Looking at pictures of other people.
Just browsing through wishing you could have that life.
Wishing and begging for some god to come down from his mighty
thrown and give you a break.
Wishing you had the friends and adventures and ettiquette that
all these amazing people have.
Even that of the people who truly aren't good.
You see all this happiness in their lives,
in their eyes and you just envy it with every fiber in your being because
it's just not who you are.
And by all means, it is the one thing you'd wish to be,
happy, religious, friendly, loved, sociable, beautiful in all the ways that truly matter.
But no, there's so much
This is a personal journal.
Twas never meant for the eyes of anyone but myself,
but reading over it felt good.
I liked it so much.
I stay up late and write
when I should be sleeping
or at least doing something productive.
But no, I stay up writing.
Writing things that I'd like to see,
that no one will attempt.
That people won't care about,
that no one will appreciate.
That will be meaningless.
I want to see the world happy.
Not just the people I know or
the people I see driving beside me..
But the world.
People in Pennsylvania.
People in New York.
People in Thailand.
I want to see people give bums
a place to stay, somewhe
A penny less than perfect.. by SplashySheBe, literature
Literature
A penny less than perfect..
I write to express myself.
As does anyone.
Or they do it to express their thoughts on something.
I think that's what I call poetry.
Every time I begin to write,
I watch myself fighting what's inside.
I find myself thinking of someone else's poetry.
I find myself compared to everyone else.
To anyone I like. To their work.
I stop myself from letting it flow out.
--She clears her head, her throat.--
She lets go.
The keyboard is no longer there.
She's the only one in existence.
The universe and her.
That's all there is.
Her beliefs, her thoughts,
her actions.
She owns the world.
The cemetery.
Dark, all but the moonlight starin
The tears fall down as the cheap wine disappears.
Cliche lines run the mind eternally.
Things you love come to a halt.
Friends fade away.
Family stops the love.
No one likes anyone.
No ones sees through that fake smile.
No one hears those daily lies.
No one sees who you are.
No one fathoms the thought of not knowing you.
Everyone thinks you're fine.
Everyone stops calling.
Family stops writing.
People stop talking.
The smiles start fading.
Life grows dim.
No one lives.
Everything expressed becomes repressed.
Nothing feels right.
You jump at every noise.
You don't know why everyone died.
Everyone died.
Everyone forgot.
E
Looking at pictures of other people.
Just browsing through wishing you could have that life.
Wishing and begging for some god to come down from his mighty
thrown and give you a break.
Wishing you had the friends and adventures and ettiquette that
all these amazing people have.
Even that of the people who truly aren't good.
You see all this happiness in their lives,
in their eyes and you just envy it with every fiber in your being because
it's just not who you are.
And by all means, it is the one thing you'd wish to be,
happy, religious, friendly, loved, sociable, beautiful in all the ways that truly matter.
But no, there's so much
Boredom grabs a hold of me,
it takes me places I don't want to be.
I sit and watch the tellie-tube,
sit all day with nothing to do.
Same boring shows everyday,
no one seems to want to hang.
Watch the tellie,
write a poem.
Stay consumed,
I'm bored ...
I'm doomed.
August 9th, 2007
I've come to see that life is a game.
Everything you've done,
every little shame,
it all comes back to punch you in the face,
at least it had the decency to do that much.
It's nice to look back on the great things in life,
but whoever looks back at the shittiest times?
Well, I'm that whoever,
I'm that little whackjob,
I'm the stupid one to hope
that all that's been wrong,
can come undone and be at peace.
If you truly think the way I do,
you'll come to realize that you'll always
be screwed.
July 7th, 2008
Boring poems, all the same. by SplashySheBe, literature
Literature
Boring poems, all the same.
I write poems to express myself,
but I never truly know how to do so.
I'm scared of new scenes,
along with lots of other things.
I don't know how to feel like everyone else does,
so I, normally, wing it to appear how I should.
I don't have the heart to write those happy poems,
and I don't have the rhythm to make them flow.
Mine don't rhyme all the time,
but they're true and sad and bland.
You've heard one,
you've heard them all.
Yeah, mine suck,
but life has it's faults.
July 2008
Nature.
Kind, honest, beautiful.
It can never lie to you.
No question is the wrong question.
Every question has an answer,
you must know how to listen.
You need to feel how serene life is.
Nature is kind.
Nature shows you
where you must go,
you just have to look closer.
Look to the trees for
the answers you seek.
Watch the sunrise
and the dew drain from
the the leaves as you coffee steams.
Nature will love you,
more unconditionally than a
child, mother, father, sibling,
anyone.
Nature is.
The only true gift that
still exists on this planet
is so overlooked.
Life is expected to be
taken for granted more and more
as th
The tears fall down as the cheap wine disappears.
Cliche lines run the mind eternally.
Things you love come to a halt.
Friends fade away.
Family stops the love.
No one likes anyone.
No ones sees through that fake smile.
No one hears those daily lies.
No one sees who you are.
No one fathoms the thought of not knowing you.
Everyone thinks you're fine.
Everyone stops calling.
Family stops writing.
People stop talking.
The smiles start fading.
Life grows dim.
