds the fear that's deep, the wound that's tender,
And mastered, outmanouevered, we surrender.
We who have tried to choose accept his choice
And tired succumb to his untiring voice.
The dripping tap makes even granite soften
We trust the brand-name we have heard so often
And join the queue of sheep that flock to buy;
We fools who know our folly, you and I.
11.1k
Each day with so much ceremony
begins, with birds, with bells,
with whistles from a factory;
such white-gold skies our eyes
first open on, such brilliant walls
that for a moment we wonder
"Where is the music coming from, the energy?
The day was meant for what ineffable creature
we must have missed?" Oh promptly he
appears and takes his earthly nature
instantly, instantly falls
victim of long intrigue,
assuming memory and mortal
mortal fatigue.
More slowly falling into sight
and showering into stippled faces,
darkening, condensing all his light;
in spite of all the dreaming
squandered upon him with that look,
suffers our uses and abuses,
sinks through the drift of bodies,
sinks through the drift of vlasses
to evening to the beggar in the park
who, weary, without lamp or book
prepares stupendous studies:
the fiery event
of every day in endless
endless assent.
11.1k
It's easy to hate people
For things you don't understand.
I know.
I've been on both ends.
And the funny thing
About people hating other people,
Is that we're really not that different.
I mean, according to recent studies,
Race doesn't even biologically exist.
And most religions look and act the same,
In some way, shape, or form.
Almost every one has started some type of war,
Though it was truly based upon greed and power.
Humans have a strange thirst for power,
I've never really understood it.
I've hated my fair share
Of humans.
Granted, most of them were violent ******
Granted, so am I.
Though I am violent in the vindictive, spiteful sense.
No better, really.
A false sense of righteousness
Because I believe I can cast judgment upon those who have sinned,
While ignoring my sins.
You have no reason to judge another,
For you are not clean of sin.
Now,
I'd get off my high horse,
If the ground wasn't so *****
And full of hate.
It makes my stomach weak,
Too much dark.
Not enough light.
Of course,
If all were well,
I'd think there were too much light,
Not enough dark.
There needs to be a balance,
But the balance is too dark.
I wonder how you can't see it,
How you can force yourself into denial
And live in your little fantasy world
Where all is good, and all is this, and all is that.
I'd like to think it's because you haven't seen what I've seen,
But you have.
But you do know.
And that scares me.
So keep hating this,
But not that.
Keep hating that,
But not this.
You can't make excuses,
When you hate all around the board.
Be careful who you hate,
It might be someone you love.
Nov 18, 2016
Nov 18, 2016 at 7:55 PM UTC
A tired old man groans
As he hand you some
Asian culture cuisine.
Riddled with spices
It tickles the little thing in the back of your throat
As you swallow the substance.
Face now flushed
Like a cluster of fire ants crawling on the hill
Calling it their home.
Home?
Where was it?
Your memory slips.
Glee storms the man’s face
As he studies your expression.
“Seems like you can’t handle such a simple thing."
Clouding your judgement, you bite your tongue
In desperate attempt to knock back the sense
That gone up and left.
However
It fails.
Numb as the lightbulbs turn into bottle-cap suns
Concealing sight
With the light that it shares.
Count as your heart stops
With eyes bloodshot
His crafted words echo
In your failing ears.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 2:33 PM UTC
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Marshmallow factories
Are covered in goo
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Not all of these
Are going to rhyme
Roses are red
Violets are purple
Whoever wrote that
Was an idiot
Roses are red
Violets are blue
My favorite is Discord
Who used to be Q
Roses are red
Violets are blue
If you count in binary
You'll never have 2
Roses are red
Violets are blue
MEEP
Roses are red
Violets are blue, da ba dee da ba daa...
