if you ever buy me a coffee mug
know that it will become my favorite,
and that i will use it faithfully every day.
but understand, if you ever decide to leave,
i will tell you through gritted teeth
that i never liked it anyway.
i will tell you out of spite that i shattered it,
but that coffee mug will remain in tact,
and collect dust in a corner until you come back.
if you never do, i won't ever use that mug again,
instead i'll fill it with paper clips & pens
and try not to remember that you gave it to me.
i am sitting in a cold and very much crowded room.
a sea of nameless faces, attached to 10,000 bodies, filling 10,000 seats.
a cacophony of voices and footsteps and shuffling figures, "pardon me."
small pieces of silence peeking through the static of hums and murmurs.
out of 10,000 - i catch myself looking for one face in particular: yours.
but all i can manage to pick out are not-quite's and hard-to-tell's.
in a room filled with 10,000 faces i'm looking for yours
(because it is all that i see when i close my eyes)
in a room filled with 10,000 faces your name is echoing in my chest.
each letter, ringing in my ears, crawling up the walls of my throat, desperate to escape my lips
and scream with every decibel i posses the power to create, "where are you?"
in a room filled with ten-*******-thousand faces - the only one that matters isn't there.
what to feel anymore.
Frustration, Anger, Sadness
Happiness, Shock and Surprise
That's what these past few days have been.
And things are just building and building up.
And I honestly don't know what to feel anymore.
I opened my eyes
And looked up at the rain,
And it dripped in my head
And flowed into my brain,
And all that I hear as I lie in my bed
Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.
I step very softly,
I walk very slow,
I can't do a handstand--
I might overflow,
So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said--
I'm just not the same since there's rain in my head.
Pastels are pretty
Pastels are sweet
They leave their mark
But they wear out
Pastels are amazing
Each shade unique
Their colors blend
A work of fine art
Pastels are amusing
A childhood toy that'll soon be
Chucked away in a corner
Forgotten by it's owner
Pastels are fragile
Pastels get dull
They get stained
After a while
Pastels will break
Pastels are weak
They get crushed
And they'll never get fixed
People are like pastels
Inside we're dying
Outside we're forgotten
I guess both are probably broken
I try to write a poem,
but poems are too hard
Rhyming is for losers
and airy-fairy bards
To put a pen to paper
and write about your life
I've had enough of all of those,
they only cause me strife
Free-verse script is awful,
for fools without a beat
Repetition's far too simple
just repeat, repeat, REPEAT
Those lovey-dovey ode-things,
that wishy-washy crap
And poems about hatred,
you all deserve a slap
Spare me all your ramblings,
I don't care how you feel
Your self-expression surely stinks
of mouldy day-old eel
To tell a tale of wonder
never ceases too be trite
To sing of magic wonders
is nothing but pure *
Your metaphors are useless,
your imagery is vile
Your sense of diction makes me gag,
I cannot stand your "style"
So save me your quotations,
please spare me all your rhyme
Shove that poem up your rear
and cease to waste my time
I look at what I've written,
this jumble of clichés
Looks like I wrote a ****** poem
so I'm the one to blame!
You can blame me for this :'(
like fools, we dove into the shallow end.
head first. blind to the danger.
the jump itself was bliss.
fingers interlocked, laughter pouring from our mouths,
eyes bewitched and sparkling naively.
we were childlike. godlike. untouchable.
however our euphoria ended abruptly
at the reality of the encroaching cement bottom -
awaiting our skulls
but by the time we realized what was happening
it was too late.
you cannot stop gravity.
the smiles faded from our mouths.
and we went down,
no hope for air.
no flailing limbs.
no final breath.
not a chance at revival.
we were dead on impact.
we never got to swim.