"waker" poems - Hello Poetry

I am a cloud breaker because the sun is always with me, tattooed on my back. Even at night I can see silver linings. I am an earth shaker-- cackling, quaking laughs crack surfaces above, and so below of flesh and rock like lava's burning, gurgling grace. I am a light maker. Warm words spark & ignite dried, dusty leaves forgotten or ignored, clearing paths for new gardens to feast upon the sunlight. I'm a flow waker, building bridges of effervescent electric irrigation with hugs between our eyes and hearts, nourishing, cleansing bodies.

0

May 6, 2015

May 6, 2015 at 2:36 PM UTC

brycical

Elemental Sixth Senses & Superpowers

I am a cloud breaker because the sun is always with me, tattooed on my back. Even at night I can see silver linings. I am an earth shaker-- cackling, quaking laughs crack surfaces above, and so below of flesh and rock like lava's burning, gurgling grace. I am a light maker. Warm words spark & ignite dried, dusty leaves forgotten or ignored, clearing paths for new gardens to feast upon the sunlight. I'm a flow waker, building bridges of effervescent electric irrigation with hugs between our eyes and hearts, nourishing, cleansing bodies.

16

7.17.14 I’ve come to meet you here, in some sacred place to be here alone with you beautiful waker: luke deep eyes opening to the moonlight awake - But not alone because I sit with you beneath the thousand gazes of stars I hold you close with my ears this golden hour )))) between )))) trees, throwing your voice with the crickets waiting for the space between us to throw it back - Individual, but never separate at the smallest level of things, sharing together the energy of multicolored levels - and we remember, making our way through the dark: - this world is unforgiving and we were wild and alive, in this place I have known you always - In this place, I keep for you The secret of the leaves We are not alone in our despondent footsteps toward a truer North but, I will help pave a path for you and your losses unfold the pages I had folded kiss a bruise underneath my hand relax with disappointed youth onto another and tell me, that you don’t enjoy being lost inside all that passes it is here, this sacred place we throw our burning hearts into the empty creekside and we build better homes at the roots of trees *the sky is no longer surrounding us the birds look to one another to retreat home we both put things in our pocket without noticing the other a low roar of emptiness from one point to another in the distance it is clear that all you know is relevant and I say, to myself, these things, and you say to yourself, these things no one else could know* and you would say; out loud “I loved him”. and I would kiss the silence that came after because I still love too fever in your honesty, pulling teeth from the names you carry woven in your clothes I sit alone with you spreading the silence that reaches from our toes outward into the dark

0

Aug 3, 2014

Aug 3, 2014 at 2:34 AM UTC

holden-wolfe

This sacred place : words of the wakers

7.17.14 I’ve come to meet you here, in some sacred place to be here alone with you beautiful waker: luke deep eyes opening to the moonlight awake - But not alone because I sit with you beneath the thousand gazes of stars I hold you close with my ears this golden hour )))) between )))) trees, throwing your voice with the crickets waiting for the space between us to throw it back - Individual, but never separate at the smallest level of things, sharing together the energy of multicolored levels - and we remember, making our way through the dark: - this world is unforgiving and we were wild and alive, in this place I have known you always - In this place, I keep for you The secret of the leaves We are not alone in our despondent footsteps toward a truer North but, I will help pave a path for you and your losses unfold the pages I had folded kiss a bruise underneath my hand relax with disappointed youth onto another and tell me, that you don’t enjoy being lost inside all that passes it is here, this sacred place we throw our burning hearts into the empty creekside and we build better homes at the roots of trees *the sky is no longer surrounding us the birds look to one another to retreat home we both put things in our pocket without noticing the other a low roar of emptiness from one point to another in the distance it is clear that all you know is relevant and I say, to myself, these things, and you say to yourself, these things no one else could know* and you would say; out loud “I loved him”. and I would kiss the silence that came after because I still love too fever in your honesty, pulling teeth from the names you carry woven in your clothes I sit alone with you spreading the silence that reaches from our toes outward into the dark

