The corn radiates with all its majesty as it haughtily towers above the other vegetables… much like America! Its roots penetrate deep into the soil ensuring both nutrient intake, as well as maintaining a sturdy and erect posture, which are both essential needs of a growing nation. Similar to our young nation, corn grows from the ground up and is forced to become resilient at an early age, as it will inevitably be bombarded by obstacles. To reach it’s delicate and succulent treats, one must struggle to peel off the thick, protective husks that envelope the fruit much like a blanket envelopes a newborn. In comparison with America, for new immigrants to bite into the sweet taste of freedom, they must go through a strict series of processes put in place to protect those freedoms. Once the fruit of the corn is unveiled, it is evidently scattered by hundreds of kernels, creating a mosaic of unity. Then, as one bites into the ripened fruit clad in gold, only then can one savor the succulent juices as they bewitch one’s taste buds into believing corn to be the best thing you have ever had. Finally, whether or not others like it, it is found in almost everything (like cornstarch, corn syrup, corn alcohol, etc…), just like America’s influence on the rest of the world.
maybe I'm just lazy. you can say it's one of my vices. you can call it lethargy. or sloth, careless, apathy, et cetera.
no matter what negative label you put on it, i like to call it thinking on the fly. free thinking. at two in the morning. oh look someone else is on Facebook!
The music of Earth plays all day
It begins with the tapping feet of the children at play
Then the drums begin from the beating in our chest
While the conductor watches to make sure everyone does their best
The booming sound of a storm wants to make the big man proud
It plays through the night: not quiet, but loud
The wind instruments softly play to be heard
The breeze of the air and the whistle of the birds
The snakes rattle their maracas in the hot summer heat
But the peaceful sound of the crickets can not be beat
The Earth is our home and this is where we are staying
So smile and dance to the jam that is playing
170. Reality
It's funny how the world values perfection. Or at least it seems like everyone else expects you to have your life in absolute control, all mapped out, to know exactly who your friends are, and to excel at a few things which you must be the best at. It's difficult to pinpoint the source of the expectation for perfection, because most people would say it comes from "everyone else" when in reality we are all probably just over scrutinizing ourselves. It's also interesting that it's not always the examples of perfection that cause me to stand in awe of a person. In fact, respect for people often times bubbles out of a reaction to their imperfection. Not in an arrogant way, as if I have the opportunity to think more highly of myself. No...it's more so the joy in being able to take a deep breath and free myself from an unnecessary standard which keeps me in bondage. There is also an unmistakable beauty in discovering that a person is a real human being. Upon hearing that the popular athlete, who seemingly lives a life of ease in his perfect bubble of happiness, has a younger brother with developmental disabilities, I am overcome by an unexplainable increase in respect for the older brother. I'll never know why, but maybe it's because he has a struggle at home through which his perseverance may never be acknowledged. The imperfection in his life is not an embarrassing stain but somehow resounds deeply with the word "beautiful". And that is, well, how the unglossed version of life, and of ourselves, should appear as we strive not to be perfect, but to be real.
A new, threatening disease has been discovered, and is spreading across our nation, the land of the free. This frightening disease only affects women, typically targeting females ranging from when they start puberty, when they start thinking for themselves, to after menopause, when the reality of life begins to hit them. This harmful disease is called Feminism.
The cause of Feminism remains unknown, however its effects are impregnable. Women start to think for themselves: they want to work, want to utilize intellectual sense to come up with their own opinions, and (perhaps the worst effect) they even ask to be treated equally as men. Infected women are even starting to do things fit only for a man. They are starting to work in the military, become engineers, scientists, doctors; they are even starting to run for positions in office. Just four years ago we were in danger of having a female president! Yes, feminism is rapidly destroying the world around us.
Every healthy and sane human being understands that a woman’s place is in the home; more specifically the kitchen and bedroom. The man does everything to support the family: working, going out with friends, and doing athletic activities to build muscle mass. The only job that the woman has to do is cook, clean, take care of the family, and make sure that everyone has their basic necessities—and yet feminism has them asking for even more freedom and rights.
