That’s all they ever cared about. And I don’t know why. I would’ve killed to join them in their ranks, but alas, no. Alone is where I’d stay, and them with themselves, me by myself.
they see themselves differently now that they are older
they do not know that in ten years they will see themselves differently still
they don’t care
who cares about tomorrow anyway when today is so boring
i will never be old
will you ?
People think of themselves in so many different ways it’s almost immpossible to accurately describe someone from just looking in at from the outside view/
Don’t you think?
Because, it is true that you are the closest person to yourself, so who am I to make decisions about who you are?
they themselves have shown me, guided me towards the peak of my life, helped me to fullfill my dreams and accomplish the challenges that were set before me.
They looked at themselves. They had realized that nothing was the same. The walls were white, their minds were mush. They had traveled to a new existence, where their souls could not fully exist.
Shriek
in the shrine
for her closet
full
of cobwebs
and sweaters.
Dolls and love letters.
And hidden cigarettes,
with brand new
Pabst Blue
on the side.
They were the group who always hated themselves.
They stole, they
lied, to everyone they cared about and no one
they didn’t, fearing the worst- of course,
being rejected for someone you aren’t
is far less terrifying
than repulsion beaming out
from someone you have opened up to.
they only thought of themselves,
never of anyone else
or anything else
how could they?
all they could see was the fire,
the smeared lipstick,
the pain.
the love.
basta de poner esta palabra. creo que esta pagin aes una mierda y solo tiene esta palabra que no me transimite nadas mas que algo egoista o no se bien, porque no se mucho igles asique no se cuando se usa esa palabra la verdad pero bueno
he wondered why he couldn’t be himself. he didn’t like that his mug read world’s best dad. he didn’t like that he had a “kiss the chef” apron. he couldn’t cook and he had forgotten to pick up his kid from school just yesterday
I think it’s natural for perpetual human beings to care about themselves. We have to rely on ourselves for almost everything. Who else will ALWAYS have our backs? It’s natural.
ellos mismos se acarician, cada uno por separado, se miran sin contacto visual, se rozan sin contacto fisico, pero estan cada uno al lado del otro, no pueden pensar, o si, pero no o saben, lo unico que pasa es que no saben.
waiting for themselves
to become a myself
why do i need to worry about
the smell of his cigarettes
staining my coffee mug
i was good by myself
i had a mug that read
world’s best friend
they think they are so great,
except when they don’t
the insecurities and self loathing
corrosive doubt spurred by foolish reflection
the mirror of the other
how they think of themselves
and how they think of me
the mirror is dirty
They sat by themselves and the room was quiet. Gillian could feel the silence settle over her suit’s gray shoulders like dust. She opened her lips to say something—offer condolences, maybe? Nothing came out. She smacked them closed. Oops—too loud? She had never fired anyone before. She thought about Maria’s family. Well, actually she didn’t know if Maria had a family. Either way, she felt bad. Well, kind of. She didn’t actually know Maria, and it made her feel a little better to pretend that Maria was some sort of hypocrite or liar or jewelry thief. The thought made the whole process feel a little less…monumental. Firing a bad person was much easier than firing a good person.
They sat by themselves and the room was quiet. Gil could feel the silence settle over her shoulders and she opened her lips. Nothing came out. She smacked them closed. Oops—too loud? She had never fired anyone before. She thought about Maria’s family. Well, actually she didn’t know if Maria had a family. Either way, she felt bad. Well, kind of. She didn’t actually know Maria, and it made her feel a little better to pretend that Maria was some sort of hypocrite or liar or jewelry thief. The thought made the whole process feel a little less…monumental. Firing a bad person was much easier than firing a good person.
tthey were crying about themselves
screaming about noone else
can’t write in english if you’ll judge for my
senses
they’re just so mean to me and let my drink go cold
time’s waiting for it.
Underneath layers of sediment sand blubber sadness dust and gems and culture, family, time left on earth, they looked and found something they didn’t like.
they all bathed themselves in their riches. not having a care in the world. they were in their selfish bubbles. No one even dared to pop them. until that one came along. and lets say, he made the world turn upside down.
Occupied faces,
blankly abrupt.
The business
at ease,
tranquilized animals
in suits and ties.
Purgatory.
In the way I see it,
a desk lamp gone
black,
burnt out from bore.
It seems like isolation, like the bad boys, the Greasers who are always lingering along the edges of crowds. The people huddled alone whispering. Isolation, certainly, but not aloneness. They don’t have me, but they have each other.
