No wonder people are fake these days.
If you’re real, people shoot you down.
You write a poem about an actual problem,
people say it’s “too personal.”
What about the people that wrote about sex?
Isn’t THAT too personal?
But no, people applaud it.
Seriously, what’s wrong with the world?
I’d like to live in the Roaring 20’s,
before the depression.
Back when people still had modesty.
I find myself hating people too often.
I just watched Ben Breedlove’s video on Youtube.
I wish more than anything I had met him before he died.
If I mention one of my heart problems, most people try to change the subject or make jokes out of it.
Can’t people for once just let me vent?
Can’t they for once respect there damn bodies?
Me and him have bodies that are so effed up.
And people takes theirs for granted every effin day.
And act likes it’s no big deal.
If you’re gonna screw up your body, don’t do it in front on me.
You don’t know what it’s like to flatline.
It is the worst feeling in the world.
When he described that bright light.
I knew exactly what he was talking about.
Everything.
I try to laugh off my own condition when my friends do.
But it’s hard to forget that it scares me.
And I wish more than anyone else that I didn’t go to the doctors all the time.
Or I could go to concerts and not worrying about dying.
And I hate when people act like it’s no big deal for me to be around them incapacitated.
Do they not realize my life at any moment can be in their hands?
People are so naive and ignorant.
I hate them.
If you’re around me, DO NOT BRAG ABOUT:
- Your drinking habits.
- Your drug abuse.
- Your smoking.
- Your sex life.
You effing destroys your bodies and you expect me to be proud of you?
No, I am SO disappointed in you.
it is not because I do not look like the models on magazines,
it is because of the men in my life who have beat me down…
the name calling, fat, ugly,
people call me skinny, but I do not see it,
people call me pretty, but I am not looking in the same mirror.
all I see if the past, fat, ugly,
all I see is the so-called-men who have called me horrible names.
I just want a man to call me beautiful,
both inside and out,
if that is Prince Charming, then the world has gone to shit.
if I die young, bury me in satin,
lay me down on a bed of roses,
sink me in the river at dawn,
send me away with the words of a love song…
a penny for my thoughts, oh no, I’ll sell ‘em for a dollar,
they’re worth so much more after I’m a goner,
and maybe then you’ll hear the words I been singing,
funny, when you’re dead how people start listening…
the ballad of a dove,
go with peace and love,
gather up your tears, keep ‘em in your pocket,
save them for a time when you’re really gonna need them.
why is it everyone seems to move forward, but I stay in place?
it’s not like I’m not trying, I work my butt off, but what do I get?
why are nice people stepped on, while jerks push ahead?
why do people hurt me, when I go out of my way to help?
why does everyone else seem to have a better, easier time?
why do I have to fight to be happy, but other people carry it in bulk?
when do I get a break? when do I get to be happy? when will someone worry about me for a change?
I’m gonna miss being 17.
I wanna stay a kid forever.
Being 18 has it’s charms, but all the responsibilities are gonna suck.
I don’t know why in this past week leading up to my birthday, I’ve become so nostalgic about being 17.
Everything I’ve read on random occasions this week has had something about wishing they were 17 again, and how it’s the best time.
First there was the All Time Low song, then a post by my favorite author Richelle Mead, and then in my book.
Then there’s the movie “17 Again,” the show “When I Was 17,” and the song “Seventeen Forever” by Metro Station.
Can I please just stay 17 forever?
I'm from Ohio...and I like to make short films...and write...and hope to be a film producer/director and script writer...maybe author...?
