here's the deal and i know you are bored
i'm going to start using LJ for my poetry. i realize when most people see a poem they will either think "i'm not in the mood to read this" or "well, i guess i'm bored enough" and i don't have too many friends on here. but i will only post about one a week, so try to remember if you're in the mood to stop by and read one and let me know what you HONESTLY think. i'm trying to broaden my writing skills so yeah. for now i will leave you with something sort of poetic, but more freestyle.
inspiration
Look. Just keep looking. Focus. Stare until your eyes water. Think about something. Until all you can think about is blinking. Until you can't even look at one spot anymore without your eyes bleeding. After all, you can't find inspiration in one spot. You can't go looking for answers without finding a hundred problems along the way.
That's the way it works, right? Like searching for love. Do that and you'll find yourself compromising everything you imagined it to be. Then 5 years have passed and all you've got from it are a nosebleed and a dozen broken hearts.
The heart is an odd thing. So easily broken, like your grandma's favorite vase. You never liked that vase anyways. The pattern on it, that so conveniently matches the pattern on the wallpaper, that matches the pattern on your reflection, that matches the pattern on your tears, that matches the pattern on each fucked up decision you make. Until you can't tell if it's the patterns that are making you dizzy, or if it's because you're not sure what the pattern even is anymore.
Now blink, but don't just blink, close your eyes. Pop in your favorite CD and melt into the couch. Tell yourself that all the pain is just an illusion. You owe it to yourself, and besides, one lie won't hurt, right?
inspiration
Look. Just keep looking. Focus. Stare until your eyes water. Think about something. Until all you can think about is blinking. Until you can't even look at one spot anymore without your eyes bleeding. After all, you can't find inspiration in one spot. You can't go looking for answers without finding a hundred problems along the way.
That's the way it works, right? Like searching for love. Do that and you'll find yourself compromising everything you imagined it to be. Then 5 years have passed and all you've got from it are a nosebleed and a dozen broken hearts.
The heart is an odd thing. So easily broken, like your grandma's favorite vase. You never liked that vase anyways. The pattern on it, that so conveniently matches the pattern on the wallpaper, that matches the pattern on your reflection, that matches the pattern on your tears, that matches the pattern on each fucked up decision you make. Until you can't tell if it's the patterns that are making you dizzy, or if it's because you're not sure what the pattern even is anymore.
Now blink, but don't just blink, close your eyes. Pop in your favorite CD and melt into the couch. Tell yourself that all the pain is just an illusion. You owe it to yourself, and besides, one lie won't hurt, right?