Women obviously can’t think for themselves. One example that can support this statement is when they think about getting abortions. It is not the right of the woman, who is just carrying a baby for nine months, all the while growing bigger and getting slower and having their body ache while their whole body system is messed with, to make that decision. If anything, it should be the decision of the man whose sperm was the one that actually fertilized the egg about what to do with the zygote. Men can obviously produce thoughts more clearly and they’re the ones that have to suffer as they watch their woman get fatter and as she goes through agonizing pain. It’s truly uncomfortable for him. Nobody wants to watch as their property gets damaged right in front of them.
Some men have actually tried to take a stand against this feminist idea of women having the right to get an abortion by creating Virginia’s mandatory ultrasound bill. Some of Virginia’s finest held a conference (with only men of course since women cannot be trusted to make important decisions about their own body) to pass a bill so that women will be forced to have an ultrasound 24 hours prior to having an abortion; even if they don’t want one and/or it’s not medically necessary. This bill can only help because the only reason anybody would ever want an abortion is because they don’t like babies and love killing life. Excuses about not being able to care for the baby or the baby not being healthy are not valid, and therefore shoving unwanted images and traumatizing women is the only way to go.
Treatment for feminism has yet to be discovered, however anti-feminist groups resembling the famous Klu Klux Klan are hard at work trying to find one. Meanwhile, we all wait and watch feminism as it destroys our nation, hoping that it will not take over the lives of the women around us. In the words of James Brown, “It is a man’s world,” and we must try our best to keep it that way and fight feminism before the world crashes down around us.
If it’s useless
If it’s hard
If it’s tedious
Then why do we try?
If it hurts
If we don’t want it
If it doesn’t matter
Then why bother?
It’s because
It’s not really useless
It’s not that hard
It’s not very tedious
Thats why we care.
It’s because
It doesn’t hurt that bad
It’s something we DO want
It matters A LOT
Thats why we intervene.
It’s because
We’ve always cared
We’ve always tried
We’ve always worried
That’s how we survive.
A lot of the time
We feel like we’re unnecessary
We feel like we’re invisible
We feel like we’re unimportant.
But in actuality,
We ARE needed
We ARE seen
We ARE someone’s Person.
and THAT is our Purpose.
It feels like
they were meant
to help us
to push us toward excellence
to show just how highly one thinks of us
but
today
It feels like
all they do
is pressure us
is distress us
is break us
we
the future
your treasures
we
understand your concerns
understand your hopes
understand your affections
want to let you believe
that
we can do what you think we can
we can be the people you want us to be
we can live the life you never lived
However
Expectations are
what lead people to quit
when the going gets rough for those
who don’t know
how much people rely on them or
why.
I have a haven.
It’s not a specific place
but a specific set of conditions.
I can be in my haven
wherever I want
wherever I can sit quietly,
basking in the peace of
blasting music
ringing ears
closed eyes
scenes depicting a
perfect life.
My thoughts,
they don’t flow like poetry so much anymore.
Even so,
they were
never meant to be
shared or admired.
never meant to be
considered or worried about.
never meant to be
inspiring or discouraging.
They were only meant to
keep me company
in my haven
of self-inflicted
solitude.
White Walls
Suffocate
White Walls
Immobilize
Within these White Walls, I am trapped
I pace this room
With its White Walls
Waiting to be released from my windowless prison
These White Walls will drive me mad
I slice through the concrete
Passions converted to strength penetrate these White walls
Red trickles out
Slowly
There is hope
I slice and smash
The White Walls
Red gushes from beneath the surface
Red envelopes me
My toes, knees, waist
Till I am neck deep in Red
And it takes me
In place of a worn stone, there is now a cup of coffee.
A small cup filled to the brim with a warm substance likened to happiness.
Overjoyed, I feel that my tiny heart might burst.
My mind has strayed for what I feel does not bring even the slightest bit of the dismay that is felt when a cup of coffee overflows.
The only sorrow I feel is for those who are missing this warmth.
For I would not mind pouring out this cup of coffee unto those who still carry a stone within.
Jude felt the abundance of pleasure,
When he’d brake his back, he‘d earn his day of leisure.
Deep in the night, he dreamt of Lucy in the sky with diamonds,
A girl with kaleidoscope eyes.
He’d seen nightmares of Maxwell’s silver hammer that came down on his head,
Making sure that he was dead.