56

**I killed the calendar on the wall, Skipped the glorified ceremony and all. Pieces of plans soared through the air, Nearly brushing my cowlicked hair.** *To the Disrupter of my Dreams, The Screaming Sleep Waker, The Insolent Sun Beams: You are punctual and I am ****** **Why must we only meet like this? I’m staying here all day long. You can’t stop me. Unless you bring me a hot cup of coffee…** Sincerely, The Sleeper of Five Hours

0

Sep 26, 2010

Sep 26, 2010 at 9:21 AM UTC

alex-t

The Sleeper of Five Hours

**I killed the calendar on the wall, Skipped the glorified ceremony and all. Pieces of plans soared through the air, Nearly brushing my cowlicked hair.** *To the Disrupter of my Dreams, The Screaming Sleep Waker, The Insolent Sun Beams: You are punctual and I am ****** **Why must we only meet like this? I’m staying here all day long. You can’t stop me. Unless you bring me a hot cup of coffee…** Sincerely, The Sleeper of Five Hours

14

sometimes you come back, like the peculiar awareness of finitude soft footed after we’d been in that small room together cold pouring out in white light leaning over and smiling gently with a surety of falling snow winter outside and you described seattle and kurt cobain and showed me your jars of sand and jars of honey and I smiled gently and loved you. and we went out in the cold and you smoked a cigarette and everything around us was hushed wet in dark gray you were something that made me ache honest human, dark and earnest opened ahead of me wise and naive I felt like I’d known you somewhere before I held you in my vision but didn’t speak as you told me what men had done to you I picked up something that was shining on the ground and thought about what men had done to me

0

Jun 18, 2012

Jun 18, 2012 at 2:06 PM UTC

lee-turpin

for the waker

sometimes you come back, like the peculiar awareness of finitude soft footed after we’d been in that small room together cold pouring out in white light leaning over and smiling gently with a surety of falling snow winter outside and you described seattle and kurt cobain and showed me your jars of sand and jars of honey and I smiled gently and loved you. and we went out in the cold and you smoked a cigarette and everything around us was hushed wet in dark gray you were something that made me ache honest human, dark and earnest opened ahead of me wise and naive I felt like I’d known you somewhere before I held you in my vision but didn’t speak as you told me what men had done to you I picked up something that was shining on the ground and thought about what men had done to me

22

Searching for love in vain is daunting. Haunting, I saunter over to you my flower, my blossom. Lost in your eye, I retract my all, NOT some... A friend is still a warm gun.... But hold on *** What about your mom? or your dad? Or your uncle? Or women that you share bunks with? Maybe buckle DOWN with? Is it worth it? I assume not either way, but perhaps......... I'm so tired... and I could just sleep. sleep forever My body lies in a heap, and I prepare to meet my maker. But I guess today ain't th' day. Cos today I'ma play Zelda: The Wind Waker.

0

Sep 20, 2012

Sep 20, 2012 at 4:21 AM UTC

billy-bob-will-bob-joe-bob

Let The Wind Blow Through

Searching for love in vain is daunting. Haunting, I saunter over to you my flower, my blossom. Lost in your eye, I retract my all, NOT some... A friend is still a warm gun.... But hold on *** What about your mom? or your dad? Or your uncle? Or women that you share bunks with? Maybe buckle DOWN with? Is it worth it? I assume not either way, but perhaps......... I'm so tired... and I could just sleep. sleep forever My body lies in a heap, and I prepare to meet my maker. But I guess today ain't th' day. Cos today I'ma play Zelda: The Wind Waker.

