A Perfect Pain You're my pain
But it's not what you would expect
You are perfect
The mere comparison of the two of us makes me question my existence
Your composure is so well put together
Every piece fits together like magic
The way you walk is something special
Your feet hit the floor with a grace that eludes my comprehension
your stride is held up by a confidence that's so..
It's as if the way you hold yourself can hold me up too when I feel as if i can't get to my feet
You are so developed
Not in the sense of body
But the way your soul has matured
Beauty, in all sense of the word is presence in your thoughts,
In your heart;
Sewn into the very fibre of who you are
Woven with the most beautifully coloured threads and laces
I can see the world in your eyes
As if there was nothing to fear
You're as secure as a safe
Your arms could wrap themselves
A guide to understanding artistsPlease read carefully:
Each sketch or doodle is important
So don't say the following:
"It's just a sketch. Can't I have it? You won't miss it!"
Or you will end up with freshly sharpened pencils up your ass
Artist get attached to things they create
Much like mothers and their babies
Remember that It's cruel to separate parents and children until the children are old enough to go out on their own
Until that day
DO NOT ask for art until it has matured and is ready to leave the nest
If you ask an artist to look through their sketchbook one of the three things will happen:
A) you will be given a stone cold glare, indicating how stupid the question really was
B) you will be allowed to peek at select number if sketches the artist seems qualified to be seen
C) you will be stabbed painfully in the eyes with a fork (or whatever else is in hands reach.
NEVER under any circumstance look through the said sketchbook WITHOUT PERMISSION
The Heart Necklace A child sits numbly at a table
the chairs across from him are empty.
Children race about around him
and he watches as their attention dashes through him.
He wears a heart necklace the red of a summer sunrise
and plays with it idly between his fingers. It can be split in two but it stays as one.
Someday, I'll find someone to wear this with me
He whispers, almost as if to console himself.
A teenager sits meekly at a table
the chairs across from him are empty.
Other teens text and chat with their friends
and he watches as one girl smiles at him with honey eyes.
He wears a heart necklace the red of his blushing face
and he plays with it idly between his fingers. It is split in two but both pieces are around his neck.
Someday, she may wear this with me
He whispers, almost lost in his shy giggles.
A man sits proudly at a table
the chair across from him sits a woman with honey eyes.
Anyone else w
The reason why I will not draw youArt is something that is almost indefinable. Essentially, it is something people created to express emotions and intellects. Art is something that goes beyond reality and opens our minds to the ideas of others.
Art is something everyone has been impacted by. Eve
The story of glassSo I saw her.
I saw her broken
and I saw the hollow glaze in her eyes
like the the world had sucked the life out of her.
they were a work of beauty
and they filled my heart with what they didn't posses.
She lay upon the floor as if in pieces
like broken glass.
I walked towards her and the glass she shed cut my feet
but my curiosity grew bold enough not to care about the red foot prints
that trailed my walk.
I slowly picked up her pieces and my hands were raw with cuts
and painted with the red of shimmering blood
but all I could feel was my heart throbbing
all I wanted was to try to piece this girl back together
and so I tried.
I really did.
But some pieces were too far gone
under my feet and beyond the repair I could give.
So I willingly filled those broken pieces with my own
So I could see the cracks in her soul disappear
and I grew weak
so I could see her grow strong.
And she did.
I put her togethe
To Burn a Prayer...To burn a prayer
into a newborn's gentle skin
is but a scar
that the hands of time will carve
And to stitch the word of The Lord
to a young man's heart
Will shed blood in broken thread.
A golden cross may belong around your neck
But it's my necklace of thorns
Twine too tight not to bleed
To be subservient to an ancient book
Is but the slave of an unproductive world
In the eyes of a child who's mind has wings
Of a different colour.
And perhaps a life that is right for you
Is not one a child would grow into.
I'm used to itI would have followed you off the earth just to see a smile
break the stone of an endless frown
But instead I was thrown off the end of the earth for but the crash was never as soft as a fragile smile
Maybe it hurt
But it doesn't matter
I'm used to it after all
For but if something is put into routine, why change it?
I would have given warmth to the snow as it gingerly pranced down from the heavens to touch your cheek
Just to see you dance in winter's blaze.
But instead you let me stumble into an inferno
that scorched my heart black.
It broke me
But why should it matter when
I'm used to it.
For you never knew the break was in the hands of your fault
So I was left without a bandage
I would have knit a sweater of the finest of wool
to keep the shine in your eyes warm and gold
But your craft would stitch a straight jacket from the rawest of straw
And leave me confused
Boys can hurt too...And he sat
In a place no one could find him.
Where the grasp of his peers could not pull him under
And the hot breath of his family couldn't raise the hairs on his neck.
He ripped at his hair with his fingers
As if to pull out the fear
The feeling he got that impaled his heart.
He wondered how his heart could have been poisoned so
When it was sealed behind the cage of his ribs
And locked with a key of reason.
Perhaps, instead of protecting his heart
He imprisoned it.
He let that cage rust alone
So no one could get in
He let the rust encase his hopeful soul
And he let the very will to not get hurt
Guard the prison he obliviously made
And his heart slowly died of neglect
It cracked, and became a broken masterpiece.
