sing me a song

(many societies understand family through other concepts than genetics)

we all live together 

making music through our lives

every action ringing, shattering the silence of monotony  

oh, here life is never mundane, but interesting, twisted and bright 

each of us with our own song

each of us with our own fight  

so sing me a song 

pick up that guitar 

and tiny harmonica 

turn on the organ and whistle along 

we'll act like we're great, 

cus when we're together, we're great,

sing me the song of our lives 

(i am home 

goodnight, brother, 

i am home)  

crossed

her words crossed my vision

and he told of it too 

not to me, the world, but i'm apart of that so i heard 

and then him, he's effortless 

but for more

i get word in convenience 

only sometimes...

not usually

remembered

because quickly warmth is forgotten 

leaving the amity flawed 

still there are the pictures captured in whispers 

smiles and smirks

but not observed 

i notice it's when obvious  

only when most eyes are closed 

only when predicted and convenient

only when best noted, by none 

i grow up

i have a fish

named fishy 

so original, i know 

what am i, five years old? 

something like that, sometimes...

then night comes along 

and i grow up. 

older than five, 

older than i am, really 

awkward and lovely

you know those days...
where nothing matters
everything that happens feels so surreal
when you don't go through the motions, because there are none
when it feels like you're a spectator
like nothing is actually happening to you
you're just watching
so you're invincible
possibilities
the world is on your fingertips
so you stare at it because you've nothing better to do
the days when you find beauty in the simplest things
things you overlooked entirely before
your senses seem heightened
because every song has glorious new beauty
you can almost taste the notes it seems so lush
and food is exquisite, even the simplest
awkward and lovely these days are...
i've had one of those days today
i wish it was endless
appreciate the simple

soy milk and cynicism

today i woke up to chris yu jumping on me.
then he and brooke left for bike training.
i've recently moved out of the house
it's so much better now

after they left i took off my clothes,
had a cigarette,
and started listening to those stupid, hopeful, romantic, whiny
love songs.
i think all these guys are full of shit.
they act like they care,
but it's all a big facade.
they know what to say
they never really care, you only think that they do.
"hold your breath,
tonight will be the night that i fall for you,
i won't live to see another day,
because a girl like you's impossible to find..."
ha
hope she didn't hold her breath because she'd be dead by now.
sorry to be cynical,
actually i'm not sorry.
sorry i said i was sorry when i didn't mean it.
they only want you around as temporary filler
like the toothpaste you stick in the holes in the walls
i wish i didn't feel this way
i wish i was still hopeful that someday someone would sweep me off my feet
and be my prince charming
but that's not gonna happen
nope
someone prove my cynical sentiments wrong,
please
humans are incapable of true love.
we can only exhibit what we think is love
but all it really is is some long drawn out infatuation or lust
real, pure love can only come from God, so why do we even try.
i'm gonna go drink soy milk
drown myself in that blue carton, always the best option
ps don't call me sweetheart if you don't really mean it
and you don't
so don't

i might not feel this way later, today even, but for now, i'm pessimistic

i tend to make a fool of myself

yesterday i:
-"dropped it" so hard that i ripped my pencil skirt
-wore a paper plate on my face as a mask

today i:
-spilled a whole glass of soy milk all over me
-laughed out loud at a text while sitting alone, and was caught
-accidentally sprayed myself in the face with the hose while trying to water the garden
-locked myself in my bathroom

pearl

i just noticed that one of my fish has died
her name was pearl
i'm actually a bit shaken up
& i'm afraid to fish her out of the bowl
it's too weird looking at her
poor thing
she was beautiful
even if she was just a silly goldfish, with a huge belly, that waddled
she was beautiful in her own little way
the way she wasn't solid orange but had little which polka dot
and her big black eyes like little oil droplets
the other fish don't even notice
sometimes i think it would be nice to be a gold fish
death isn't sad, you just go long with your life
but at the same time
they live a forgotten life
not only one that people forget
but one that they do as well
and where would we be without our memories and experiences
they are what make us who we are right this very second
i take back my comment about wanting to be a goldfish
i want a cigarette now
i don't have any
i'll just have a glass of soy milk
and read interview with the vampire
yum