14

‘I’m tired, so tired,’ said Jonathon Black, ‘I can hardly stay awake,’ His wife just stared at the back of his head, Went back to her currant cake. She’d heard it all a million times Was bored with the things he’d say, She wished he’d pack up his things, sometimes And quietly go away. But Jonathon sat in his bamboo chair And stared at the world outside, He used to be full of energy, But something inside him died, He lived in the shadows of tides and scenes That were conjured behind his eyes, The throwaway remnants of others dreams He’d capture in tears and sighs. He spent the afternoon nodding off Then woke with a startled cry, ‘You wouldn’t believe what I saw just now, Right out of a clear blue sky. A shadow crept from the bushes there And it killed young Andrew Deems,’ Giselle had tutted and shook her head, ‘Just one of your stupid dreams!’ The woods, a favourite lovers spot Stretched out from their own back door, Giselle would go with a basket there Looking for mushroom spore. ‘I saw you out in the woods today But nothing is what it seems,’ She turned and snapped at her husband’s back, ‘Just keep me out of your dreams!’ ‘It isn’t a question of that,’ he said, ‘I can’t control what I see, Wherever a person’s thoughts are at They keep on coming to me. Even the strangers that walk on past Have secrets they send in beams, You’d think that they would be safe from me But I’m the waker of dreams. Giselle had wandered off to the woods With her basket held on high, While Jonathon found and loaded his gun, Went after her with a sigh, He found her there in a shady nook In a huddle with Andrew Deems, ‘I thought I’d warned you, often enough, You didn’t believe, it seems!’ He shot the lad as he tried to run Then dropped the gun to his side, ‘All I could see in his dreams was you, But now, that dream has died.’ ‘And what will you do with me,’ said she And bit her lip ‘til it bled, ‘I’m tired, so tired,’ said Jonathon Black Then put the gun to his head. David Lewis Paget

0

Jul 21, 2013

Jul 21, 2013 at 6:02 PM UTC

david-lewis-paget

The Waker of Dreams

‘I’m tired, so tired,’ said Jonathon Black, ‘I can hardly stay awake,’ His wife just stared at the back of his head, Went back to her currant cake. She’d heard it all a million times Was bored with the things he’d say, She wished he’d pack up his things, sometimes And quietly go away. But Jonathon sat in his bamboo chair And stared at the world outside, He used to be full of energy, But something inside him died, He lived in the shadows of tides and scenes That were conjured behind his eyes, The throwaway remnants of others dreams He’d capture in tears and sighs. He spent the afternoon nodding off Then woke with a startled cry, ‘You wouldn’t believe what I saw just now, Right out of a clear blue sky. A shadow crept from the bushes there And it killed young Andrew Deems,’ Giselle had tutted and shook her head, ‘Just one of your stupid dreams!’ The woods, a favourite lovers spot Stretched out from their own back door, Giselle would go with a basket there Looking for mushroom spore. ‘I saw you out in the woods today But nothing is what it seems,’ She turned and snapped at her husband’s back, ‘Just keep me out of your dreams!’ ‘It isn’t a question of that,’ he said, ‘I can’t control what I see, Wherever a person’s thoughts are at They keep on coming to me. Even the strangers that walk on past Have secrets they send in beams, You’d think that they would be safe from me But I’m the waker of dreams. Giselle had wandered off to the woods With her basket held on high, While Jonathon found and loaded his gun, Went after her with a sigh, He found her there in a shady nook In a huddle with Andrew Deems, ‘I thought I’d warned you, often enough, You didn’t believe, it seems!’ He shot the lad as he tried to run Then dropped the gun to his side, ‘All I could see in his dreams was you, But now, that dream has died.’ ‘And what will you do with me,’ said she And bit her lip ‘til it bled, ‘I’m tired, so tired,’ said Jonathon Black Then put the gun to his head. David Lewis Paget

