Wednesday, December 29, 2010

"Time Snatcher"- A Poem



The clock reads: "Count Your Blessings."
What it left out was: "...because you can't count them forever."
The little hand clicks away and seems to 
Take,
Take,
Take,
Until there is nothing left.
It is like a time snatcher, a clock.
A lifeless thing that's purpose is to tell you how many ticks you have left until the end. 
It's funny.
We wear them on our wrists,
Hang them on our walls,
Glance at them every five seconds,
And yet,
We don't realize that we are staring death in the face.

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Skyline Of Trees


Sunday, December 19, 2010

Triple Dog Dare You



I once read a quote that claimed: “Sometimes the worst advice you can give to a person is ‘be yourself’.” Now, at first I thought it was a completely insane quote and the guy didn’t know what he was talking about. But after I contemplated it for a while, I realized he had a point, because a lot of people don’t know who they are. So telling someone who doesn’t know who they are, to be themselves, is like asking a teacher to teach a potato Algebra 1. In other words: it’s impossible. So what if you told the person to be original? As in being new, fresh, inventive, or one-of-a-kind. Why is it so hard for people these days to be original?


"Very few people are original. There's very little original anything out there. Because to be original means you have to stand alone."
- Susan Powter
 

ALONE.
Sounds scary right?
So take the easy way out and follow people’s shadows.
Go ahead.
I dare you.
Because in the end, I’ll be myself and be doing what I love,
And you’ll still be following those shadows.

Saturday, December 18, 2010

But... why?


"Isn't it ironic?
We ignore the ones who adore us,
Adore the ones who ignore us,
Love the ones who hurt us,
And hurt the ones who love us."
-Anonymous
                                                        

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

"The Process of A Broken Heart"- A Poem



I lie down and gaze at the white canvas of the heaven above me
And my ears fill with water and
Static of sounds surround me.

There’s a ding in my heart
Like a scratch on a brand new vehicle,
It’s ugly to human eyes.

It was specifically put there and without it knowing,
I was ruined
Crushed into a million glass pieces that shatter and make an earsplitting explosion

But it’s not a violent one.
It’s in slow-motion and silent,
Like the lowering of a loved one into their grave.

It’s peaceful.
But it still hurts.

Friday, December 10, 2010

Dear Darling...



Dear Darling,

            You will never be my darling. Even though your eyes sparkle when they catch a glimpse of me, you would never admit that to me. The room spins when you hear me laugh, but you would deny it. You’re too cool for that. You’re too cool to express your feelings, or be someone other than everyone else. It’s the pressure, pressing down so hard on your heart to contain itself. Don’t let people see who you really are. Why laugh in a room full of people with straight faces? Yes. I am mad. I am mad because I know inside you are more that what you try so hard to convey. Let it out. Why keep your real self locked inside a shell of conformity? You are better than that. Please, consider this. I would love you so much my heart would burst. But then the more I think of it, maybe this really is how you are. In that case, I’m sorry you have to live that way. And I’m sorry for myself. I am sorry for me because I believed you would change. I kept hope in something that would lead me to nowhere. And now I’m broken down. And only an angel could save me.

                                                                                    Love,
                                                                                                Me

Thursday, December 9, 2010

"Imagination"- A Poem


                                                          
Blank pages,
Staring widely at me

Trying to find hope,
And strength to break free

But the greater shadow
Is holding them back,

Waiting for a moment
To pounce and attack

The pages are dull
And float away,

Because they dream
Of better days

Days where they,
Can wander freely

No one who’s asking
And growing needy

“Who are you?”
They wonder why,

“I am me.”
The pages reply

Someday the pages
Will figure out,

This mystery of life
We ponder about.