I miss this blog. I miss pouring my heart out to my virtually non-existent reader base. I miss recording my mundane life story. I'm also going absolutely insane without you. Let's never break up.
So, What's new?
Alex Day is being a douchebag on the internet again. Hopefully I'll actually follow that sentence up with some context in a full blog post when I find the time. At the moment it's the middle of a school night and I still have a ton of homework to complete.
I'm in my final year of Secondary school and I hate everything and everyone. It therefore seems to make sense that I would return to the internet to vent my 3M0T!ONZ.
On the bright side: It's finally acting like autumn! October is upon us, officially my favourite month. We've got Halloween to look forward to, dark evenings, hot chocolate and marshmallows, winds howling half the night - what's not to love? I get that I might sound sarcastic but I truly love this time of year. I'd take a freezing bed over a sweaty summer afternoon any day.
I'm going to make you a promise right here and now. Please try to forget about the previous promises I made to you, I'm going to try really hard at this one. I'm going to blog once a week.
Are you still there? Don't freak out it's going to be okay I swear. I have a second blog which I'm sure I linked to in a previous post. Once a week I will post here or there and nowhere else. I'm going to make this work.
I feel like I'm not a person anymore, I'm just a skin-sack full of stress and procrastination and more stress. One of these days I'll go into detail about how you definitely should not do school. I've practically an expert.
Remember how a while ago I was going to stop procrastinating? You didn't really believe that would work, did you?
Other new, other news...Oh I'm entering a poetry reciting competition next week. Yep. Why you ask is a socially anxious glossophobe entering a competition that involves speaking in front of a large group of people? Because I can muddafucker. Because I persist in trying to prove to myself that I can and will not be held back by my emotional limitations. And because I get to miss a day of school to go to a boys' college. Bite me.
This was fun. I miss writing silly things on the internet that may potentially convince employers not to hire me. I live life to the fullest, I know.
So I guess I should now go do that homework that was due in today. Wow. I just love my freaking life.
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Monday, 6 October 2014
Wednesday, 4 June 2014
Asking Too Much
I want to share with you a poem. I feel as though if I could answer every question in this poem and piece the answers together into a picture then I'd finally know myself.
I want you to tell me about every person you’ve ever been in love with.
Tell me why you loved them,
then tell me why they loved you.
Tell me about a day in your life you didn’t think you’d live through.
Tell me what the word home means to you
and tell me in a way that I’ll know your mother’s name
just by the way you describe your bedroom
when you were eight.
See, I want to know the first time you felt the weight of hate,
and if that day still trembles beneath your bones.
Do you prefer to play in puddles of rain
or bounce in the bellies of snow?
And if you were to build a snowman,
would you rip two branches from a tree to build your snowman arms
or would leave your snowman armless
for the sake of being harmless to the tree?
And if you would,
would you notice how that tree weeps for you
because your snowman has no arms to hug you
every time you kiss him on the cheek?
Do you kiss your friends on the cheek?
Do you sleep beside them when they’re sad
even if it makes your lover mad?
Do you think that anger is a sincere emotion
or just the timid motion of a fragile heart trying to beat away its pain?
See, I wanna know what you think of your first name,
and if you often lie awake at night and imagine your mother’s joy
when she spoke it for the very first time.
I want you to tell me all the ways you’ve been unkind.
Tell me all the ways you’ve been cruel.
Tell me, knowing I often picture Gandhi at ten years old
beating up little boys at school.
If you were walking by a chemical plant
where smokestacks were filling the sky with dark black clouds
would you holler “Poison! Poison! Poison!” really loud
or would you whisper
“That cloud looks like a fish,
and that cloud looks like a fairy!”
Do you believe that Mary was really a virgin?
Do you believe that Moses really parted the sea?
And if you don’t believe in miracles, tell me —
how would you explain the miracle of my life to me?
See, I wanna know if you believe in any god
or if you believe in many gods
or better yet
what gods believe in you.
And for all the times that you’ve knelt before the temple of yourself,
have the prayers you asked come true?
And if they didn’t, did you feel denied?
And if you felt denied,
denied by who?
I wanna know what you see when you look in the mirror
on a day you’re feeling good.
I wanna know what you see when you look in the mirror
on a day you’re feeling bad.
I wanna know the first person who taught you your beauty
could ever be reflected on a lousy piece of glass.
If you ever reach enlightenment
will you remember how to laugh?
Have you ever been a song?
Would you think less of me
if I told you I’ve lived my entire life a little off-key?
And I’m not nearly as smart as my poetry
I just plagiarize the thoughts of the people around me
who have learned the wisdom of silence.
Do you believe that concrete perpetuates violence?
And if you do —
I want you to tell me of a meadow
where my skateboard will soar.
See, I wanna know more than what you do for a living.
I wanna know how much of your life you spend just giving,
and if you love yourself enough to also receive sometimes.