57

prelude wake up into crystalline air can feel the swaying trees pull up the body waiting for dreams to run wash off no one can imagine what the waker has seen the glow of love through a pure heart like light lost in honey - I'm sorry for interrupting. I just have Too much to Say: I know You understand the way salt tastes on my tongue I understand the way you sit in the middle of the universe Right next to me Poking holes into my skin with which to fill with words Painting pictures like drawing bridges Over these mile high canyons Standing at every side these these words spread like openings into the ice pride as you asked to see a face I had never before shown Towers of words and I say See things simpler To myself but already I see them as they are Like the moon behind the cloud three nights ago pulling at the edge of the sea I moved to your gait To gravitate towards feeling Like moths shimmering The incoming tide reaching for humanity your silence takes a shape into mine How could something so much like light be possessed? How could you clasp to your bones, a wave that pulls eternally at the shore? you make me think, I was thinking I think he would have said don't you see it has to be this way? one small point in the dark How would it be, otherwise. Those angel’s hands shaped perfectly (as always they were) on your neck and you would have said you’re saying pointing into the dark, your weapon words stand so small next to your mortality and I love you with nothing A man without a heart is a gentle threat A man without a heart Lacks only what you hold in your hands A slip into abstraction How young we were how young Yet how young were we? afterword stutters stilettos sick skin sick beautiful letters left this morning while you were away in mourning silhouettes cigarette shadows straining shadow eyes in this dim light old grammar makes me ache in between every line and I wish you were more human I wish you were less

0

Apr 26, 2011

Apr 26, 2011 at 3:43 PM UTC

lee-turpin

the watcher: the waker

prelude wake up into crystalline air can feel the swaying trees pull up the body waiting for dreams to run wash off no one can imagine what the waker has seen the glow of love through a pure heart like light lost in honey - I'm sorry for interrupting. I just have Too much to Say: I know You understand the way salt tastes on my tongue I understand the way you sit in the middle of the universe Right next to me Poking holes into my skin with which to fill with words Painting pictures like drawing bridges Over these mile high canyons Standing at every side these these words spread like openings into the ice pride as you asked to see a face I had never before shown Towers of words and I say See things simpler To myself but already I see them as they are Like the moon behind the cloud three nights ago pulling at the edge of the sea I moved to your gait To gravitate towards feeling Like moths shimmering The incoming tide reaching for humanity your silence takes a shape into mine How could something so much like light be possessed? How could you clasp to your bones, a wave that pulls eternally at the shore? you make me think, I was thinking I think he would have said don't you see it has to be this way? one small point in the dark How would it be, otherwise. Those angel’s hands shaped perfectly (as always they were) on your neck and you would have said you’re saying pointing into the dark, your weapon words stand so small next to your mortality and I love you with nothing A man without a heart is a gentle threat A man without a heart Lacks only what you hold in your hands A slip into abstraction How young we were how young Yet how young were we? afterword stutters stilettos sick skin sick beautiful letters left this morning while you were away in mourning silhouettes cigarette shadows straining shadow eyes in this dim light old grammar makes me ache in between every line and I wish you were more human I wish you were less

78

My quick baby, who loves you? Oh slow waker, who arches? Backs bent over rolling water Water, who swallows? Chest shaking under heavy wool Weight, who spins? Thick dust down soft temples Heat, who flickers? Multiply- make room, make room Darling, what gathers? Soak my honey-stung tongue-tip Cold, who wanders? Leave my bent frame on stiff soil Body, why bother? Lazy smoke, tell me, tell me, who rises. The air is thinner towards the peak.

0

Apr 27, 2012

Apr 27, 2012 at 12:52 AM UTC

hana-grace-wiebe

Fed

My quick baby, who loves you? Oh slow waker, who arches? Backs bent over rolling water Water, who swallows? Chest shaking under heavy wool Weight, who spins? Thick dust down soft temples Heat, who flickers? Multiply- make room, make room Darling, what gathers? Soak my honey-stung tongue-tip Cold, who wanders? Leave my bent frame on stiff soil Body, why bother? Lazy smoke, tell me, tell me, who rises. The air is thinner towards the peak.

