Words are but emotion, finally contained.
~My six word story
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You Can't Tell MeYou can't tell me
that my writing is wrong.
It might be for you
But for me it will live, forever strong
You can't tell me
that my words are not right.
They might not be prefect
But I'll still put up a fight
You can't tell me
my rhymes are too mix-matched.
Its just because they are not yours
To me they do not lack
You can't tell me
I did not try my best.
Who are you to evaluate?
Its not like its a test
You can't tell me
that I didn't follow a rule.
Creativity has no list
I think you are a fool
You can't tell me
that I didn't emote at all.
How can you tell me what I feel?
Its not like I'm a doll
You cant tell me
everything that I should.
How can you think you know everything?
And think you know whats "good"?
Everybody...We all fly off the rails, but live to tell the tale
Everybody misses a nail.
Dreams break like broken glass, but old dreams never last
Everybody takes off their cast.
We all decide too late, but thats just part of fate
Everybodys built on hate.
We all pretend to keep, all our flaws and lies asleep. But
Everybody cries and weeps.
Between the stallsAmung the sinks and filthy tiles
I stay between two dirty walls
I really just need to be here alone
No where but here amung the bathroom stalls.
As I sit upon the toilet lid
I can see the water between my knees
I glare into this toilet bowl
And all I find is a circular sea.
I watch as they drip again and again
The tears come streaming down my cheek
They fall into the bowl directly below
And vanish into the water so bleak.
This is the place I come to hide
This is the place I always go
Where theres a place I can be myself
And not my emotions' puppet show.
I hear the tap of my shoes echo the room
But its shushed asleep by the sound of the flush
This way I can drown my emotions dead
To finally get them to shut up and hush.
I use my sleeves to wipe my eyes
And walk out from between these walls
I walk with nothing but a smile to show
Like nothing happened, even at all
Stupid BlondeWhy, yes.
I do pick up books.
And thank you for thinking I hold them upside down or I can't even finish the first page.
I do math.
And thank you for thinking I can't long divide or that numbers shave my mind blank.
I can write.
And, again, thank you for thinking I can't use a pen or that I <rite tings liek dis>
Why dont you take a label maker and slap it right on my forehead? All to see and all to share?
Maybe a pawn in your conversation, or ideas just easily ignored.
A voice filtered upon arrival and spilled down the drain to wash away, carried to a place where rubbish seals any whisper left to fade.
Voices become whispers, and whispers become the helpless echos of ideas shed free of a mind that is as fully functional as yours,
My friend, it is but you who label me with a permanent marker, that set my skys with the bleakest ink.
Crash And BurnI wonder if other people see how I feel.
With every glare to meet my eyes,
its another preying glare to slap my face
and another glare that heats my cheeks with nervous fire
I wonder if, day after day,
if people see my fear, if they see how I shake.
When they walk by, I stumble away
because I know they don't want me near them.
I wonder if they pity me
If they see the lonely child inside my glass skin.
Sometimes they give me gentle eyes
because they feel sorry for how lonley I really am inside.
I wonder if they know I don't fit in,
if they try to welcome me but I'm too naive to see.
But everytime I just walk away because-
because everytime I try is another crash and burn.
Isomnia.To the mocking flash of my cell phone clock
The glitter of morning my closed blinds block
In a hunch on a chair or a ball on my bed
Comfortable and comfy but I stay up instead
With paper and pens and paintbrushes I raise
And the stories that unfold on each turning page
Youtube, Facebook, and clicking links
Are the things that keep me from even a blink
Round and round, my thoughts echo and spin
Closing my eyes even seems like a sin
Redbull, pepsi, and midnight snacks
Drinks of sugar in tempting twelve packs
The silence of myself and the embrace of a book
Casting and reeling until sleep's on my hook
They say theres plenty of fish in the sea
But sleep swims deeper than my hook can see
Alone in a dimming desk lamp light
Confronted by morning that stepped through the night
Open curtains, birds with a morning song
It's a shame I had to wait this long.
Keep RunningSomething broken, or something dead
and everything that was ever said
Punches, bruises, sticks and stones
and everything that broke my bones
to words they said would never hurt,
to a shoe that kicked my face with dirt
Yes, these tears are made by you
but even tears don't make lies true
Tears that dampened my pillow case
tell a story that you could never chase
and I'll keep running until I die
Because you'll never catch me, I'll watch you try
Just Words"I'm fine" is a dirty lie.
The truth is that I want to die.
"I'm tired" is not even done.
It really means "I'm tired of being no one"
"I'm better" is but a curse.
The truth is that I've never been worse
"I'm just cold" is what I say
so my sleeves can hide my scars away.
"I already ate" is said with a frown.
I starve to see the numbers on the scale go down.
"I'm okay" is probably the worst.
It really means I'm about to burst.
All these things are lies to me.
But you take this as the truth because what else would I be?
i don't believe in jesusno one celebrates losing virginity like they celebrate losing teeth.
i don't get a dollar under my pillow for having sex with my boyfriend.
there are no doctors smiling at me when i tell them my cherry has been popped.
i am a whore for having premarital sex.
i am a tramp for loving someone enough to open my body to them.
no one celebrates losing virginity like they celebrate losing teeth -
but i slip mine under my pillow anyway, and in the morning when i wake,
there is a quarter and a tiny folded note:
"you are not a slut."
Friendship isn't about..Friendship isn't about who came first and who you've known the longest. Its about who came and who stayed. ♥
mechanici want to kiss every aching wound you have,
bandage your heart every time it bleeds,
and patch up your mind over and over
because not a single tear deserves to fall
from your brandy-drenched eyes
but this dripping heart of mine can only feel
and the healing honey words it flames get caught
in the back of my throat and on the roof of my mouth
so i only have these passionate guttural cries
to tell you that i care all too much
and in order to fix you up again,
i would need to tear myself to tatters
and trade all of my working parts
for your leftover, fading pieces
but i just haven’t figured out how.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More