What Even??

I either sleep too much or not enough

I either cry too much or act too tough

I am either productive or lazy

there is no in between for me.

I am either anxious or depressed

Which situation is best?

I can write a thousand words in a moment

Or I could spend a day without making a dent.

I can read through the sun and the moon

But sometimes I can’t put my book down too soon.

Music can either make me happy and strong

or it can make me feel completely wrong.

Sometimes I think I’ve got life down

and the next day I’m taken to town.

I don’t think I really know anything about me,

Because the next day I’ll act differently.

 

 

 

Advertisements

I Will Be Me

I trip on my feet as I go down the stairs.

I could make a few nests with all the hairs

I find on the shower walls and in my hairbrush.

When I am nervous, all my words gush.

My hands shake when I’m tired.

Last year my good ideas all retired.

I love easily and in no time

I think in poetry or in rhyme.

I throw my arms wide and dance in the rain

I don’t hide when my heart’s in pain.

I laugh at my mistakes,

But those laughs are all fakes.

It breaks me when I know I’ve failed,

But those emotions I keep jailed.

I manage to fall on thin air and flat ground

Sometimes I feel like I’m trapped and bound.

I really do enjoy being alone,

But I hate being on my own.

I randomly start crying for no reason,

tears are my allergies every season.

I am not particularly clever or of quick wit

I am not easily motivated, it’s easy to quit

I don’t like feeling under or over appreciated

I get angry if without reason I am hated

I dream about dragons, fairies, and adventures

but in reality, I hide under the covers.

I have been told frequently that I am strange

And the truth is, I don’t want that to change.

Because, I am my own person, don’t you see?

I will be me

Even if me is a little weird.

 

 

-Julie

When Myself Convinces Me

I have an interesting ability

I talk myself through everything, you see.

I know a lot of people can do this

I’m not claiming a title all pish posh…ish.

But it’s something that explains a bit about me

I talk myself in or out of everything…nearly.

I’ve talked myself out of fear before

I’ve made myself believe I like doing my chore

I’ve talked myself into a calm from anxiety

I have convinced myself not to care for society

I’ve argued away tears time and time again

I’ve coerced myself to pick up my pen

But in return myself coerced me

Into believing I’ll never be

As good as I want to be.

And as payment for what I’ve made myself do

Myself demeans what I do too.

But I want myself to convince me

That I can be a better me.

I want myself to believe

There is nothing I can’t achieve

So I’ll keep trying to talk my way

Until myself believes me when I say

I’ll become the best me I can be

When I convince myself and myself convinces me.

-Julie

Maybe Someday

I want so badly to share my stories.

But I tend to keep them where no one sees. 

The words I write down in all my books

Are more me than even my looks. 

Those words can destroy me

They can break me so easily. 

I have hidden them from the worlds eye

So I will never be questioned or asked why

I write about the things that I do. 

So I can never be judged by you.  

I am sparing myself the pain

But I might also be keeping myself from gain. 

A dilemma that has me trapped here  

Holding my pen in hands that shake for fear. 

Will I ever show you the things I say? 

Perhaps soon. Just not today. 

I’ve Been Told

I’ve been told

that my soul is old.

I am reminded constantly

that I see this world differently.

I like to think that’s true

I like to believe that I really do.

But I see the world

completely bare and unfurled

I see it how it is

a beautiful lie, a deceitful kiss.

I see it for what it is worth

this messed up earth.

People think I see it differently

but I just pretend I don’t see.

Because the truth is, I am terrified.

Absolutely Terrified.

 

-Julie

 

 

 

Looking Down from My Throne

A robe over my shoulders and a gold ring on my hand. I sat on my throne, looking down at those beneath me. I do not know their names, where they are from, or who they believe themselves to be. I don’t care. To me they are all the same. I wouldn’t be able to recognize one from another. They will never be able to compete with my greatness nor achieve the level of power I was born with, no matter how hard they try. They are ants, working day in and day out to serve their lord. But who really is their lord? They work in my domain but do they work for me or against me?
Those who trespass into my territory, do they seek me harm or is it merely by mistake? I doubt I am loved by them, for hundreds of their family members and friends have been slain by my hand. Do I continue to squelch the subtle invasion or do I leave them alone, as I wait and watch? Do I continue with my brutal tactics? Do I destroy them and their families or do I capture them to work in my farms, prisoners to my will?
I stand to my feet after flushing and I hang my bathrobe on the hook. “Yeah Honey, I think it’s time we call the exterminator. This gel poison isn’t really working.”

 

-Johnny

My Sanctuary

There is a little corner in my room

that is demonless and ghost free

No matter if it is night or noon

It it is where I like to be

All this corner has to its name

is a small white bookshelf

It has its own demons to claim

But none of them pertain to myself.

The first and top shelf holds what I do not know

The second one holds what I will read again

The third holds the places I love best to go

They’re as close to me as a dear friend

But the fourth shelf is a prison and sanctuary

A prison for the ghosts that haunt me

A prison for the demons that destroy me

And a Sanctuary for me.

The fourth shelf is full to the very page

of the thoughts I dream at night

full of pain, sacrifice, poison, rage

Full of the songs I sing, and the battles I fight.

They are where I lock my demons

They’re what I chain my failures to

They are the repository for my sins.

They are only notebooks to you.

But they are my sanctuary

My only respite

from the failures that haunt me

from my own spite.

 

-Julie