16

I am the mountain man. I am the shifting sands. I am the laughter through gritted teeth, I am the squint of concentration, I am the missing piece and the stone that won't roll. I am the Zeit Ghost. I am the Underwerewolf. I am the Pseudonami. I am not what you say I am, until I say: "I Am." I am the Red Sun Samurai. I am the Locomotive Provocateur. I am the bones of kings and slaves. I am the breath of the wind in the trees. I am the Electrocuted Interlocutor. I am the whip of the matador. I am sunken cities in the swamp. I am Firestarter. Spark Guarder. I am the assembly line whereby the machine reproduces. I am capitulated capitalism. I am the captain of the sky ship to Ghost Country. I am a natural amphetamine a synthetic homeopathic a cure for the sad curation for the lost death for the solid and unchanging. I am the mask of roots. I am a treehouse full of books. I am the sword in the daytime. I am the Day Waker, the Cloud Shaker the Continent Unmaker, the Deep Laker the childhood of broken dreams and unbreakable boulders. Half-slumbering in your living room. One eye on your joy, the other searching for answers to the unanswerable question of: where did it go? Fully alive, pacing the gravestones kisses to flowers in the new moon and a pocketful of reality checks. Helping you let go of everything Holding you back. Hoping you'll hold onto me.

0

Apr 6, 2019

Apr 6, 2019 at 5:37 PM UTC

orion-schwalm

The Glue (In Search of a Pseudonym) [Ideas for a One-HuMan-Band]

I am the mountain man. I am the shifting sands. I am the laughter through gritted teeth, I am the squint of concentration, I am the missing piece and the stone that won't roll. I am the Zeit Ghost. I am the Underwerewolf. I am the Pseudonami. I am not what you say I am, until I say: "I Am." I am the Red Sun Samurai. I am the Locomotive Provocateur. I am the bones of kings and slaves. I am the breath of the wind in the trees. I am the Electrocuted Interlocutor. I am the whip of the matador. I am sunken cities in the swamp. I am Firestarter. Spark Guarder. I am the assembly line whereby the machine reproduces. I am capitulated capitalism. I am the captain of the sky ship to Ghost Country. I am a natural amphetamine a synthetic homeopathic a cure for the sad curation for the lost death for the solid and unchanging. I am the mask of roots. I am a treehouse full of books. I am the sword in the daytime. I am the Day Waker, the Cloud Shaker the Continent Unmaker, the Deep Laker the childhood of broken dreams and unbreakable boulders. Half-slumbering in your living room. One eye on your joy, the other searching for answers to the unanswerable question of: where did it go? Fully alive, pacing the gravestones kisses to flowers in the new moon and a pocketful of reality checks. Helping you let go of everything Holding you back. Hoping you'll hold onto me.

43

the night rests in her palms in air of wispy trees in wobbly wilting shrills inside a waker's dream seeking breaks of formlessness shatter moulds of thought relinquish the hold of sea vanish wavy plots endlessly the bending blues crash a piece of rock bathed in tawny rays of moon racing waves knock the silent door of wonder the shrill of blinking eyes the blossom of a sterile desert splayed inside lost on lips of firmament spewing sinful glee violet summits seek the sky all in a waker's dream

0

Apr 11, 2014

Apr 11, 2014 at 5:15 PM UTC

tranquil

violet

the night rests in her palms in air of wispy trees in wobbly wilting shrills inside a waker's dream seeking breaks of formlessness shatter moulds of thought relinquish the hold of sea vanish wavy plots endlessly the bending blues crash a piece of rock bathed in tawny rays of moon racing waves knock the silent door of wonder the shrill of blinking eyes the blossom of a sterile desert splayed inside lost on lips of firmament spewing sinful glee violet summits seek the sky all in a waker's dream

20

written July 14, 2014 "The early bird and the night owl living under the same roof was strange And being two different kinds of birds they both flew their own way One was a night time dweller, up making mischief late at night The other was an early waker, up at 7 for her morning flight And despite their differences they somehow agreed To live under the same canopy, under the same small oak tree"

