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Outlines shifting out of place endlessly,
Like shivering structures trying to warm.
Non-stop blurs, eyes like a camera lens
Trying to focus on one position.
Noise cramped, muddled, bundled, not being able
To separate the layers of sound.
Who? What? Where? Huh?
A teeter totter world trying to gain balance.
Just slightly disoriented.
The curse of growing up.
It’s not the fact that you see,
the world for what it truly is…
Corrupted.
It’s not the pain of being in love,
and not being able to be with him or her.
Not the pain of getting your heart broken.
School is paradise to this.
the exams are honey to the lips.
Tests sweet sound to the ears,
and that F is glorious to the eyes.
Being pure pressured to drugs and alcohol
doesn’t even come close.
A bit of MJ, a bit of VJ,
and top i off with my best friend Jack Daniels.
Those are child’s play compared to that fucking red dot.
Fuck this shit. It gets in your nose, chin, forehead. It’s the size of mars
That fucking red ugly ass pimple,
That leaves it’s scar.
“Writing is a lot like sex. At first you do it because you like it. Then you find yourself doing it for a few close friends and people you like. But if you’re any good at all…you end up doing it for money.”
-Someone I didn’t the catch the name of.
By Friends
By Strangers
By Family
By Teammates
By Everyone
I have been judged
My friends say,
my hair is fucked,
my laugh is fucked,
my pimples are fucked,
my voice is fucked,
my smile is fucked.
I have been judged.
My family say,
my talk is fucked,
my attitude is fucked,
my friends are fucked,
my walk is fucked.
I have been judged.
My teamates say,
my endurance is fucked,
my strength is fucked,
my breathing is fucked,
my pass is fucked.
I have been judged.
Everyone says,
my face is fucked,
my style is fucked,
my nose is fucked,
my scars is fucked.
I have been judged.
My best friend says,
my taste in music is fucked,
my weirdness is fucked,
my headphone breaking skills is fucked,
my being an asshole is fucked.
I have been judged.
Everyday is judgment day.
They judge, judge, judge,and can’t stop judging.
Theres only so much judging,
I can take before I crack.
But in the end even I judge…
Even when I don’t want too
April.14.2008
This weekend was extremely fun. Spent it with Joey getting hammed, golfing for the first time, and snowboarding for the last time for the season. We really got to know each other, he even gave me his old skateboard when I told him I was gonna start skating. Perfect Eh? Through all that… I was empty. She has been gone for a week. I usually talk to much in Day 1’s of school because it’s all my fun classes like art and such, but today I was speechless. All that would come out would be one syllable words. Hi, Bye, No, Yes, Maybe, Eh. She’s coming back in a few days. I don’t want to overwhelm her right away because she’s going to be super tired and jet lagged. But I still wanna touch her perfect body, silky hair, seducing aroma… Somethings going on down there… I was looking at old photo’s of her. She has the most happiest smile you’ll ever see; maybe its just me. Please end my life, so I can see her from the heavens or from the pits of hell. My mind won’t stop thinking of her if it’s conscious or not conscious. I lover her so much.
…her cheeks turn red when i kiss her in public
…her smile widens when I tell her a joke
…her lips moisten when I give her a kiss
…her eyes twinkle when i say, “I Love You”
… her tears keep falling when I say , ” I’m going away”
…her hands warm up when I put it by mine
…her eyes close when I’m hug her
… her is wet when she comes out of the shower
…her lips say sorry when she thinks shes hurt me
…her heart thumps faster when I show her a ring
…her breath smells like banana when I say, “I hate bananas”
…I cannot stop thinking of her when I’m awake
Why is it that love sprouts wings that will take you to the heaven’s itself,
But at the same time drags you to the depths of hell.
It can cause so much sorrow but we in the end crawl back begging for more.
What love am I talking about?
I’m so confused at how many types of love their are.
Is love when you wake up the next morning in bed with whom you desire the most?
Is love when a mother sees what she has brought to the earth and think of no other?
Is love when a child wakes up on a Saturday extra early for the 30-minutes of enjoyment?
Is love the…
Stroke of a paint brush,
The strum of the guitar,
The shot to the basket,
The scribbling of the pencil,
The passion to strive for greatness,
Is that not love?
Doesn’t that mean life itself is love?
We consume food, We work for money, We sleep for rest,
All so that we can live another day to,
Make another stroke of the paint brush,
Make another strum of the guitar,
Make another shot to the basket,
Make another scribble of the pencil,
And in my case to be able to spend another day to whom I love.
Then I guess I can conclude life is love and love is life.
Maybe… Just maybe love is the meaning of life
The agony, The treachery,
No other sensation provides me with more pain.
Every attempt stings my most sensitive spot,
What am I doing? Is there no other way?
Just thinking of how I must return,
How I must repeat the unthinkable act.
It sits there haunting my every thought,
I swear it’s laughing, no, I swear it’s taunting.
It’s appearance is so delicate,delectable, so delightful,
I know it’s lies, full of deceit.
It’s like a women selling herself; full of unknowns,
No, it’s much worst…
I beg for it to change,
The inanimate object made for total torture.
I pray for it to change,
But without a doubt it will be the same.
My hand slowly reaches.
I can’t take it anymore,
Or at least IT can’t
I give in, for men were made with weak wills.
If you were just one more…
Even with a bit of… Moisturizer?
I detest you…
two-ply tissue.