No one lives.
Everything expressed becomes repressed.
Nothing feels right.
You jump at every noise.
You don't know why everyone died.
Everyone died.
Everyone forgot.
E
A penny less than perfect.. by SplashySheBe, literature
Literature
A penny less than perfect..
I write to express myself.
As does anyone.
Or they do it to express their thoughts on something.
I think that's what I call poetry.
Every time I begin to write,
I watch myself fighting what's inside.
I find myself thinking of someone else's poetry.
I find myself compared to everyone else.
To anyone I like. To their work.
I stop myself from letting it flow out.
--She clears her head, her throat.--
She lets go.
The keyboard is no longer there.
She's the only one in existence.
The universe and her.
That's all there is.
Her beliefs, her thoughts,
her actions.
She owns the world.
The cemetery.
Dark, all but the moonlight starin
This list of words,
is my final will,
for a world who doesn't understand.
These material possessions,
one can see,
they hold little value,
for you or me,
a matter of perspective,
for the greedy.
And so I say simply,
fight and quarrel,
or find peace,
but personally,
I say just burn them. :)
RIP
Writing represents the attempt,
to put the world in script.
So it should live,
pass it on,
I'm sure someone will finish it.
Life is simple.
Live, die.
What you do in between isn't important,
unless you think it is.
Don't live for others,
live for life.
I like music and games,
I like to think and dream,
and write about worlds
this only looks like love. by EsotericHeart, literature
Literature
this only looks like love.
dear kite,
i know all you want to do is fly free,
wooden arms stretched wide into the wind,
ride swelling air currents and never stop,
but you know physics would never let you do that,
don't you?
it's not out of spite, you know, that i do this.
if i didn't hold on to you, keep you tethered to reality,
you'd be blown from the sky like a wounded bird,
spiralling into oblivion, breaking your bones
against trees, against roofs, against packed dirt,
beating your fists in frustration until there is
nothing left of you except your splintered
skeleton and punctured skin.
and maybe it's true the world keeps you on a leash,
but it's for
War
Darkness rains and bombs fall,
missles fire but yet they're wrong.
People die, uneccessary deaths.
Death is common, bit it's not all that's left.
Bullets fly and blood sprays,
mines explode and dust blows in the way.
Pain continues and joy is rare,
some are brave and some are scared.
I watch here from my home where love ones weep,
for those who'll never come home.
They sit alone because their's are gone,
and they moan for not just one but for all.
War is bad, a bringer of death,
war is bad, a black abyss.
I'm eighteen. I have yet to figure out life. I'm a work in progress. I enjoy everything.
Current Residence: Florida. Favourite genre of music: Alternative Rock, Jazz, or Folk. Favourite style of art: Landscape photography and all the rest of the beauty unclaimed. Operating System: Windows XP. MP3 player of choice: 120GB Classic iPod. Wallpaper of choice: Chibs from Sons of Anarchy. Personal Quote: Whereso ever you go, go with all your heart. `Confucius.
Favourite Visual Artist
That's a tough one.
Favourite Movies
The Holiday and Erin Brockovich.
Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
Anberlin. Korn. Pink. Sugarcult. Taking Back Sunday. The Hush Sound. Dean Martin. Gym Class Heroes.
[ ] You have a boyfriend/girlfriend
[ ] You have your own room.
[ ] You own a cell phone.
[x] You have an ipod/ mp3 player.
[ ] Your parents are still married.
[X] You have more than 2 best friends.
[ ] There is a swimming pool in your backyard
T 0 T A L: 2
[X] You dress how you want to.
[X] You hang out with friends more than once a week.
[X] There is a computer/ laptop in your room.
[X] You have never been beaten up.
[X] You never cry more than twice a month.
[X] You are allowed to listen to the music you want to.
[ ] Your room is big enough for you.
[X] People don't use you for something you have.
[ ] You have been to a con
Zomfg. I have internet again for the first time in months.
I'm fucking ecstatic.
Seriously.
lol.
Any journals anyone had have been deleted because
they're probably mostly old and there was just
too many.
The same will happen with deviations,
but some I will check out and comment.
I missed you guys(:!
lol.
Can't wait to talk to you all(:
Yes, there is an art thief.
And she has stolen work from the fantastic YouInventedMe
Be sure to check out her myspace blog for any of your work..
She will refuse to take down anything of yours,
so if you see it,
don't bother being nice.
She's a psycho that doesn't deserve her eyes!
Or her fingers.
http://blogs.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.ListAll&friendId=454916040
I'm going to report her on myspace and harass her as often as possible,
until she blocks me...
Then JD'll harass her...
I'm trying(:
I'm doing fantastic. Thanks for the inquiry. Yes, I know it's been a good amount of time. I actually feel terrible. You were one of the main reasons I was ever on here.
You inspired me on many occasions. I shall write something for you and post it as Di. Don't know when though. How are you?
yay, i'm glad! goodness, woman, you shouldn't spread such lies XD
ahah, if you did write that i'm sure it would be epic, for the sole reason that you wrote it. i'm fine, thank you :] i have a lot of summer assignments to get done, so there's stress, but i suppose i'm good.