0

Sep 16, 2014

Sep 16, 2014 at 11:13 PM UTC

harmony

birds or some ****

written July 14, 2014 "The early bird and the night owl living under the same roof was strange And being two different kinds of birds they both flew their own way One was a night time dweller, up making mischief late at night The other was an early waker, up at 7 for her morning flight And despite their differences they somehow agreed To live under the same canopy, under the same small oak tree"

7

we went to cop pins crossing to scatter dads ashes into the creek my buddhist ceremony for dad, as he is in the ****** of david and lisa, with robin williams beside him in the womb first i put dads ash on my little praying buudha, said this ummmmmmmmmm dad i remember you for being there for everyone and despite how many times i might have been with angry with you, you were always be there for me ummmmmmmmmmm what a life you had the YMCA i remember when you and the leaders showed us a snake at camp sturt, and hung it near the dining hall ummmmmmmmmm yeah you have changed a lot of people’s lives for the better ummmmmmmmmmm you drove me and my mates to various sports events, telling us funny jokes ummmmmmmmmmm you showed us how to use the computer and even if we have problems you were able to fix problems ummmmmmmmmmm you used to lay out the easter eggs, for the annual easter eggs to give delight to us kids ummmmmmmmmmm i remember a funny joke, when you wanted to leave a new years eve party and i was playing my dice cricket game, and i said, we have to wait till the end of the days play, dad said, ok we will turn off the light and appeal that bad light stopping play ummmmmmmmmm one christmas you gave us a swimming pool, and that made our day look great yeah, happy days to swim in the nice cool water ummmmmmmmmm we always talked about the raiders, even if dad never watched a match ummmmmmmmmm we used to cut down trees in our backyard to use as XMAS trees ummmmmmmmmmm we are gathered here to remember a great bush waker ummmmmmmmm we are going to miss you telling us the rain is coming, or total fire bans or, when there is a electroity work in the area and electricity will be turned off ummmmmmmmmm we watched footy and cricket too, it was great ummmmmmmmm i hope your next life as one of david and lisa’s twins really brings you happiness, forever and ever amen and now i bury buddha under water, allowing dads ash to float on the cop pins crossing creek, dad is free, now, as the other half of robin williams

0

Jan 9, 2015

Jan 9, 2015 at 9:56 PM UTC

johnny-georgy-brown

dads ashes scattering ceremony in cop pins crossing

we went to cop pins crossing to scatter dads ashes into the creek my buddhist ceremony for dad, as he is in the ****** of david and lisa, with robin williams beside him in the womb first i put dads ash on my little praying buudha, said this ummmmmmmmmm dad i remember you for being there for everyone and despite how many times i might have been with angry with you, you were always be there for me ummmmmmmmmmm what a life you had the YMCA i remember when you and the leaders showed us a snake at camp sturt, and hung it near the dining hall ummmmmmmmmm yeah you have changed a lot of people’s lives for the better ummmmmmmmmmm you drove me and my mates to various sports events, telling us funny jokes ummmmmmmmmmm you showed us how to use the computer and even if we have problems you were able to fix problems ummmmmmmmmmm you used to lay out the easter eggs, for the annual easter eggs to give delight to us kids ummmmmmmmmmm i remember a funny joke, when you wanted to leave a new years eve party and i was playing my dice cricket game, and i said, we have to wait till the end of the days play, dad said, ok we will turn off the light and appeal that bad light stopping play ummmmmmmmmm one christmas you gave us a swimming pool, and that made our day look great yeah, happy days to swim in the nice cool water ummmmmmmmmm we always talked about the raiders, even if dad never watched a match ummmmmmmmmm we used to cut down trees in our backyard to use as XMAS trees ummmmmmmmmmm we are gathered here to remember a great bush waker ummmmmmmmm we are going to miss you telling us the rain is coming, or total fire bans or, when there is a electroity work in the area and electricity will be turned off ummmmmmmmmm we watched footy and cricket too, it was great ummmmmmmmm i hope your next life as one of david and lisa’s twins really brings you happiness, forever and ever amen and now i bury buddha under water, allowing dads ash to float on the cop pins crossing creek, dad is free, now, as the other half of robin williams

