Scribblingsi once read a poem & never felt so unworthy of literacy ...and yet never so pleased to feel so.Scribblings
those among us not receptive to the power of words need only find one such piece; they'll never see these placid symbols the same way again
how, i thought, could so much emotion be transferred by so tiny a collection of scribblings?
a few squiggly lines in that word & no straight lines in this one, but the ones just before; some grouped here and others still, yes, right here; a few spaces in between & a lonely dot at the end.
two-dimensional variations on a theme, nothin
Losing SelfFeelings never felt before Make passing through my door a war. Reality will complicate What the free have never sought beforeLosing Self
A newer state of mind emerging Answers had begin to fade Doubtless once, questions creating A lock that memory forbade
A slight hatred begins to grow Submission fought, but never shown Ineffability now forms Desire of what once was known
A shard of old identity Floats atop the sifting sand Never still, and ever fighting, To regain some essence of solid land
Body and SoulTo shed… is this the task of the broken soul? Tattered, and covered in its own remains, The essence once forgotten – so central, creating its later form –Body and Soul
Believes in its unconquerability; its immortality once more, So that shedding the rubble & ash of former scorching becomes possible,
Allowing the essence always present, To kindle once again…
Its formlessness made it no less real, though this was forgotten. And though the task is never really itself to end –
The shedding of the soul’s form to reveal its formless essence – &nbs
To SeverFormidable emotions never tire, and never cease to ramify, Especially for those who feel outside the range of Emotion’s Eye. To be a victim, or victimize? A false binary for those wondering why. Your soul knows the extent of your actions and deeds. And all that you truly deserve will heed, No desire on your part, no wish or cry, Save for selflessly severed ties. To sever, to end, to cut, to die, Lends no hope to future lives. How can hope be born again from the ashes of a scorched soul?To Sever
meteorite."you're making an impact on people," he whispers to me as he pulls me into his lap and lets his fingers slip into the waistband of my jeans.meteorite.
i put this thought in my pocket and carry it with me while i practice turning cartwheels.
an impact. an impact.
(by the end of the week i can execute a perfect cartwheel and i have decided to change my name to "meteor.")
---
when he's angry at me he only types in single letters.
"i love you. the stars are covered up with clouds right now."
"o."
"please, talk to me?"
"k." &nbs
borderline nostalgic.i used to stand in the middle of the railroad track on sundays, one foot on either side of the county border line, just so i could tell you that i was in two places at once.borderline nostalgic.
you would shake your head in that disapproving, familiar way, and tell me that no one could be in two places at once, and besides, standing on railroad tracks was illegal, and i had better watch it or else i was liable to get ticketed.
i informed you that wanting to live a little was not illegal.
the day you died i rode full speed down the nearby hill with my bare legs on the handlebars of my mother's bike, the sun shining full in my
--
"Real revolution starts with learning.
If you not angry,
you're not paying attention."
--Rise Against
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______________________________ ___________
~Shillo
[link]
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