Despite his hard day’s night,
He had to admit it was getting better, a little better all the time.
He believed that all you need is love,
With Lady Madonna managing to make ends meet along with children at her feet,
Jude was not able to comprehend her weakness,
Even when she was creeping like a nun.
But his ever so thrilling life arrived at its culmination,
When his lovely Rita lost her vitality through isolation.
He mourned for guidance from his dear friend, Prudence, calling,
“Help me, help me if you can. I’m feeling down and I’d do appreciate you being around.”
As Jude looked at all the lonely people, he realized Father McKenzie
Writing the words to his sermon that no one will hear.
And Eleanor Rigby that died in a church, buried along with her name,
But nobody ever came.
Needing somebody to love,
He gets high with a little help from his friends.
And the Fool on the hill whispering,
“Hey Jude, don’t make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better,”
Jude dreamt of fixing a hole and filling the cracks.
Longing to turn off his mind, relax, and float downstream,
Where tomorrow never knows.
Yearning for yesterday,
And knowing his troubles have been so far away
Hoping to get away to Strawberry Fields,
Where nothing is real.
But in his own life, through his lack of pride,
All these places he’d seen had their moments,
With lovers and friends surrounding, he still can recall.
Even if some are dead and some are living, he’d loved them all.
And yet, he has to admit it's getting better, a little better all the time.
Any other normal school day
Lunch time, we’re all out to play.
Hey what’s that kid doing on top of the 2000 building?
No way he’ll jump, it’s a fatal landing.
He’s on the ground and bleeding
Someone help him.
I think it’s already too late
It already happened.
School starts evacuation to the football field
While Drew is left there, his fate sealed.
Everyone’s devastated, what’s going on?
Chaos on the campus, one kid lost.
Panic and confusion
As kids are all sent home,
But still there is hope and comfort
People come together and help one another.
News reporters arrive on the scene
All hell breaks loose for the story.
False rumors spread all around
No real info to be found.
Twenty minutes later
Here are the police.
Where were they twenty minutes ago?
Maybe on a crime scene.
Now come the ambulances
And the investigators
To make everything better
To figure out the details.
Here was a tragic day for all of CV
Not to mention Drew’s family
Plus everyone in La Crescenta
And all around the community.
Although there is grief still around
And tears to be found,
Perhaps it caused a change in all of us
That was, in the end, for the better.
She stared into the distance,
Alone in the dark,
But still she smiled.
“Hi little boy, what’s your name?
If you’d like, lets go and play.
There’s no sun, but we can imagine the sun,
And the rain.
Oh I love the rain, and the lightning and storm!
Most people think I’m crazy, just because
I like the rain, the lightning and the storm.
They don’t know that I was born under
Skies of rain, lightning and storm.
They think it’s out of the norm
You think its normal, right?
Wait, where did you go?
I guess I’ll pretend by myself then”
But she still smiled
(She still smiled, for that is all she knew,
All she knew that would skew the
Monstrous loneliness.
For there was no new depth to sink to.)
And he ran through the mist
Of forest and mind.
Thinking of his kind.
Those who like the rain, the lightning and the storm.
“I never want it to stop, let the raindrops drop!”
For no one else liked it, oh no,
He was the only one in this, surely.
Past the trees, through the mist and rain,
He suddenly glared through that single window pain.
She was lovely and she smiled and spoke.
“Oh I love the rain, the lightning and storm!”
She was not talking to him, but to another form.
But who?
If only he knew.
For the smile on his lips grew
As he stared at the rain loving girl.
His thoughts began to twirl
“I am not alone now, thanks to this girl!”
“I am not alone!” he yelled.
With his lonesome now felled
As he thought of the rain, the lightning and the storm.
And the other he now loved it with
As he ran through the thickening mist.
And she sat and smiled in the still blackness
When the crushing of leaves pierced the window with sudden crispness.
And her eyes glared through the windowpane.
He ran with excitement about him.
“I am not alone!” he yelled
As if all his worried had now been felled
Maybe not moments ago.
She thought.
As she leapt up and ran to the glass
Not letting a single other moment pass
As to not waste her chance.
“I am a rain lover!” she cried.
“I am of the rain, the lightning and storm!”