I wanna know if you bleed sometimes
from other people’s wounds,
and if you dream sometimes
that this life is just a balloon —
that if you wanted to, you could pop,
but you never would
‘cause you’d never want it to stop.
If a tree fell in the forest
and you were the only one there to hear —
if its fall to the ground didn’t make a sound,
would you panic in fear that you didn’t exist,
or would you bask in the bliss of your nothingness?
And lastly, let me ask you this:
If you and I went for a walk
and the entire walk, we didn’t talk —
do you think eventually, we’d… kiss?
No, wait.
That’s asking too much —
after all,
this is only our first date.
Andrea Gibson
I want you to tell me about every person you’ve ever been in love with.
Tell me why you loved them,
then tell me why they loved you.
Tell me about a day in your life you didn’t think you’d live through.
Tell me what the word home means to you
and tell me in a way that I’ll know your mother’s name
just by the way you describe your bedroom
when you were eight.
See, I want to know the first time you felt the weight of hate,
and if that day still trembles beneath your bones.
Do you prefer to play in puddles of rain
or bounce in the bellies of snow?
And if you were to build a snowman,
would you rip two branches from a tree to build your snowman arms
or would leave your snowman armless
for the sake of being harmless to the tree?
And if you would,
would you notice how that tree weeps for you
because your snowman has no arms to hug you
every time you kiss him on the cheek?
Do you kiss your friends on the cheek?
Do you sleep beside them when they’re sad
even if it makes your lover mad?
Do you think that anger is a sincere emotion
or just the timid motion of a fragile heart trying to beat away its pain?
See, I wanna know what you think of your first name,
and if you often lie awake at night and imagine your mother’s joy
when she spoke it for the very first time.
I want you to tell me all the ways you’ve been unkind.
Tell me all the ways you’ve been cruel.
Tell me, knowing I often picture Gandhi at ten years old
beating up little boys at school.
If you were walking by a chemical plant
where smokestacks were filling the sky with dark black clouds
would you holler “Poison! Poison! Poison!” really loud
or would you whisper
“That cloud looks like a fish,
and that cloud looks like a fairy!”
Do you believe that Mary was really a virgin?
Do you believe that Moses really parted the sea?
And if you don’t believe in miracles, tell me —
how would you explain the miracle of my life to me?
See, I wanna know if you believe in any god
or if you believe in many gods
or better yet
what gods believe in you.
And for all the times that you’ve knelt before the temple of yourself,
have the prayers you asked come true?
And if they didn’t, did you feel denied?
And if you felt denied,
denied by who?
I wanna know what you see when you look in the mirror
on a day you’re feeling good.
I wanna know what you see when you look in the mirror
on a day you’re feeling bad.
I wanna know the first person who taught you your beauty
could ever be reflected on a lousy piece of glass.
If you ever reach enlightenment
will you remember how to laugh?
Have you ever been a song?
Would you think less of me
if I told you I’ve lived my entire life a little off-key?
And I’m not nearly as smart as my poetry
I just plagiarize the thoughts of the people around me
who have learned the wisdom of silence.
Do you believe that concrete perpetuates violence?
And if you do —
I want you to tell me of a meadow
where my skateboard will soar.
See, I wanna know more than what you do for a living.
I wanna know how much of your life you spend just giving,
and if you love yourself enough to also receive sometimes.
I wanna know if you bleed sometimes
from other people’s wounds,
and if you dream sometimes
that this life is just a balloon —
that if you wanted to, you could pop,
but you never would
‘cause you’d never want it to stop.
If a tree fell in the forest
and you were the only one there to hear —
if its fall to the ground didn’t make a sound,
would you panic in fear that you didn’t exist,
or would you bask in the bliss of your nothingness?
And lastly, let me ask you this:
If you and I went for a walk
and the entire walk, we didn’t talk —
do you think eventually, we’d… kiss?
No, wait.
That’s asking too much —
after all,
this is only our first date.
Andrea Gibson
Wednesday, 21 August 2013
I don't want to do this
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Blogging is hard
Like your mom.
There was a young man from Spain
Who blogged all day out in the rain
He came in at night
To get a quick bite
And went back to unbearable pain
Blogging can sometimes be so much of fun
Right now I'd prefer to shoot my foot with a gun
Sometimes my mind
fills with dust
like the sky
full of rain clouds
I'm not a blogger
I'm not a poet
I'm just a dreamer
Hell, do I know it
Violets are blue
Blogging is hard
There was a young man from Spain
Who blogged all day out in the rain
He came in at night
To get a quick bite
And went back to unbearable pain
Blogging can sometimes be so much of fun
Right now I'd prefer to shoot my foot with a gun
Sometimes my mind
fills with dust
like the sky
full of rain clouds
I'm not a blogger
I'm not a poet
I'm just a dreamer
Hell, do I know it
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