Themselves
Such a harsh word
Alone, like the last icicle of the winter,
The last remnants of summer in stores
50% off a summer dress
Amid winter clothing
I swear if I get themselves one more time I’m going to scream. I don’t know why this keeps coming up, but I am irritated by it. Probably would help if I wasn’t already irritated with things, but really, whey is “themselves” here again? Will it be here tomorrow, too? How about a different word? Will be interesting to see what happens with tomorrow’s word.
they love themselves
i’m here alone, hating
why can’t i be like
you
perfect
shapely
divine
divided, conquered
i hate that i hate myself
i hate myself for hating that i hate myself
i
hate
They always worry about themselves and never me, I swear. I swear one day I’ll have enough courage to tell them how frustrating that is for me, how I can’t stand it.
They were themselves and that’s what I liked about them. They were just so unapologetic about who they were and how they were and they were always just themselves and that’s the great thing about them. Maybe that’s why i look up to them so much.
Everyone has flaws and issues and insecurities, but what everyone has that they don’t remember is the life they owe to THEMSELVES. The laughter, the smiles, the memories, the tears, and the triumph. It’s all for you to take in, breath it,, drink it, drown in it.
they were alone, with no one to hold, no one to touch, no one to love, but themselves
it was a cold life and it was a dark hole and they were simply lost in their own minds
themselves they offered themselves to the god of the art they offered their souls and their bodies, rotting slowly and the carnage, the meat, the flesh of the precious angel
they offered themselves to a life of martyr
themselves to a god of artistry
it’s only a little while
before
they’re watching themselves in the mirror,
the way their skin tightens over
bones they didn’t know existed;
scars they forgot were there exposed
prominent
That’s all they ever cared about. And I don’t know why. I would’ve killed to join them in their ranks, but alas, no. Alone is where I’d stay, and them with themselves, me by myself.
they see themselves differently now that they are older
they do not know that in ten years they will see themselves differently still
they don’t care
who cares about tomorrow anyway when today is so boring
i will never be old
will you ?
their selves were so easily influenced
were they true?
People think of themselves in so many different ways it’s almost immpossible to accurately describe someone from just looking in at from the outside view/
Don’t you think?
Because, it is true that you are the closest person to yourself, so who am I to make decisions about who you are?
they themselves have shown me, guided me towards the peak of my life, helped me to fullfill my dreams and accomplish the challenges that were set before me.
people are selfish and only think about themselves. they will do whatever it takes to make themselves happy even if it makes others sad.
They looked at themselves. They had realized that nothing was the same. The walls were white, their minds were mush. They had traveled to a new existence, where their souls could not fully exist.
Credibility
couldn’t be worth a cent
if the news wasn’t
paper.
So books shouldn’t
vanish
neither should
computer eyes.
they crash themselves to each other in order to fix each other in the way. to restore, to be contagious, to spread a hundred of cristals in the sky.
Shriek
in the shrine
for her closet
full
of cobwebs
and sweaters.
Dolls and love letters.
And hidden cigarettes,
with brand new
Pabst Blue
on the side.
They were the group who always hated themselves.
They stole, they
lied, to everyone they cared about and no one
they didn’t, fearing the worst- of course,
being rejected for someone you aren’t
is far less terrifying
than repulsion beaming out
from someone you have opened up to.
they only thought of themselves,
never of anyone else
or anything else
how could they?
all they could see was the fire,
the smeared lipstick,
the pain.
the love.
basta de poner esta palabra. creo que esta pagin aes una mierda y solo tiene esta palabra que no me transimite nadas mas que algo egoista o no se bien, porque no se mucho igles asique no se cuando se usa esa palabra la verdad pero bueno
he wondered why he couldn’t be himself. he didn’t like that his mug read world’s best dad. he didn’t like that he had a “kiss the chef” apron. he couldn’t cook and he had forgotten to pick up his kid from school just yesterday
I think it’s natural for perpetual human beings to care about themselves. We have to rely on ourselves for almost everything. Who else will ALWAYS have our backs? It’s natural.
ellos mismos se acarician, cada uno por separado, se miran sin contacto visual, se rozan sin contacto fisico, pero estan cada uno al lado del otro, no pueden pensar, o si, pero no o saben, lo unico que pasa es que no saben.
