No matter how you do your eyebrows, they will be my favourite thing about you.
Because try can tell so much.
About your mood.
Or if you’re shocked.
Or if you’re confused.
Or anything at all.
And that’s probably a weird thing to like.
But to me they’re fascinating.
And I could watch them all day.
How do I even begin?
I don’t know.
It’s always weird seeing someone you used to spend a rather large amount of time with.
But, it’s also really refreshing.
It makes me sad when they ask why I don’t come by anymore.
And I can’t give them the true reason. Because, how do you tell them that it’s because their sister and you aren’t really friends anymore?
Not that I’m opposed to hanging out. Just, when you kind of drift from that sort of lifestyle, it’s hard to keep in touch. It’s hard to remain friends.
This might be confusing.
I used to be really close with this girl back in middle school until mid high school.
Being friends with her, I was friends with her younger brother (and there was possible mutual feelings between us).
And the last time I saw him, or even really spoke to him, was about three or more years ago.
Seeing him today was really cool.
He’s gotten so much older. And he’s grown up.
When he asked me why I don’t come over anymore, I really didn’t know what to say.
What could I say?
I mean, I’d gladly go over. Hang out with their whole family again.
I just haven’t. Because the sister and I have drifted.
And I hate that.
One of worst experiences I have gone through are friend loses.
It honestly kills me.
Being so close to someone for such a long time, and then for it all to fall apart hurts so badly.
I just, I don’t even know.
It’s weird. And uncomfortable. And I hate it.
But, it was nice to see him again. It was a silly conversation.
And I hope to have a chat with him again soon.
Man, I miss that kid.
I mis everyone I was once close to.
‘never give up’
She hid her face.
Every single day.
Behind a mask.
Under a bag.
With her hands.
She never spoke.
Answered with what she wrote.
A single word.
She kept her eyes closed.
Looking away from us.
Shut off from the world.
Unsure where to go.
Not wanting to see at all.
We all understood why.
Heard her cry.
Listened to her pleads.
Never gave her what she’d need.
Left her broken in pieces.
We didn’t care.
Didn’t know how.
What could we do?
How could we help out?
There’s no telling now.
He found her one day.
Lying on the concrete floor.
Blood flowing like a stream.
Barely a heartbeat.
A lifeless body is what he’d see.
He lifted her up.
Her mask fell.
Her eyes squinted open.
And she spoke two words.
He held on tight.
What he heard couldn’t be right.
He cradled her like a baby.
Keeping her head up.
Keeping her breath steady.
He looked in her eyes.
The brightest he’d ever seen.
Whispered soft words.
A lullaby, it seemed.
And her eyes closed once more.
Do your eyes know.
This actually isn’t bad. I’m only going to complain about the physical pain I have been having.
About a month or two ago, I twisted my back wrong and fell to the ground in pain.
My lower back was very stiff and hurting for about a week.
Then it got a lot better.
Every now and then, my lower back will hurt. But nothing too bad.
Sometime last month, I was moving a large amount of trees/branches (a lot!). And I lifted wrong.
That ended up putting my upper back in great pain.
That lasted for about two weeks.
And it feels fine now.
Today, I bend over to pick something up, and as I stand, something happens.
Pain stings my lower right back side. And travels down my bum and leg.
I have no idea how long this pain will last.
What I’m getting at is, I have to go each day hoping I don’t hurt my back. I have to worry. I have to be very precautions.
And it is the most annoying thing.
I have to deal with pain for I don’t know how long. And struggle to move.
It honestly makes everything very difficult.
I have had back issues for quite some time.
I injured it pretty badly two years ago. That was a miserable time. And the pain of that injury lasted far too long.
I think, every time I hurt my back, it makes it easier to hurt it again. And possibly hurt it worse.
I hate it!
I hate it so much!
I’m sick of worrying that if I stand up, or sit down, or stumble a little while I walk, I’m gonna hurt my back.
I’m sick of sitting, standing, walking in pain.
I’m just so sick of it!
And I’m sick of taking some sort of pain relief drug/pill to help hide the pain.
I just want to wake up tomorrow, have no back pain, and never have back pain again.
Trying to think positive and hope that keeping my head up will take the pain away.
‘never give up’
The Sun and the Moon meet the Rain.
She was like a ghost.
Always standing in the park.
Letting the breeze of each day’s wind take her breath away.
If you didn’t stare, she’d disappear.
And there was no point in searching for her.
I’ve tried approaching her.
Wanting to know her name.
Ask her about her life.
As soon as I would step close,
The wind kicked up,
And her clothes made her twirl.
Leaves would fly by.
And something would always hit me.
A nearby persons frisbee,
Or a branch from a low tree.
Out of reaction, I’d look away.
And she would be gone once more.
(Mainly my poem/quote/things)
What I write is how I feel.
But, what I write is different, still.
Now, I’m not sure if that makes sense.
The things I write are obviously personal. But they are also very made up.
I can write about a breakup, but I’ve never experienced it.
It can write about love, but never have felt it.
Does that make sense?
I overly express myself through writing. Half the time, it doesn’t even deal with how I’m feeling.
I just write.
I’ve been writing for years.
It’s just, kind of, what I like to do.
But, because of what I write, so many friends, or people in general, question me. Tell me to not write such sad things.
Why can’t I write a dramatized personal feeling?
Why can’t I express how I feel, over the edge?
This kind of reaction is not new to me.
Not at all.
I’ve been told how sad and depressing my writings are since I started writing.
From old friends that are no longer my friends.
I want to say I was in eighth grade when I wrote my first poem (or at least that’s the first (good) one I remember).
And that poem was well written. But it was sad. And I was told it was sad.
Why would my poem be sad?
I was sad. I was in a terrible place at the time. My head was full of hate. And sadness. And self threats.
And my writing reflected that. To a very high extreme.
But I kept writing.
I still write (obviously).
And, I’ll admit it. My writings can be rather depressing.
But, when you feel a certain way, and writing is your only escape, how else are you supposed to write?
(Also, “sad” pieces are a lot easier to write, in case anyone wanted to know.)
So, yes, my writing reflects my real feelings.
Whether they’re happy or sad.
But, know this, my writing is also over the top.
Because, to feel better about how crappy my life can be sometimes, I have to overpower my sadness.
I make things sounds worse than they are.
Because I’m writing.
It’s that simple.
What does all of this mean?
And I write about my feelings.
And about sad things.
But I’m also just writing.
Plain and simple.
I don’t write to get people to ask me if I’m okay (which, people don’t really ask anymore, anyways).
I don’t write for attention.
I don’t write to complain.
I simply write because I like to. And because it helps me feel better.
Now, why do I post the things I write?
Because I like to. And maybe someone, someday, will see what I’ve written, and they’ll feel better.
Or someone will like it.
(Or someone will want to publish it.)
My goal in life is to write.
And I write publicly because it’s nice to get feedback.
It’s not always good feedback.
And far too many people take my writing too seriously.
But it’s worth it.
Because I like to write!
And that’s really all there is to it.
‘never give up’
With these loses, I have also gained.