Roses are black
Violets are black
Everything is black
I'm Batman
Roses are blue
Violets are red
Something is wrong
With my head
The Math section is red
Social Studies is blue
I have too much homework
I want to cry
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Please don't get stuck
In the spilled glue
Roses are purple
Violets are green
I'm just here revving
My limousine
Roses are red
They have thorns
Don't touch them
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I want to turn this
Into a haiku
Roses are crimson
Violets are the fairest blue
And so fair are you
Roses are red
Violets are blue
That was pretty good
For being written on the fly
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Ridiculous Inflatable
Swan Thing
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I need to sleep
No
you are so And
sweet is Sugar
blue are Violets
red are Roses
Roses are red
Violets are blue
There is no try
Do not or do
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Dab on those haters
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Think I'll paint them
On my shoe
Roses are red, dilly dilly
Violets are blue
Is this copyrighted, dilly dilly
I have no clue
Lavender's blue
Lavender's green
I store my sanity
In a canteen
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I'm too cynical
And yet too cheesy
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Spellcheck doesn't know meep?!?
Roses are rosy
Violets are violet
I want to be
A submarine pilot
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Something something
Pikachu
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Illuminati
They're watching you
Gryffindor's red
Ravenclaw's blue
WHY IS IT AN EAGLE
NOT A RAVEN
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Be mine
I'm desperate
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I don't want romance
Stop asking
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I'm running low on ideas
We're almost through
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Sugar is sweet
Don't eat too much
Roses are red
Never mind
Life's too short
Eat all the sugar you can find
Roses are red
Violets are blue
You're still here?
Good job you
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Happy Valentines Day
Bye
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 9:41 PM UTC
There once was a black man... Old at heart, he fought verbally and accordingly with bold words, which abbreviated and arbitrated great art! He spoke of activism. Not just racial, and economic racism. He fought against demonic injustices for you, yes, made me see. He stood for principles of non-violence. Acknowledged corrupt government
mileage, European knowledge and college. A philosopher, teacher
and preacher as well as a civil rights leader. When he spoke his words of fire indeed chiseled and inspired. Causing some to conspire and also perspire! Born January 15th 1929 in Atlanta, Georgia. Named in honor of the German protestant Martin Luther. Bachelor of Arts
degree in sociology. Making a mark in doctoral studies, systematic theology. June 5th 1955 This King married Corretta Scott in Heiberger,
Alabama for many to see. Proceeding with four children: Yolanda, Martin Luther the 3rd to be! Dexter Scott and Bernice to increase the peace. Despite the European police, the movements and stressed
protests, the silence, ****** and racial violence. The segregation and interrogations in force, instead of integration of course. Black mishaps, lack of differences in relapse perhaps! Plagiarized and slandered, demised by some of the wise. Accused of communistic ties. Blinded
by others’ eyes and of our world’s twisted lies. Montgomery, Georgia
bus boycott, 1955 was the year. However, forever in disguise, our fear of tears was apparently adhered. From here to near, also all those dear. Mere letters he wrote, from Birmingham jail I quote! From the slums, some of sums, hail and prevail! A creation prevailing into a deriving and thriving nation. Mr. King’s vision of a dream, mission,
opposition, optimism and truism, on our wars, welfare and more. I suppose this sounds honest and fair. Mr. King’s theories and worries in emotionalism, evangelism, humanitarianism, racism and socialism. Nobel Peace Prize won in 1964. Regretfully, you may have heard of this before. Government conspiracies and indecencies. Assassination
and discrimination, allegedly, by James Earl Ray. On April 4th, I
almost choke, because for him, his blood did soak. Some thought this **** was a thrill or forced by will. Others still procrastinate in hate! However, forever Martin Luther King was and still is one of the late greats.