waiting for themselves
to become a myself
why do i need to worry about
the smell of his cigarettes
staining my coffee mug
i was good by myself
i had a mug that read
world’s best friend
they think they are so great,
except when they don’t
the insecurities and self loathing
corrosive doubt spurred by foolish reflection
the mirror of the other
how they think of themselves
and how they think of me
the mirror is dirty
They sat by themselves and the room was quiet. Gillian could feel the silence settle over her suit’s gray shoulders like dust. She opened her lips to say something—offer condolences, maybe? Nothing came out. She smacked them closed. Oops—too loud? She had never fired anyone before. She thought about Maria’s family. Well, actually she didn’t know if Maria had a family. Either way, she felt bad. Well, kind of. She didn’t actually know Maria, and it made her feel a little better to pretend that Maria was some sort of hypocrite or liar or jewelry thief. The thought made the whole process feel a little less…monumental. Firing a bad person was much easier than firing a good person.
They sat by themselves and the room was quiet. Gil could feel the silence settle over her shoulders and she opened her lips. Nothing came out. She smacked them closed. Oops—too loud? She had never fired anyone before. She thought about Maria’s family. Well, actually she didn’t know if Maria had a family. Either way, she felt bad. Well, kind of. She didn’t actually know Maria, and it made her feel a little better to pretend that Maria was some sort of hypocrite or liar or jewelry thief. The thought made the whole process feel a little less…monumental. Firing a bad person was much easier than firing a good person.
they are themselves because they think what they say and don allow other peolpe to say otherwise, it’s crazy
tthey were crying about themselves
screaming about noone else
can’t write in english if you’ll judge for my
senses
they’re just so mean to me and let my drink go cold
time’s waiting for it.
They sit in the backroom,
smoking cigarettes,
sterilizing
scent with
cheap perfume,
and wine.
Underneath layers of sediment sand blubber sadness dust and gems and culture, family, time left on earth, they looked and found something they didn’t like.
they all bathed themselves in their riches. not having a care in the world. they were in their selfish bubbles. No one even dared to pop them. until that one came along. and lets say, he made the world turn upside down.
Occupied faces,
blankly abrupt.
The business
at ease,
tranquilized animals
in suits and ties.
Purgatory.
In the way I see it,
a desk lamp gone
black,
burnt out from bore.
Occupied faces,
blankly abrupt.
The business
at ease,
tranquilized animals
in suits and ties.
Purgatory
It seems like isolation, like the bad boys, the Greasers who are always lingering along the edges of crowds. The people huddled alone whispering. Isolation, certainly, but not aloneness. They don’t have me, but they have each other.
Themselves
Such a harsh word
Alone, like the last icicle of the winter,
The last remnants of summer in stores
50% off a summer dress
Amid winter clothing
Themselves. Like the girls in the forest,
witchcraft, a brew.
Makeshift of cauldrons,
and cotton shrooms.
Free and wild,
took themselves.
magic.
I swear if I get themselves one more time I’m going to scream. I don’t know why this keeps coming up, but I am irritated by it. Probably would help if I wasn’t already irritated with things, but really, whey is “themselves” here again? Will it be here tomorrow, too? How about a different word? Will be interesting to see what happens with tomorrow’s word.
they love themselves
i’m here alone, hating
why can’t i be like
you
perfect
shapely
divine
divided, conquered
i hate that i hate myself
i hate myself for hating that i hate myself
i
hate
They always worry about themselves and never me, I swear. I swear one day I’ll have enough courage to tell them how frustrating that is for me, how I can’t stand it.
They were themselves and that’s what I liked about them. They were just so unapologetic about who they were and how they were and they were always just themselves and that’s the great thing about them. Maybe that’s why i look up to them so much.
When they think of themselves they think of descriptors. Words they’ve thought and words they’ve been given. People are not adjectives.
they are everything but themselves
and nothing if not everyone else
Everyone has flaws and issues and insecurities, but what everyone has that they don’t remember is the life they owe to THEMSELVES. The laughter, the smiles, the memories, the tears, and the triumph. It’s all for you to take in, breath it,, drink it, drown in it.
they were alone, with no one to hold, no one to touch, no one to love, but themselves
it was a cold life and it was a dark hole and they were simply lost in their own minds
themselves they offered themselves to the god of the art they offered their souls and their bodies, rotting slowly and the carnage, the meat, the flesh of the precious angel
they offered themselves to a life of martyr
themselves to a god of artistry
it’s only a little while
before
they’re watching themselves in the mirror,
the way their skin tightens over
bones they didn’t know existed;
scars they forgot were there exposed
prominent