While she pounded on her colorless prison.
Perhaps he could not hear her,
Nor see her,
Nor feel her.
Was he a rain lover?
Or just another?
He kept running without a bother
Still yelling
“I am not alone!”
A young teenager, trapped inside a life that threatens her faith. Her religion. Her Islam. She was faced with people who threatened to take her away from her faith, to make her stray from her religion. Her sister, stuck between her moral values and the safety of her sister. This is the story of how weakness and strength overpower each other between two very similar, yet completely different sisters.
Hannah came home from school one day very excited. She seemed extremely hyper and happy. She dragged her sister, Norah, into their room and shut the door. “Norah! Oh my God! You will never guess what happened at school today!!! I want to tell you but you have got to promise me not to tell Mom and Dad!” Not to tell Mom and Dad, Norah thought. “So there’s this guy, Sonny, who was talking to me at school today and he is soooooooooooo hot! You have no idea, oh my God Norah, hotter than any guy on this planet.” This was the start of it all. An attractive, very handsome young guy at school who spoke to Hannah one day. And then the day after. And the day after. And the day after. They talked and hung out every day at school during their two hour breaks from class. “Is he Muslim?” Norah asked her sister the first day she spoke of him. “No,” Hannah replied. “It doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about it. He’s just a friend. But he told me he’s an atheist.”
As months and months passed, with hours and hours spent everyday after school talking about her adventure with Sonny, their relationship together grew stronger and stronger. Hannah would talk about how they have become such close friends and how they can tell each other anything. She said that he knows everything about her life, and she knows everything about his. “He is such a nice person, and I am so lucky to have such a perfect friend at school,” Hannah would tell Norah. Norah always thought about this new person in Hannah’s life, but secretly worried that something might go wrong in the future.
One day she asked her sister, “Hannah, does he ever touch you?” She replied, “Yes, he always hugs me. It’s so annoying. I always tell him to stop but he never listens, but whatever. It doesn’t really matter. I mean, he’s already in love with this other girl that doesn’t even want him and there’s this other girl that hangs out with us that really likes him. Nothing’s going to happen don’t worry. I’ll try explaining to him how I am not touchy with guys and how it goes against what I believe in.” Norah said, “Hannah, he’d better stop touching you. It’s not right, and what will Sherif think? I thought you always used to stop guys from touching you in high school? What happened when you went off to college? You don’t seem as religious anymore.” “What are you talking about Norah? Shut up! I am still super religious and just because some guy always touches me doesn’t mean anything! And Sherif will never even know about this guy anyway.” Sherif is a cousin of the sisters that Hannah really likes and wants to spend the rest of her life with in the future. In Islam, marriage between cousins is allowed, but discouraged. What do you mean Sherif will never even know about this guy? Norah thought. If you’re in love with someone and you want to marry him, surely you must be trustworthy and be able to tell each other everything! So far, this new relationship is not looking so great, Norah perceived.
“I’m not liking this,” Norah told Hannah one night, as they discussed that day’s events with Sonny. “I don’t like how he’s touching you, I don’t like how you aren’t telling Sherif, and I don’t like how close you guys are. He is obviously in love with you, and I don’t want you to fall for him either. This is not a healthy relationship and you won’t even be able to marry him because he is far from someone who is ever likely to convert to Islam. I don’t like this, Hannah, I really don’t. You can continue being friends with him, only if you start keeping a distance and he stops touching you. Completely.”
As more and more time passed, Sonny would not stop touching Hannah. One day, he hugged her and picked her up until his face was smushed against her breasts. She screamed for him to stop and let her go, but he refused. “You need to stop touching me like that Sonny! It’s really disrespectful and I can’t put up with it. Stop doing that to me, NOW!” “Did he stop once you yelled at him like that?” Norah asked Hannah. “No, he still hugs me every time we see each other. But seriously Norah, I don’t understand what your problem is. I don’t like him so nothing will ever happen. It’s just a simple hug, stop worrying about it.” Just a simple hug, Norah thought. What my problem is? It’s not my problem, it’s God’s problem! And if she does not understand that, then we have a serious problem here! Norah thought about this day and night every single day for weeks and weeks.
