I wonder



What you see when you close your eyes at night.

Why I’m always searching for and never really finding you.

How two people can be so close while so far apart. 

When the bubble will burst, and the fantasy will flop.

What our story will be after the climax.

Who will fall apart first.

If our love will survive.

I wonder.

Good night, Sleep tight


 My friend, and man of many talents, Richard Thomas, has an exciting thing going on with his online magazine Gamut.

He mentioned that his site will even have some dark poetry, which inspired this rhyme. Go check his powerhouse, Gamut out after reading! By the way, he’ll be offering some great opportunities for writers (which most of us bloggers aspire to be).


What is it now, you frightened child,

With tousled hair and eyes so wild?

The bed bug monsters in your head

Grow when you get out of bed.

Staying in bed keeps them so small,

They might not even bite at all.

In fact, your fear makes them more strong

So hush now child, and run along

Be careful not to make too much noise

Bed bugs love the taste of girls and boys

If you start to cry, they’ll make you scream.

You’ll wish it was only a bad dream.

They’ll rip you open, and eat your heart

They’ll tear your little body apart.

So you’d better get right back in bed,

Before the morning finds you dead.

Good night my child, hope you sleep tight

Don’t let all the bed bugs bite!

RIP


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RIP all the bs I’ve written out of some screwed up idealistic and totally inaccurate view of myself and what I’m supposed to be. I was looking over some of my old posts, trying to find the time frame of certain things from 2012 that I should probably not talk much about, and I couldn’t help but notice that for a while I changed, said stuff I didn’t mean, and hurt people who actually were not trying to screw me over. Never again.

I hereby vow to never write something out of some misguided sense of loyalty, or trying to appease someone, or some other screwed up reason. I will never again put myself in a position where my entire world hinges on someone’s idea of who I am, or who I should be. The posts I wrote then, and the fact that I hurt people who were truly my friends, online or not, sickens me and it will not happen again. Ruining the friendships I had built here was an absolute mistake, but I was too weak and insecure to see that. That version of me has died. No one will ever coerce me into writing things that I don’t feel true again, and I’m so sorry I ever allowed it to happen.

Funny: A bedtime story


 
He had never been popular. Tod was a normal looking kid who got average grades in his typical middle school. 

He wasn’t very athletic, nor one of those “bad boy” types who seemed to always be sneaking around with a cigarette or a girl.

The fact that girls seemed to go for guys like that, was almost enough to bring him back to the “girls are stupid” phase, except for her. Julie.

She had everything a 14 year old boy could long for and more. The only problem was that Julie was popular, aka blind to the rest of humanity, especially nobodies like him.

So Tod daydreamed about doing something amazing.

When the news segment was about a school shooting in Florida, he fantasized about being the kid who took the gunman down and saved the class.

If the weatherman mentioned the possibility of strong storms, he fantasized about leading Julie’s class out of a damaged school.

Even his dreams were about giving Julie the Heimleich maneuver or saving her from a distracted driver at the crosswalk.

He’d be the hero somehow. It felt like his destiny.

One year. 

In one year he’d gone from being unpopular to the most popular kid in school, and now, here he was reading a note from Julie, and she’s calling him her hero.

One year of tests, diagnoses, medications and hospitals was all it took to be a hero. Well, that and his life. 

He’d never imagined dying in a hospital bed before he turned 16, but he could feel it coming. Funny, he thought to himself.

Censorship


There simply is a time and place

To show the sides of your writer’s face.

I tend to post it all too quick

From beautiful to really sick

But sometimes I need a gentle remind 

That some of it should be held behind

The doors that only a few people see

Some might be better only for me.

That doesn’t mean I’m being fake

There’s only so much the world can take.

So I will try to keep a lid

On the writings that are better hid

Behind the public social wall

The view available to all.

Self-censorship is something I can do

Whether the piece is fake or true. 

I’ll have a secret writing mind

And leave the controversy behind.

Blocked


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I promise that I really tried

To take my readers on a ride.

To keep them spellbound with suspense

To write in conflict and keep it tense.

I tried to write some sad stuff too

Make them believe it could be true.

Tried to write some witty verse

But I must be under some sort of curse

Because each time I start to write,

The words refuse to come into site.

I’m left staring at a blank page

More annoyed than full of rage.

I simply want to write a bit.

This feeling makes me want to quit.

So instead of trying to get it done.

I’ll write a poem just for fun.

So there! You mental blocking jerk!

Writing shouldn’t be so much work.