Wounds

I pick at my problems
as if they were sores on my skin.
They hurt just as much,
but they're not as easy to remove.
They crawl around and burrow
where they can never be reached,
never to be brought to the light.
Always hidden, always festering and itching.
Always scratching at the problem I can't see.
Blindly searching for a remedy to an illness
I'm not aware of.
How do you fix the issue
when it becomes a part of you?

What is this?

i wouldn't call this depression

but i also wouldn't call this happiness

Signs

You know you're in love
when you'd trade your sanity
for just one more minute in their company.
When you'd jump off a building,
arms spread wide like featherless wings,
with just a glimpse of a hope that they'll
be there to catch you.
When you can count the hours on the clock
by how many times their name echos in your head.
It's a good thing I know what love looks like
so I can keep an eye out for it when it finally finds me.

senses of  an all-nighter

ever been so awake that even your bones seem to buzz?
Like you're a key tied to a kite, electricity coarsing through your veins
so alert that everything seems to be slow around you except
for your fingers, gliding across the keyboard as if they were
dancing some elaborate routine

The Crown and the Straw Hat

Once there were two brothers. Their father was the king, and they were princes. The eldest was given the throne when his father stepped down. This brother had a beautiful, elegant crown, forged out of gold and bejewelled in emeralds and sapphires. Everywhere he went, the prince wore his crown. Not once did he remove his crown, neither in the company of young women or the elderly. Now the younger brother did not want the life of a prince. His brother was already crowned the next in line, so he assumed the life of a modest farmer. He moved out of the palace, into a house that was as modest as he. This brother also wore a crown, though it was made of brittle, tan straw, and was made to keep the sun off of his head. This brother wore his straw hat in all the same places his brother wore his crown. His hat may not have precious gems, but the people loved it just as much as the beautiful crown, if not more. The only time the youngest brother took off his straw hat was to bow lowly to the fine women that passed by. Then he would replace his straw hat back on his head and return to his happy, modest life. One day, fate had it that the two brothers would reunite. The prince did not recognize his brother, clad in the garments of a laborer. Most of all, the prince noticed his brother's hat. He noticed it did not shine in the way his crown did. Nor was it of any value. And this, the prince made sure to point out. "Why sir, do you wear such a hideous atrocity on your head. It neither shines nor sparkles. How can one tell your status?" To this, the younger brother replied, "Your crown is too shiny, that it blinds you of the truth. You say your crown has value that my straw hat lacks thereof. But does your crown keep the hot sun off of your head? You do not know of the hard labor I perform, so you cannot appreciate the value of my hat. Your pride masquerades atop your head. It is a materialistic thing, and has no use, unlike my straw hat. Because I work hard and appreciate the things I have, my hat will forever be more precious than your crown can ever be. Just as humility is more practical than pride, so is a hat made of straw than a crown just for looks.

Waking Up Next to You

this is rough, and might not make complete sense because it just popped into my head and i wrote it in about 5 minutes. anyway, enjoy.





my head hurts from thinking of reasons not to kill you in my sleep
it gets so bad i've resorted to counting sheep
every night the reasons diminish a bit more
until all i'm left with is:
because I love you

sometimes i wish i could wake up alone
to a cold and empty bed
just to see what all the fuss is about

it doesn't seem such a bad thing
after countless mornings waking up to your morning breath
it's enough to wilt the flowers
but not enough to put me out of my misery
unfortunately

i've tried sticking my head in the oven with the breakfasts scones
i've attempted to stick my tooth brush down my throat as far as it goes

it's a shame i haven't drowned in the litres of drool you leave on the pillow
it's too bad i haven't been strangled to death by your limbs wrapped around me

i ask my self
when my eyes open,
another sleepless night gone by,
why it's you i have to wake up to
but every day it's still the same

because i love you

Mother Rhapsody (To the tune of Bohemian Rhapsody)

Okay, so this is a super rough draft of the song I literally just wrote in about two hours. It's a gift to my mother for Mother's Day this year. I plan to eventually videotape this with me singing and air guitaring possibly, because it's nearly impossible not to jam out to Queen. But yeah, please tell me what you think. And don't steal it unless you want to get punched in the nads/ladybits. Enjoy!






Is this just Sunday?
Or is it a holiday?
Made for our mother's
In the middle of the month of May.

Open your ears
and hear as i sing off key.
I'm just a poor girl, I'm clearly no emcee.
Because I can't sing, can't rap
Hope this song isn't crap.
Anyway here goes. Have a happy Mother's Day from me.

Mama, let's celebrate
Put some cake inside your mouth
Hope this song does not goes south
Mama, save the silverware
'Cause we're not going to throw them away.

Mama, ooooh
I'm trying to make you cry
Because you never cry when we watch movies
Carry on, carry on, as if Fantine's death never mattered.

Too late, I've come too far
This song will only get worse
But I need to say this first
Listen, everybody, I've got to say
gotta say what's on my mind and face the truth

Mama, oooh (anyway here goes)
I don't wanna cry
I sometimes wish you'd never get old at all

I see a little silhouetto of a mom
mama goose, mama goose, will you tell me a story?
Junie B and A to Z
very very exciting me
(C.S. Lewis) C.S. Lewis
(C.S. Lewis) C.S. Lewis
Lion Witch and Wardrobe
Oh the places you'll go

I'm just a poor girl and my mommy loves me
You'e just a poor mom who cleans up after me
Thanks for putting up with three monstrosities

Great mom, it is so. Just want you to know?
Mrs. Fisha! Yes, we want you to know (hope you know)
Mrs. Fisha! We do love you so (love you so)
Mrs. Fisha! Even when you tell us no (tell us no!)
Never, never let you go.
Always love you so, oh
So, so, so, so so, so, so, so
Oh mama mia, mama mia (Mama mia, love you so)
America has a holiday put aside for you, for you, for youuuuuuu

So you think you can send me to school and just say goodbye?
So you think you can deprive me of your cooking and leave me to die?
Oh, Tammy, can't do this to me Tammy.
Just gotta thank you, just gotta thank you right here.

(Oh, yeah, oh, yeah)

Just want to wish you,
For everyone to see,
Just want to wish you,
A Happy Mother's Day from me

Anyway here goes.

Sleep

i want to sleep
but it's as if my eyes don't want me to

The world does.
It covers me up and tucks me in.
It wants me to sleep.

Society hands me the pills.
They fill my mind with
tranquil thoughts.

They want to silence me.
"I need the rest."
Because there's something wrong with me.

I count the sheep
in their cosy barrel.
All it takes is one
and I am gone.

My worries are released
through the holes in me,
in the form of my blood.

Throughout my life they chanted,
"Close your eyes."
But now that I'm sleeping,
they call me weak
for not staying awake.

My necklace

I made myself a necklace
out of twine.
It fits so snugly around
my neck.
My necklace makes me feel
like a chandelier--
so beautiful
as I hang above.

My Relationship with Paper

I like you blank paper,
You're so naive.
I'd like to corrupt you with my words,
I mean, only if that's okay.
I want to paint my masterpiece on you,
but my paint brush looks more like a pencil
and instead of getting paint on my skin,
it's ink.
You're amazing, did you know that?
You've got so many possibilities,
even though you're empty.
It's nice to know that if I make a mistake,
I won't hurt you.
I'll just dust you off and there you go
good as new.
Thanks for being there
when I'm at a loss for words.
You make me realize
what that jumbled mess I call a mind
is trying to say.
And I like that you get discolored and wrinkly as you age,
just like me.
We really are a pair aren't we?