It was now early March of 2011. Norah and Hannah sat side by side on Norah’s bed, sharing opinions. At this point in the school year, their mom was very suspicious of their long talks everyday after school. “What’s up guys? What are ya’ll talking about?” she asked them one day. “Oh nothing, Mom. Just helping out Norah understand this book she’s reading at school for English.” “Oh…okay,” was the reply the sisters would get every day. Hannah was becoming a little depressed about the situation. What with feeling upset at herself for letting herself be touched so obnoxiously by Sonny, and hiding all of this from her parents. She felt upset because she was betraying her religion. Her faith. She was going against everything she believed in, everything she grew up learning since she was a child. “Never be touchy with a man until you are married. Never hang out outside of school with a man by yourselves in a private area. Never hide things from your parents.” She was not only betraying her family, but she was most importantly betraying her Lord.
“Hannah, if you do not tell your parents about Sonny and if you do not stop hanging out with him then I swear to Allah I’m telling your mother!” Norah told Hannah. She repeatedly told her this every single day. “No Norah! Stop telling me what to do! I’m older than you and I know what I’m doing, so just shut up! Stop trying to control my life and trying to teach me about love and Islam!” Controlling your life? Teaching you about Islam? Does she have any idea what she is saying? Norah thought. She was not doing that nonsense! She was trying to prevent family problems form occurring. She was trying to prevent her sister from getting hurt by a silly guy at school. She was trying to bring her sister back to her religion, back to her moral everyday values that she used to have. She was trying to protect her…why can’t she just understand that what I’m doing is for the better??
TO ALL US CITIZENS:
Recent surveys and studies conducted by Pose R. Incorporated have suggested that firearms are scary and therefore should not be a part of society. As a substitution to these icky devices, it has been suggested that civilians should refer to other sources of protection that have less of a chance of causing harm, such as Samurai swords, flamethrowers, or a rather large cactus to swing like a club, surely this will greatly reduce the likelihood of the users being injured in the process. In a study conducted by Dr. Imah Lyar, the most competent firearm enthusiasts were given a series of tests in self-defense, one with firearms and another with sharpened whale teeth. What had come about was bewildering. Despite their advanced level of training, researchers watched as negligent discharges went off, sending bullets whizzing by, shutting up the entire testing environment. It is unarguably apparent as to which of these weapons had been proved safer and more effective for the end user.
Politicians have argued that these boomsticks, the more formal term for firearms, can only cause a damper on the life of the human race as a whole. As of April 2012, American police officers will no longer be issued their standard rifles, shotguns, and pistols. Instead the new, safer alternative NS3000 throwing stars will be the standard of carry for law enforcement, accompanied by pointy rods, fashioned from only the finest unicorn horns and swordfish. With the well-being of our country solidified by getting rid of obsolete technology, we are able to make the best for our future.
Gramma always said, "Girl, don't blow on the dandelion weed!" She told me, if I blew the white fuzz off two dandelions each day, every week, and onto our tidy little yard, we would have a dandelion field by the time I turned 10. A dandelion field sounded like heaven. So every morning while Gramma was at the market or when she wasn't watching me too closely, I would blow the white fuzz off a dandelion weed. Some days, I would only blow on one dandelion. But usually, I would puff the seeds off two, three, four, five, six dandelions in a row! Each time I blew, I would wish. And each wish I made was for a dandelion field to grow in out tidy little yard.
My work was visible almost at once. I could see more and more dandelions sprouting up with each coming day. That meant more and more dandelion seeds to spread each day! But Gramma caught on fast. She wasn't one to be fooled. She knew what I was doing right from the first new dandelion weed she saw. She let it go on for awhile though, hoping I would stop. When it was clear that I wasn't going to stop until we had a dandelion field right here in our tidy little yard she said, "Didn't I tell you not to blow on the dandelion weeds?" But of course it wasn't really a question. It was a command. A signal for me to stop blowing the white fuzz off multiple dandelions each day so we wouldn't have a dandelion field in our less and less tidy little yard. So I stopped. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt my Gramma.