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 26, 2012 at 12:53 PM UTC
being a good student is always one of the reasons
being a good student is one of the reasons why im a really inconsiderate friend, apparently
because i dont share my answers
because i dont break the rules
and because i dont hate going to school
i just dont have the heart to tell them that school is actually my quiet
that school is my rest from life
that school is my escape
that this is how it was
being a good student is one of the reasons why im an unreliable brother, it seems
because i dont tend to their needs when im home
because i dont help them with their homework
and because i dont have any time left for them bec im focusing on my studies
i just dont think they'll want to hear that im not doing any of it for them because no one did those for me
that no one made me dinner at age 13
that no one ever taught me how to answer my homework
that this is how it was
being a good student is one of the reasons why im a irresponsible son, i believe
because i dont ever want go to family outings
because i dont prioritize them over school meetings
and because im barely home from sleeping over my classmates' houses just to finish a ******* output
i just dont think he'd appreciate me telling him i never felt like a part of that family
that i never felt like he'd prioritize me over anything
that i never once felt like coming back to this house was the same as coming back home
that this is how it was
that this is how it is
that im so sick of everyone saying im
an inconsiderate friend
or an unreliable brother
specially an irresponsible son
so if the only thing im good at are quizzes and projects and tests and deadlines
then i sure as hell am gonna keep at it
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 1:58 PM UTC
I was is in second grade when Emily told me "if you where born a few years back you'd be a slave"
As if I hadn't looked in the mirror latley.
Oh how it felt to be the only brown girl in a white school
Minority
Misinterpretation.
A maybe
Is what I was
An outcast
4th grade
I visit my father and his family
My grandmother and aunt whisper,"Gringa" laugh laugh "Sangrona" laugh laugh
My mother hispanic and my father Mexican
6th grade
My best friend is disgusted because I define as Mexican yet can't seem to speak perfect Spanish
9th grade
I learned that bi racially I am a mut,
As if I don't have enough labels already
I must prove to my friends I am white, yet hispanic to my family
My second aunts snicker at my broken Spanish
No need to gain their validity
They can't believe my mother raised me away from their culture
Despair fills their eyes as labels blur mine
Must I prove myself every time?
What if I'm not either or?
Nor a mix
Nor white
Nor hispanic
Nor mexican
Nor latina
Nor bi racial
Nor sangrona
I don't seek your validation but your understanding
I'm not a unique exhibit
Only a 16 year old girl dealing with teenage drama and high school studies
A dreamer at heart
An artist who loves to show it
I have a name
I'm more than my skin color
Or that of my mother's & father's.
If I'm ever asked to prove myself
I will answer with only
"I am already proven
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 11:36 PM UTC
Wealthy is the man
Who gives more than what he has
Than a man who keeps his pocket bulky
And lives in with his pride
Real wealth is of value
The one who boasts his possessions
Will lose what he has
Not now, yet sooner
For the worth he has not known
The other surrendered every thing
Left nothing but his soul
He says his commitment is unto the Father
To whom the Giver of all.
Life is full of lies
One may easily be deceived
And the wealth of the world indeed
Is just a pinch of the Heaven's richness
To where his feet shall stand
The golden pavement in the Sky
And what life would it be?
What profit it would be
If a man gains the whole world
Yet loses his own soul
God studies his heart
The desires and passions that emerge
For wealth shall be poured out
In his spirit that thirst
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 9:11 PM UTC
The Orions, mysterious forces who contacts the witch,
When She is ready to be sworn,
In secret they teach Her how much the soul is rich,
Some think they're are Goddesses, Spirits or even Norn,
She studies all truths in secret,
Energy is always knowledge,
But due to humanity's key weakness,
Their own Truth, Potential, they can't acknowledge!
She studies Magik and Spirituality,
Nothing more commoners hate: a shining light,
Knowing witches didn't win often in history,
Alone She stands, alone She became bright.
Yet one day The Orions appear,
For the Witch is now ready,
She becomes Wise, all fears disappear,
The Illumined path she travels; Perceptive and Steady.
Truly when you are truly yourself,
You see life's true beauty,
And the Witch is forever blessed,
One day...
She will join the Orions, Becoming A Witch for Eternity
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 11:16 PM UTC
I see Beauty in a **********
Whose feelings you cannot convolute.
I see a Businesswoman in a **********
A **** with brains, destitute
she made a business plan.
At least she did business studies and
accounting at school, sells her body to earn,
A living.
I see a princess in a **********
because no man can resist her.
You know when she starts curling her hair
Even Pastors **********
then we bring the Saints Holiness into debate.
