(no subject)
I sat one day, amidst the world in my room, sketching with shotty coal. This work became a masterpiece of my mind. I was drawn to scribble the word hate along the top of the page. It was one of those unforeseeable urges, the kind where you see something and you just know it's right. That word hate,in bold black, became the header for an unexplained drawing.
I do not choose this word hate because I see myself as such, but, perhaps I would, if indeed I were a mound of paper on the wall.
It may also be the reflection of my mind that stares back at you, screaming the word hate, in bold black. Maybe you are hate because you do not understand.
I am hungry to be seen.
There is a girl, who glares at my shell, but I remain to be seen. I have yet to bleed the love I have for her. I have yet to rid myself of that.
She does not see between the lines. She does not see me scream, ever so quietly, her name into the dark.
There is a girl who looked at my work and said,'I don't understand the word in black.'
It reads; I love you.
I am sitting on the wall, hate.
I love you.
Hate.
Written two years ago.....but still feels the same.
I do not choose this word hate because I see myself as such, but, perhaps I would, if indeed I were a mound of paper on the wall.
It may also be the reflection of my mind that stares back at you, screaming the word hate, in bold black. Maybe you are hate because you do not understand.
I am hungry to be seen.
There is a girl, who glares at my shell, but I remain to be seen. I have yet to bleed the love I have for her. I have yet to rid myself of that.
She does not see between the lines. She does not see me scream, ever so quietly, her name into the dark.
There is a girl who looked at my work and said,'I don't understand the word in black.'
It reads; I love you.
I am sitting on the wall, hate.
I love you.
Hate.
Written two years ago.....but still feels the same.