Then one morning I got up early. Since I heard the door open, and shut, I knew Gramma was just leaving for the market. I grabbed a cold biscuit from the kitchen and ran out to the porch to wait for her like I always did. As soon as I opened the door I saw Gramma. She wasn't leaving for the market. Instead she was sitting in the small and waning patch of dandelion weed remaining. I hadn't blown the white fuzz off a dandelion for a week and a half. She didn't look up, but Gramma knew I was there, watching her. Slowly she placed her wrinkled, but tender, hand upon the lower part of a dandelion stem. Her hand seemed to hesitate for a moment before squeezing, then pulling that dandelion weed from the ground in one swift motion. Now her dazzling hazel eyes looked up at me. She smiled, "You know, I used to blow the white fuzz off two dandelions a day, wishing with each blow, to someday have a dandelion field myself." She looked back at the dandelion in her hand. She blew. I marveled as hundreds of fuzzy, white seeds floated across our tidy little yard. They fell one, by one, onto the grass as snow falls on mountain tops. When my eyes moved again from the mesmerizing seeds back to Gramma, she too, was looking at me. In her hand was a dandelion. I knew without her saying a thing, it was just for me to blow.
Our branch
high in my tree
where we used to sit
and whisper our secrets
begins to crack.
The bond
between trunk and branch
between you and I
loosens with your tongue.
If we sit
together we will fall
like my secrets from your lips.
I. Voices thrown across tables
distant in the kitchen
tears heavy in words
glass
slammed against counters
Forgot
to keep their voices down
Forgot
children lying in bed
Forgot
to say good night
II. Sitting on opposite sides
of the dinning room table
children build
a bridge between parents
who refuse to cross
the barricades they’ve built
but each invite the children in
for ice cream
jewelry
these apologies
for broken family
III. The kitchen is quiet now
Glasses put away
Gates replace barricades
unlocked
Mosaics replace the family portrait
more beautiful than worn tiles
shattered
but rearranged
into new images
whole and familiar
I. A baby screaming in his crib
knows not the meaning of father
mother coos
praises the word
but the child
never kissed by a stubbly cheek
never caressed by calloused hands
never knew a father.
II. A child plays in the yard
throws passes to the wall
catches rebounds from white stucco
he asks mother where father went
the answer the same each time
went to protect us in the east
he knows not what she means
III. A young man smoking behind the house
taking drags off his cigarette
knows his father doesn’t care
would he recognize his face
mother doesn’t talk
about father anymore
she has a man inside the house
another drag off the cigarette
and he doesn’t care
Deflecting chills
absorbing screams
armor against the sting of being
overworked feet
and backs cushioned
relieved
The bed
is an unthanked mother
children step and jump on her body
avoid her embrace
she loves and protects
never asks for more
she’s a womb
where men revert to children
tucked in warmth
darkness
worried evaporate
in her embrace.
When the aiding rain falls
We are relieved
For our worries and fears
Are thrust and heaved
Our problems
Are carried away
Buried in dark waters
And hidden at bay
When the sun beckons
The rain refuses to budge
Clutching our troubles
Yet, refusing to judge
Although we bid adieu
To our darling friend
We will meet again
And troubles, we shall send
For the rain is strong
When compared to fire
And the sun is no match
To the water empire
Although the sun
collects it’s remains
It falls yet again
Collecting our pains
Little boy in the black
Why did you jump?
We never saw this coming
Was this our fault?
Little boy in the black
You thought you didn’t matter
Bet you see us now
And realize you did
You did matter.
Little boy in the black
Why did you jump?
We weren’t there to catch you
We weren’t there to hear you.
Little boy in the black
It was too late to save you
Maybe you’d been falling for a while
We only saw the last fifty feet.
Little boy in the black
Where are you now?
They came and lifted you
Off of the ground
Little boy in the black
We are so sorry
That we listened
We looked
We cared
Too late.
It is that genuine smile.
Simple,
Yet powerful,
Reminding the soul to recollect a time of careless bliss,
Only tangible within dreams in the embrace of sleep.
That smile,
Though mere,
Engulfs a victim in pure happiness,
As it reaches into one’s heart,
Holding tight with an impenetrable grasp,
Almost to bring a new pulsation,
A feeling of endless joy.
To see that smile is to embrace sheer rays of sunlight,
To run through never ending tall, mysterious fields,
Unconcerned with where it may lead.
To invigorate the soul with a sense of
Foolish innocence,
With unrecognizable humiliation.
