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Literature Text
I've learnt that people change,
It's not something I want to do,
But it's something that I must arrange.
Each speck of my life that I swept under the rug,
Each time I said it didn't matter, with a dismissive shrug.
Each time is still ticking,
Just as each dog is still licking.
Even when I'm not there.
I saw someone look back in time
And pick up the pieces of her mind.
"This is me,
Each little part,
All of this was then,
But none of this is past".
She will show off each silly phase,
It really was her, and not 'just one of those days'.
Sometimes I wish that was me.
To have a grasp of life today,
Though it floats in my mind astray,
Each bird, each word, each comedy.
But only sometimes, do I wish that were me.
There were times when love was all the rage,
Subtle hearts, drawn on the corner of each page.
Some to the girl I wish I could talk to,
Some to the girl I wish would just walk through
My mind and into the room.
In time I came to see the reasons why,
A love, life like this was doomed to die.
I needed to take care of my looks,
To lift my head out of the books.
To tell Mum not to buy me clothes,
"I'd actually quite like, to wear one of those".
I took every colour and put it on,
"Who cares if they clash, it's just for fun",
I could look in the mirror, past my longer hair,
"I finally did it, I'm finally there".
Sure I looked like a hippy and fag,
"But hey man, life's no longer a drag".
Though it's fair to say
That the language didn't stay.
Was this really such a drastic makeover,
Could I draw a before, middle and after?
Not then, and not even now.
So I see these other people change,
And I still want to know how.
This man I know, described his every style,
How he wore his hair and how he wore his smile.
He talked of how is brother copied him,
Found his old clothes in the bin,
Put them on and tried to be chic.
He learnt the walk and he learnt the look,
He followed his brother, each step he took.
My friend, to me, he said "I chopped and changed,
And vowed never to look the same,
As my annoying twin brother,
And his stupid looking hair".
When I try, I look back and see
Nothing but disappointing memories.
Some are sad, but that's not what I mean,
I've never had anyone who was with my scene.
I've performed in front of them all
In one man duologue,
Looking like Alvy Singer,
And needing an Annie Hall.
Not even a girl, with whom to pass the time,
But someone to respond the other lines.
People have auditioned, and will audition still,
Often out of sync, and rarely by free will.
To have someone copy my clothes,
Would be really fun,
But what do I know?
I met someone who reminded me of me,
A younger me with less confidence, but more self esteem.
I looked at him and turned my head,
"With all that arrogance, I'm glad I'm free,
From living in such an egocentric reality".
I would have said that, if I thought it were my place,
But my lack of esteem hit me in the face.
I would rather be able to do,
But not to want,
Than to want so much,
Yet unable to go through.
You will never know when you're something new,
But if you look at what other people do,
You'll see things that used to be you.
It's not something I want to do,
But it's something that I must arrange.
Each speck of my life that I swept under the rug,
Each time I said it didn't matter, with a dismissive shrug.
Each time is still ticking,
Just as each dog is still licking.
Even when I'm not there.
I saw someone look back in time
And pick up the pieces of her mind.
"This is me,
Each little part,
All of this was then,
But none of this is past".
She will show off each silly phase,
It really was her, and not 'just one of those days'.
Sometimes I wish that was me.
To have a grasp of life today,
Though it floats in my mind astray,
Each bird, each word, each comedy.
But only sometimes, do I wish that were me.
There were times when love was all the rage,
Subtle hearts, drawn on the corner of each page.
Some to the girl I wish I could talk to,
Some to the girl I wish would just walk through
My mind and into the room.
In time I came to see the reasons why,
A love, life like this was doomed to die.
I needed to take care of my looks,
To lift my head out of the books.
To tell Mum not to buy me clothes,
"I'd actually quite like, to wear one of those".
I took every colour and put it on,
"Who cares if they clash, it's just for fun",
I could look in the mirror, past my longer hair,
"I finally did it, I'm finally there".
Sure I looked like a hippy and fag,
"But hey man, life's no longer a drag".
Though it's fair to say
That the language didn't stay.
Was this really such a drastic makeover,
Could I draw a before, middle and after?
Not then, and not even now.
So I see these other people change,
And I still want to know how.
This man I know, described his every style,
How he wore his hair and how he wore his smile.
He talked of how is brother copied him,
Found his old clothes in the bin,
Put them on and tried to be chic.
He learnt the walk and he learnt the look,
He followed his brother, each step he took.
My friend, to me, he said "I chopped and changed,
And vowed never to look the same,
As my annoying twin brother,
And his stupid looking hair".
When I try, I look back and see
Nothing but disappointing memories.
Some are sad, but that's not what I mean,
I've never had anyone who was with my scene.
I've performed in front of them all
In one man duologue,
Looking like Alvy Singer,
And needing an Annie Hall.
Not even a girl, with whom to pass the time,
But someone to respond the other lines.
People have auditioned, and will audition still,
Often out of sync, and rarely by free will.
To have someone copy my clothes,
Would be really fun,
But what do I know?
I met someone who reminded me of me,
A younger me with less confidence, but more self esteem.
I looked at him and turned my head,
"With all that arrogance, I'm glad I'm free,
From living in such an egocentric reality".
I would have said that, if I thought it were my place,
But my lack of esteem hit me in the face.
I would rather be able to do,
But not to want,
Than to want so much,
Yet unable to go through.
You will never know when you're something new,
But if you look at what other people do,
You'll see things that used to be you.
Literature
Letter to a stranger
Dear _________ ,
You don't know me.
I don't know you.
We are merely two strangers
Who happen to be eying each other in a crowded room.
I don't feel so lonely anymore.
I secretly want to get to know you.
I wish you could read my mind.
Find my little black box
the one with all the paper cranes.
Every one has
Love, blood, and ink--
With you written inside.
What would you say?
What would you do if you knew--
Our hearts beat in sync?
Literature
a week and a day
I couldn't stop thinking about
the one time my friend said
in the light
my eyes look like honey.
I kept ending up in the
sun
for some reason. What did you think?
Honey?
And the dragonflies that kept
being near me. The first one landed
right next to me on the rock and
another one was
so close to my hand but
I scared it away.
I helped you build your bridge.
I didn't touch your hand today.
It's not that I didn't want to, but
I don't need help.
I'm strong and if I can walk
I'm going to walk.
In retrospect, that's ok. It's
probably better that way. Awkwardness.
Different from the incremental
dips in conversation that
you started filling with
Literature
kaleidoscope.
Even though it is said that the human eye can see about 16.8 million different colors, we're all pretty much color blind in the end.
Today, I am blue, and you are red; today the fear begins again.
The sky is a milky white and your eyes are an empty grey, but you somehow still manage a smile: this is the first thing I notice. The second is that your shoes are untied, then that your gaze seems unfocused, then that your hair is a disaster, then that your voice sounds like rain and I hate rain.
You catch my stare.
I turn away because I am afraid.
You are uncertainty and unpredictability, and for this, I hate you; the unexpected is a d
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Well that was quite the saga, ser, I enjoyed.