(no subject)
I was gonna write a poem in here that I just crappily wrote, but I forgot no one reads this... AHHH, I'll shut up. I'm in such a feel-sorry-for-myself kinda mood lately, kindly ignore it and don't get angry at me for it, or don't try to like comfort me, cuz I'm just being emo. Whatever, I'll write it out anyway, I'm probably not gonna put on my poetry site cuz it's so short... and probably not very good (ignore it, please) but here goes anyways.
The world is beautifully lit
The Autumn leaves reflecting in the sun
The heated rays warm my skin
And my hair blows in the cool wind
The houses and green, lighted with contrast
Blue skies deep yet light
The clouds puffy, illuminating, yet dark
Is there a reason I squint?
The beauty is to painful to see.
Ahhh.... I annoy myself so badly. I'm gonna write another one on the spot!
What's up with artists today?
Underneath the deep skin performing beauty and contraversy
Is the vain far within
Waiting for a complement or two
To make them feel good
Feel as though they were worth something
They may create art
But most are concieted in worship.
Love me, love me.
Others are there for a statement
But the confidence must confide in them
To show it to the world
I never knew an artist who didn't want copliments
They must've been forced into fame
With extreme low esteem
Don't look at it, it's ugly.
I never knew of such thing...
.:Edit:.
Yet another poem: http://www.postpoems.com/members/glowingeyes/ --Turning Into Oxygen.
-1 point for lj for not letting me making this a non-commenting entry... don't get it.
The world is beautifully lit
The Autumn leaves reflecting in the sun
The heated rays warm my skin
And my hair blows in the cool wind
The houses and green, lighted with contrast
Blue skies deep yet light
The clouds puffy, illuminating, yet dark
Is there a reason I squint?
The beauty is to painful to see.
Ahhh.... I annoy myself so badly. I'm gonna write another one on the spot!
What's up with artists today?
Underneath the deep skin performing beauty and contraversy
Is the vain far within
Waiting for a complement or two
To make them feel good
Feel as though they were worth something
They may create art
But most are concieted in worship.
Love me, love me.
Others are there for a statement
But the confidence must confide in them
To show it to the world
I never knew an artist who didn't want copliments
They must've been forced into fame
With extreme low esteem
Don't look at it, it's ugly.
I never knew of such thing...
.:Edit:.
Yet another poem: http://www.postpoems.com/members/glowingeyes/ --Turning Into Oxygen.
-1 point for lj for not letting me making this a non-commenting entry... don't get it.