To see that smile is to dance with joyous ignorance,
And graze the complexion of genuineness with bare fingertips,
Remembering a time when simpleness seemed to dictate life.
Only to hope that smile would never fade into the gray blur,
For that smile paints visions of ripe strawberries,
Glistening with pure tenderness,
To all who witness it.
If love existed, would we see it?
Or would you live it first, then feel it
It takes one person and changes it to two
I sense love near me, is it true
Keeps flowing in the air, oh god please
Tell me this one girl cares
She really looks like she’s the one
Tell me she’s interested, before it’s done
I stand; I fall, then get right back up
I keep falling for love, but does love fall for me
1, 2, 3, it’s been way to long, I still can’t see
Wait wait, what have I come to?
Am I out of my mind, I have no clue
I’m writing about love like every other poet
I guess love has me on a leash, and I truly know it.
Love is simple, love is kind
Its like a disease, can make you blind
Trust is the partner, trust is the key
Have some trust in them, just let them be
Loyalty is the , loyalty is the truth
Be loyal to one each other, and look them in the face
Love is just a phase you see
It leads to relationships and complications
Quit fooling around and keep your concentration
Love is just one big knot
Escape from it, before you get caught.
We look into the mountains expecting to see the past
But you look east and south, it might not last
The clouds drifting away from your dreams
Do you close your eyes, or just let it be
All of a sudden you feel a cool breeze
You open your eyes wide, but know one sees
Then a scent fills the air, it seems to fine
Wait, it smells like the one girl, was she ever mine?
Birds begin to sing, is this a symbol
Symbol that I’m free, symbol that I can’t see
What is the meaning of these events?
It’s the true reason of love, that nature presents.
Is he real, or is he just a fake
He claims he is the one, for goodness sake
Those moments that when in need
Decisions made to steal the lead
different crowd, different person
I attempt to tell him, but he just wont listen
The way the actions speak to me
Don’t drag me along, just let me be
Criticize me however you’d like
Its you who needs to fall
And straighten up like wall
The truth is, he’s the fake
Our friendship, just one big mistake.
For the hangingfly the season came,
the lion too, combed out his mane.
Now watch the dance, now watch the game.
They leave no trace, they take no blame.
Seventeenth century Puritan society was characterized by pronounced discrimination. Members of this society were often persecuted and executed for minute, insignificant, and inherent variations from the norm, which were seen as signs of compacting with the devil. One person with such a trait was a young boy named Martin.
Born into an average Puritan household, Martin had a blessed childhood, miraculously avoiding sickness at times when many of the other children were so ill that they were confined to their beds for weeks on end. Martin attended church every Sunday, memorized all the hymns, and excelled beyond his years in theology classes for the town’s children. It was fair to say that earnest, young Martin was well on his way towards becoming a leader in the town, perhaps even the minister.
Though Martin continued to achieve excellence, but not so much so as to look selfish in the eyes of God, he had a singular problem that made him different from everyone else in the village. Martin never quite understood why he was the way he was. He didn’t know why everyone else wasn’t like him, and was not even sure why his problem was considered to be so evil. The only thing he was sure about was that all of his achievements would mean nothing to his community, including his family, if his aberration were revealed. Martin had been taught from a very young age about the dangers of his problem as well as how to cure it. One church leader even suggested if he had this problem, that he try to “pray it away.” Martin tried several times to correct his problem, but he soon found that he did not choose to have this problem, but rather, it was ingrained in him from his birth. Martin was able to use this education to conduct his life in such a way as to not engender any suspicion.
After a while, though, Martin grew tired of pretending. He stopped lying to himself, but only in private. However, in such a small town, at that time in history, it was impossible for Martin to keep his problem under wraps forever. One day, his father caught him in the act, and took him before the town’s minister for his judgment on the matter. Martin had been right in his notions. The strict, unforgiving society to which he belonged completely discounted his accomplishments once his problem was revealed. The town minister declared that Martin’s problem was a clear sign that he had compacted with the devil. Thus, Martin, the prized student in church and esteemed worshipper of God, was sentenced to death by hanging by a society in which church and God were the most respected institutions. This was all because of Martin’s small problem: he was left-handed.