Have you ever seen a ********** aspirate
"I want you" ?
**** Her voice alone gives ****** healing,
Arouses ****** feelings,
Pumps vessels, frightened by the spark in her
eyes, hormone adrenalin give your heart rate a
fast accelerating beatings.
I see charisma in a **********
Married men,leave their wives in bed and
creep to the streets corner just to cuddle with
prostitutes, it was I who said, there's beauty in
a **********
I see Beauty in a **********
I've seen Loyalty in a **********
Yes I did. How? What do I mean?
Because she ***** all men in the same manner
and charge them all the identical amount.
That is Loyalty man.
I said, I see Beauty in a ********** and
I wasn't lying.
There is Beauty in a **********
The Beauty that makes Preachers at church
retire,
The Beauty that make married men divorce,
The Beauty that makes Jay Z forget Beyonce,
The Beauty that makes Julius Malema forgets
his political position
The Beauty that makes Jesus Christ want to
come back, to save his descendants from sin.
The Beauty of a **********
Men have seen it.
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 8:53 PM UTC
Because gods perceive future things, men what is happening now,
but wise men perceive approaching things.
Philostratus, Life of Apollonius of Tyana, VIII, 7.
Men know what is happening now.
The gods know the things of the future,
the full and sole possessors of all lights.
Of the future things, wise men perceive
approaching things. Their hearing
is sometimes, during serious studies,
disturbed. The mystical clamor
of approaching events reaches them.
And they heed it with reverence. While outside
on the street, the peoples hear nothing at all.Because gods perceive future things, men what is happening now,
but wise men perceive approaching things.
Philostratus, Life of Apollonius of Tyana, VIII, 7.
Men know what is happening now.
The gods know the things of the future,
the full and sole possessors of all lights.
Of the future things, wise men perceive
approaching things. Their hearing
is sometimes, during serious studies,
disturbed. The mystical clamor
of approaching events reaches them.
And they heed it with reverence. While outside
on the street, the peoples hear nothing at all.
5.2k
Lisbeth stands watching
The artist as he prepares
To sketch. Her elder sisters
Stand in shadows whispering.
Her younger sister plays
With her doll on the floor.
Their father said to do as
The artist instructed and
Don’t misbehave or be rude.
The artist stares hard his
Dark eyes searching their
Every move and expression
And body gesture. The elder
Girls mutter in shadows
Their hands over their mouths
Their blue eyes like shallow
Pools. Ready? The artist
Asks putting charcoal to
Paper his fingers blackening.
Lisbeth says just as we are?
The artist nods. His grim
Features express do not disturb.
The youngest sister plays
Ignoring the artist her eyes set
On the game at hand. The girls
In shadow turn their profiles
Set to mystery their hands on
Their abdomens like guardians
Of virtue. Lisbeth wonders as
She watches the artist’s stiff
Moustache and beard the slow
Movement of his mouth as he
Mouths words and stares hard.
The last artist employed some
Year before younger and less
Brutal in expression and manner
Had drawn them each in private
Rooms and set them down on couch
Or bed and kept their images inside
His head. He was dismissed and the
Drawings destroyed and nothing said.
Lisbeth had thought it just a game
Something done as lover might in
Private corners or lonely spots on
Quiet nights. The artist sketches.
His blackened fingers move and
Made their mark. Their images
Captured. The scene set. One sister
In the shadows yawns the other
Stares in still contempt. Lisbeth
Poses as young girls do. Nothing
To show of interest and nothing
Hid no secret self no other you.
That’s it the artist says we’ll begin
The painting another day maybe
Next week if all is well. The girls
In shadow look away and resume
Their secret games. Lisbeth studies
The artist’s blackened fingers as
He rolls the charcoal sketch and
Puts away. He gazes at her standing
By herself a glimpse of smile and
Glimmer in her eyes like small fires.
He closes the tired lids of eyes
And smoulders down his old desires.
Apr 19, 2012
Apr 19, 2012 at 8:26 AM UTC