The permanent scars that slowly appeared
Was as if an open door to the things he feared
And they crawled inside and replaced everything he once loved
His heart was
Love is LuckDoesn’t it eat at your heart
that your perfect soul mate might not even be born yet
They might not be your age
They might not live on the same side of the earth as you
They could be half a world away
Or they could have just died
And you wouldn’t even know
That one person could have been that man who just walked by you yesterday
Or that girl you saw on the train last week
That’s the scary part
They could be so close
But yet they will always be so far
the person who you belong with could be a century away
Or a century gone by
The person you could laugh with the most
Admire the most
Love the most
Is someone you may never meet
Someone who you will never lay eyes upon
Never feel their touch
And you would never know
Who they are
And the way they could feel for you
And the warmth they could give you
And that’s what makes
You are EverythingYou are amazing.
You are the smiling face,
That gave that kid
Better hope for this place.
You are the helping hand,
Even if you didn’t know it,
That helped everything turn out
Better than planned.
You are the voice
That helped someone
Make a vital choice.
You are the joke
That made them laugh
And gave them that stroke
Of happiness that they needed.
You are the bright eyes
That light the way,
A lantern of hope
Through the fog of lies.
You are their push towards
Their positive afterwards.
And you are far from worthless.
Are the most important person
In the world.
We are all characters
In someone else’s story.
That pivotal point,
That pushes them from misery,
And leads them to their glory.
I Will Love MyselfSilence was at my doorstep.
Rain fell from the storms of my eyes
and hit the cold earth of my cheeks.
Sunlight fell down my face
in gentle waves.
And blood tinted lips
smiled only slightly.
The gentle spring
that bloomed inside my chest
had begun to grow
and replace the winter
whose frost had held tightly
onto my heart.
Silence was welcome.
Tears were shed in joy.
Sunlight was here to warm
and blood to live.
This was it.
I had made it.
I know who I am.
I locked you in my closet,
in the recesses of my mind.
I kept you in the dark,
I kept you in the stagnant, static,
strangling air for what seemed like
years because you couldn't
remember what day looked like anymore.
(You would sit facing the wall,
scratching letters into the paint,
nails curling and cracking upward.
"I love you,
I love you,
I love you," over and over until
you would bleed from your eyes
because you couldn't
keep them open anymore.
That paint was toxic.
You fed off the fumes of dried
polymer and you were so sure that
if you tried hard enough
the words would go through
It must've taken months.
The world traveled around the sun
like you traveled around me,
hovering from a distance
so that I wouldn't burn you.
They all say that it was my
gravity that pulled you
toward me, but it was always you,
They say love is blind and I believe it.
But we didn't start out
loving each other like we do now.
Eat Something, PleaseIt's your fault, you know.
It's you who's spewing your guts into the toilet,
like powdery snow.
Every day you hit the bathroom floor,
grasp the porcelain rims,
and your vomit echo through the door.
I hate it! I hate it, more than anything in the world.
I wish you could just tape your mouth shut,
and your noises I could ignore.
It's all about you, and the agony you've been through,
but through your selfishness and saliva,
I hope you realize I suffer too.
I stay by your side when you treat me like crap.
When you scream at me and yell,
I've always had your back.
How I wish I could purge when life gets too tough,
I wish I could be weak like you,
but my strength is just too much.
How wonderful it would be, if you could take my place,
and when you saw your broken form,
then you would see the pathetic look on your face.
But “plop, plop, plop” your vomit continues to roar,
and through the repetitive screech,
how I wish I could slam the door.
I wish I had the strength to leave your
I Won't Let You Become Like MeI saw you fall to the floor.
Because you couldn’t take this anymore.
You laid there and said to me,
Through tears that fell from your eyes,
“Who cares if I were to die?”
Reminding me of those hundreds of times,
I’ve seen people bend and break.
I’ve gotten so used to smiles that are nothing more than fake.
I remembered standing by silently,
Watching everyone collapse around me.
Seeing bottles scattered around,
Broken glass covered the ground.
And I wondered to myself,
“Is he ever going to get better?”
And I watched you as you died,
Slowly tearing yourself apart from the inside.
Memories are still flickering,
Behind my eyes.
I suddenly remember my own cries,
For someone to save me.
Because I was so close to falling,
That the abyss seemed more inviting,
Than trying to hang on for a moment longer.
Because my arms were too tired,
To hold on.
I am back in reality,
Watching you fade away.
And I see myself,
And the countless other people I’ve wit
The Irony Of PerfectionOne who does not possess the gem of perfection sees himself but of a shadow of someone that is more, but yet renders clueless the plague he ceases to see upon him, for his imperfections sculpt him into a masterpiece all his own. The irony of perfection is only seen by the one who created himself perfect, his excellence in every lift of his finger and blink of his eye to bore him as he gains no further in what he used to value, in what his passion used to be but his love to vanish surprisingly as he preformed flawlessly to no where. Perfection creates nothing but bordom to build slowly as a sour scab on his soul, realizing he can go nowhere else but infront of a halting stop sign. He sighs as he watches his shadow build himself into more and more each day, longing to become what he was as if the shadow himself while the shadow builds only to become the possessor, unaware that he will soon wish to be his own shadow someday.