When she was five
she believed in mermaids
For 95% of the ocean
was undiscovered
So she went to school
and told her classmates
how she wanted to meet a mermaid
They laughed at her-
"Mermaids don't exist."
When she was ten
she watched those same kids
sit in wooden church pews
praying to God-
Proofless.
She laughed at them
for being hypocrites
Modern story telling has gotten to a point where, to coherently relay a story to the reader, an author must define specific entities of good and evil so that the friction between the two opposing forces may act as the path through which the plot can move forward. However, the concept itself, of good and evil, is defined by our own set of morals that society chooses to accept. But what would happen if the ideals of good and evil were reversed? Tragedies would then become fairy tales and happy endings would include the success of the evil entity. Although looking at it subjectively, nothing more would really change. The stories would continue o
When people ask me what being 16 was like
Will I lie?
I wont tell them about rock bottom
I wont mention drug overdose
Sitting in the dark
Changing hospital bandages
And crying
As it all comes back
Memories as it kills me from the inside
The bitter taste of escape on my tongue
Inside me and I said goodbye
Sinking to your knees on the bathroom floor
The cool sensation of tears and stained tiles
As my body tried to rid what my brain had begged for
Green uniforms and latex hands
Poke and prod, try to right me
In so many ways
They asked with lights that burned
And I told
How many pills
How deep the blade had sunk
Dragging me to the ambulance
You heard if sticks and stones
were ham-handedly tossed,
the bones may break
but the person would not
You heard words could never hurt,
so you tried throwing them too,
not understanding
what the person had been through
And you continued tossing
not realizing you were wrong,
until one stone remained
when they could no longer hold on:
A gravestone.
Can I tell you something?
Just listen for a second.
I think that you're amazing.
Not just you,
But who you really are.
What I see underneath.
Sure you can be mean sometimes.
Can't everyone?
But I've seen you be sweet.
I'm not blind.
And your looks are perfect
No I'm not saying you are the most beautiful
Or the most handsome person in the world.
I'm saying you are perfect.
Your eyes can hold a gaze for hours.
Your smile can draw anyone away from the world.
Your laugh can brighten up anyone's day.
And your personality can make anyone fall in love.
I wish I could tell you that in person
But this poem must suffice
Because where you are is a
Why does it feel like you are never there
I have got my arm stretched out
But, now I believe my tired mind is playing tricks on me
There is no hand there for me to grab for
I open my mouth and take a breath
Crying I call out for you
But, you won’t turn around
You won’t acknowledge my pain
Instead you mumble one word comforts
Over your shoulder
You won’t even face me now
So, you miss everything
The tears, the threats, and the fresh scars
You won’t even reach out a hand
When I am struggling
Just to keep my head above water
But, I am not mad
How could I ever be
I was the stupid one
I was the one that said
Doctor Who 101
1. Bananas are good.
2. Watch out for women named Jackie, they slap. Hard.
3. "Go to your room" are terrible last words.
4. Be silent in The Library.
5. Fear of the dark is NOT irrational.
6. Don't blink, blink and you're dead.
7. Travelling with the Doctor is not safe; however it is the journey of a lifetime.
8. Statues of weeping angles are dangerous.
9. The Doctor is rubbish at weddings, especially his own.
10. The Doctor does not appreciate being called "Doc".
11. The Doctor likes the word fantastic and brilliant.
12. A strange man in your bedroom does not mean anything can happen.
13. Lots of planets h
Journey - Like Children by altairattorney, literature
Literature
Journey - Like Children
That distant sound we hear is the same call of ages.
We fly to each other on a familiar path, and our robes shine like snow within the other pair of eyes – the marks we bear are read effortlessly, twin to the timeless song in our voices.
Our grace is made of laughter, the secrets are smiles. Time is nothing when we wrap ourselves in joy; the pattern of our dances rings all through the desert, loud and cheerful.
To the little ones like us, it is a game.
We have trodden these ways in black once, we have learnt together – this new dawn must be of happiness, for ourselves and for the embraces we find again in each other. Our call