Vision+Voice

I read until the very text lines,
Blurred between my eyes
I spent twenty minutes
And thought I could finish,
But instead watched the time tick by.
I could cry. That one sentence
Refused to make sense, I won’t lie,
My brain doesn’t want to cooperate,
Perhaps I need a break, I’ll wait.
But not too long I hope,
I still need to write an essay
On some pope

Oh, how I wish I was a poet,
With a tongue so swift and sweet,
And words so soft and stoic
They would make even grown men weep

And oh, I wish I was a writer,
Who makes worlds just as they please,
In a copper mixing pot
Or a baker’s pan with grease

In that world beyond my grasp,
Where the noble flag flaps in the breeze
Inside the proud warrior’s clasp.

Yet those golden fields lie far away,
So far out of reach…

But oh, these things take practice,
And a person cannot slack,
So I guess I’ll have to pass this,
As those are qualities I lack

Yet the world waits for no one,
And the going is just as rough,
So I guess I’ll start tomorrow,
And try my hardest to be tough

I hate sand
It isn’t grand,
It’s on my hand
Oh, I hate sand

They say the world is an oyster
Which implies it’s a shell,
Which is all fine and dandy
But I don’t like oysters very well

I had once a friend who liked mopping,
And drank soup with great slurp-like popping,
He wanted to teach,
Or maybe to preach,
But he decided to keep on slop-glopping

The roar could send even the strongest to their knees
The air broken by their miserable pleas
Wingbeats that could shatter bone
Able to withstand any blade you hone
Sharp claws tear through skin,
No, you’ll never win.
Flames that cover the terrain in ash,
It’s best to not be rash,
This dragon has no home,
Opting instead to roam,
But others, have a cave,
Deeply hidden in the mountains away.
The large shadow flickers over the grass,
The mountains bow to let it pass,
We can’t do anything but pray,
And stand to fight, come what may.

A fierce breeze with leaves
The powerful surge of storm
Calling the strong-willed

Soft summer rain brings
Sweet flowers that float gently
On the creek’s water

Cuando lloro, es en silencio
Si mi mundo se esta destruyendo, lo apago
Pero el cariño, Jamas se demuestra.
Me dijo Mi mama “porque lloras si nadien se murio”
Lo que no sabe es que la mitad de mi se apago y ya esta enterada en un sepultorio.
Jamas muestres tus sentimentos verdaderos, La gente se aprovechara de ti.
No seas vulenrable me dijeron mis padres mexicanos.

What is the world?
It’s a question that’s been asked…maybe once or twice.
It’s a neverending belief of…
What’s wrong and what’s right.
Ask it.
Where does it lead us?
Into the bedroom of a small child.
Alone.
Mentally Alone.
She was told it was in her head.
They would never stop loving her.

What happens when the hourglass stops?
The final grain hitting the pile?
It’s not forever,
Is it?

She becomes older,
Changing.
She convinced herself crying is for weaklings,
Cowards.
But she still does it,
Sometimes.
All these years with the yelling, the mental abuse…
Has left her believing there is no love.

Why have beliefs led you astray?
The very mention of hope sends you reeling?
It’s not forever, right?
Right?

In a future that hasn’t happened,
A change becomes a part of her.
There is still no love.
She is better, but when no one can be perfect,
How can she?
She is using her talents of listening to help others,
But she feels as if she isn’t good enough.
She’s Not, but no one can be.

This is a story of the world,
Born to a place of fear and terror.
This is a story that is true,
Not sugarcoated in a “Happily Ever After.”
This is a story of life, not how to do it,
Vivere.