Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Everything is perfect, and then it's not.


image via. tumblr  

And sometimes the world smiles at you through its halcyon eyes, and everything seems perfect. The efflorescence of nature around you, the clouds, the birds, the trees. The wind sings its mellifluous songs to you. Everything is perfect. Except it's not.

And then somewhere a baby cries. Its mother just died. His father has fled. Then the sky grows darker as clouds roll in. The wind howls its song, but it's no longer gentle. It screeches and screams and pierces your eardrums a thousand times. Everything turns grey. The light that was once there is now gone. The nature around you, the clouds, the birds, the trees. Everything starts wilting.

Look around you, look around you, don't you see? 

Everything's not perfect.

Everything is a fucking mess.

Friday, June 24, 2011

The American Nightmare

a poem by me. Disclaimer: The video was not created by me.

America, we are your mannequins.  
You tell us to be perfect.  
So we become your idea of perfect. 
You say you have to be skinny. 
So we starve ourselves. 
We become skeletons,  
just skin and bones. 
To satisfy what you have commanded us to do. 
You give us a fashion magazine and say, 
“You must look like this.” 
So we dye our hair until it falls out, 
and paint our lips blood red  
until your words are bleeding from our mouths, 
and cut our skin open to look like something else. 
America, you tell us to follow our dreams. 
But somewhere a single mother of five 
who gets paid minimum wage 
cries herself to sleep at night, 
because her only son has died 
to fight your fight. 
Somewhere on the streets 
a war veteran who has given you  
everything, sleeps on the cold stone concrete, 
and wonders what will become of him. 
America, you don’t care.  
So go fuck yourself with your atomic bomb. 
Because as long as you have your 50 inch  
flat screen TV, your Caddie, you XBOX 360  
and your little Louis Vuitton bags, you’re fine. 
America, you are not living, you’re dying the American Dream.

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Make It Stop (September's Children)


Woah, woah.

Bang bang go the coffin nails, like a breath exhaled,
Been gone forever.
It seems just like yesterday, how did I miss the red flags raised?
Think back to the days we laughed.
We braved these bitter storms together.
Brought to his knees he cried,
But on his feet he died.

What God would damn a heart?
And what God drove us apart?

What God could make it stop?
Let this end.
Eighteen years pushed to the ledge.
It's come to this,
A weightless step.
On the way down singing,
Woah, woah.

Bang bang from the closet walls,
The schoolhouse halls,
The shotgun's loaded.
Push me and I'll push back.
I'm done asking, I demand.

From a nation under God,
I feel it's love like a cattle prod.
Born free, but still they hate.
Born me, no I can't change.

It's always darkest just before the dawn.
So stay awake with me, let's prove them wrong.

Make it stop.
Let this end,
Eighteen years pushed to the ledge.
It's come to this,
A weightless step.
On the way down singing,
Woah, woah.

The cold river washed him away,
But how could we forget.
Gathering the candles, but not their tongues.

And too much blood has flown from the wrists,
Of the children shamed for those they chose to kiss
Who will rise to stop the blood?

We're calling for,
Insisting on, a different beat, yeah.
A brand new song.

Whoa, whoa [x3]
(Tyler Clementi, age 18.
Billy Lucas, age 15.
Harrison Chase Brown, age 15
Cody J. Barker, age 17
Seth Walsh, age 13.)

Make it stop,
Let this end.
This life chose me, I'm not lost in sin.
But proud I stand of who I am,
I plan to go on living.

Make it stop,
let this end,
all these years pushed to the ledge,
but proud I stand, of who I am,
I plan to go on living 

- Rise Against

This song was written about kids who have committed suicide because they were bullied for their sexuality. But this song isn't just about that, it's about bullying in general. People don't realise how big this issue is. I can honestly say that I've never been bullied by anyone before, but as a human being, we can all relate to that pain. As a society, we need to work to get past these prejudices to become a better nation.

High school does suck. But it always gets better, even if it doesn't seem like it at the moment. 

It gets better, I promise you.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Her eyes are like an opalescent moon that shimmers when the stars meet the sea. The wind paints he words in the night sky like pictures.

I met her on a dreary September when the moon was low. It hung like a glass lantern over the sea. The faint smell of pine trees and sycamore leaves filled my lungs.


I was a ghost and she was a ghost and together we’d sing songs of forbidden dreams to the trees and the clouds.

The ground was silver and cold beneath my bare feet. It burned me with such iciness that it felt like I was walking on a million tiny, sharp needles. 

I could see her breath as she walked toward me. 

We met eyes and our hands interlocked. 

We walked to the edge of the cliff and let the wind carry us away.

Her screams pierced the silence of the night.

And then there was

n o t h i n g. 

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