43

See my bridegroom comes, said Sister Clare, He comes swift as birds of Spring, His voice echoes within, His touch wakes me from deep slumber, unfetters me from my sad sins; His eyes watch me, they run over me like flowing water, look into my soul like dawn's light; He is my keeper, my protector, His hand caresses me in my deepest darkness, His fingers raise my chin, lift my head, His fingers touch my heart, wake me from my selfness, my obsession with my me; He comes into my heart, He is the kisser of life, the waker of sleepers in the grave; I wait for Him in the night when the darkness embraces, seek His company when demons touch and ****** He is my bridegroom, my love, I seek Him out like one for water as I thirst, I listen for his footsteps in the break of dawn, I kiss Him as one kisses one's deepest love, I am only happy when He is near, when His voice awakes me. He is my safe ship out in the dark deep sea.

0

Apr 29, 2014

Apr 29, 2014 at 1:55 AM UTC

terry-collett

SISTER CLARE'S BRIDEGROOM.

See my bridegroom comes, said Sister Clare, He comes swift as birds of Spring, His voice echoes within, His touch wakes me from deep slumber, unfetters me from my sad sins; His eyes watch me, they run over me like flowing water, look into my soul like dawn's light; He is my keeper, my protector, His hand caresses me in my deepest darkness, His fingers raise my chin, lift my head, His fingers touch my heart, wake me from my selfness, my obsession with my me; He comes into my heart, He is the kisser of life, the waker of sleepers in the grave; I wait for Him in the night when the darkness embraces, seek His company when demons touch and ****** He is my bridegroom, my love, I seek Him out like one for water as I thirst, I listen for his footsteps in the break of dawn, I kiss Him as one kisses one's deepest love, I am only happy when He is near, when His voice awakes me. He is my safe ship out in the dark deep sea.

35

Am I worth the space I take up, and the portion of air I pollute, am I freaking worth? Because I know that anyone read this mess is worth, I’m quite sure there’s someone who wants to be them and wants to stay in touch, and who doesn’t wanna wake up if the person who’s reading is the waker. And, heck yeah, I believe one’s existence is justified by someone else’s love or affection or something like that, something sweet and similar to blessing, always hand in hand with jealousy and some pain. And, yes, jealousy plus something equals affection, which in turn equals worth and justifies existence. Period. Jokes aside: am I freaking worth the space I take up? Well, for I know there is a painter who angry with only hanging out with a musician not caring for painter’s feelings, well if that’s jealousy my existence’s kinda justified, for jealousy equals love. Period. Or if it’s not jealousy, if jealousy is when you ask you can hardly without to answer your messages for once and being angry doesn’t, if it’s the latter I might very well be a waste, or am I not. Wich is it? Oh, sorry, told you, mess.

0

Aug 21, 2018

Aug 21, 2018 at 7:04 PM UTC

demy-molentor

Mess

Am I worth the space I take up, and the portion of air I pollute, am I freaking worth? Because I know that anyone read this mess is worth, I’m quite sure there’s someone who wants to be them and wants to stay in touch, and who doesn’t wanna wake up if the person who’s reading is the waker. And, heck yeah, I believe one’s existence is justified by someone else’s love or affection or something like that, something sweet and similar to blessing, always hand in hand with jealousy and some pain. And, yes, jealousy plus something equals affection, which in turn equals worth and justifies existence. Period. Jokes aside: am I freaking worth the space I take up? Well, for I know there is a painter who angry with only hanging out with a musician not caring for painter’s feelings, well if that’s jealousy my existence’s kinda justified, for jealousy equals love. Period. Or if it’s not jealousy, if jealousy is when you ask you can hardly without to answer your messages for once and being angry doesn’t, if it’s the latter I might very well be a waste, or am I not. Wich is it? Oh, sorry, told you, mess.

5