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Writing is complex. It both binds you and sets you free. The key is to write for your own sanity, your own pleasure, instead of other’s. If a writer strays from this path, he/she would become lost and manipulated by other people and his work wouldn’t have the same quality. A writer expresses his/her own feelings in one of the most raw forms: it’s the cleanest one, but also the most difficult. Writing anything takes a good head and a extreme heart.

Of Age

The light breeze brushing the skin,
Eyes staring out the window at nothing,
The hum of the city that is a hum no more,
The ears escaped to seek sounds of shores,
There is no noise in the thoughts that came,
A remark on the irony of time is made,
The pictures are old, faces in them are young,
A wonder as to whom those faces now belong,
As the piano plays the eyes see a montage,
Tears find their way across a cheek,
Echoes heard from memories gone,
Wishes are made to return to the past.
Today will be a memory again,
May be full of hope, or of regret,
Arms searching to hold them,
Hands wanting to make the future,
The mind a fallen leader with wisdom.
Happiness is sought, had less often,
Some understood it was not to be found,
But accepted.

Depression

An area sunk below its surrounding (Depression)

There is an uncertainty that resides within,
Where meaning should be,
Forehead weighed down by a frown,
Where bliss should be,
A dampened spirit lies in wake,
Where belief should be,
Escaping the world,
The world where I should be,
Looking away from what is,
Looking for where I would like to be,
There is ignorance at purpose,
Where doing should be,
There is a Depression,
Where life should be.

-Bottled-
I paint my face with clay
Of the river bed,
Let my tears wash into the bay
As the ocean spreads,
What a magical potion
In every emotion,

Drink Me up.

6:54 AM

always searching for something
never quite learning
it’s a new day and hey
he’s still coming like he never went
away

here’s everything
but won’t keep him sitting still
never satisfied until something’s epic
but boy, don’t you see?

here’s me

things get confusing in the morning
while I’m sleeping he’s prepping
he’s going away, oh stay
he’s still going and I’m left alone
today

here’s everything
but won’t keep him sitting still
never satisfied until something’s epic
but boy, don’t you see?

here’s me

always feeling like the world is leaving
never thinking, always taking
he’s on his way but hey
he’s chasing nothing
all day

here’s something
I won’t be sitting still
you’re never satisfied, nothing’s epic
so I’m making you see–

—
I wrote (scribbled) these lyrics (I’d like to think that they are, at least) randomly early morning of New Year.

When I was younger my dad always told me that if a boy wasn’t willing to get down on his hands and knees and beg for me, he wasn’t worth it.
My aunt always told me that boys were only good for three things; buying you stuff, opening stuff, and then carrying the stuff they bought for you.
My grandma always told me that she would send me to a convent, because boys were trouble and I was too pretty to get wrinkles because of them.
I guess you could say I have pretty high expectations. A while ago I wrote about my perfect guy. I think I’ll try that again.
I want a guy that will dance with me. Someone who will twirl me in my white dress, sing like Frank Sinatra, open doors for me. I want someone who buys me flowers just because it’s Tuesday, and tell me when they’re angry. I want someone who complains to me about life, and reads books after he sees the movie, not because he knew about the movie first, but because he doesn’t want to be disappointed. I want someone who wants to go on adventures, who doesn’t always need a plan. I want someone who can improvise, and doesn’t have to be told exactly what to do. I want someone who wants to see the world, someone who’s had to work for their place, someone who’s not afraid of living out of a backpack. I want someone who knows how to start a fire, and likes cooking over it. I want someone who can point out the little things all around us, when I’m too upset to look for them. I want someone who drinks coffee, and doesn’t pretend to be happy when they’re not. I want someone I can talk to for hours on end, and not run out of words to say. I want someone who’s a great storyteller, someone with imagination. I want someone who has hopes and dreams, and looks beyond just today and tomorrow and yesterday. I want someone who doesn’t always want to talk to me. Someone who only talks when they’re in the mood, and realizes that they’re not always going to want to talk to me. I want a guy who doesn’t need the world to know just for it to feel real.