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Crazy Hair
Miss crazy hair Why do you ask why I stare I’m always looking at the beauty Beneath that crazy hair Thank you for reading my work. If you enjoyed this story, there’s more below. Please hit the like and subscribe button, you can follow me on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram @AtomicHistorian. To help me create more content, leave a tip or become a pledged subscriber. I also make stickers, t-shirts, etc here.
By Atomic Historian2 years ago in Poets
Drowning Pool. Content Warning.
Question I ask myself am I in the lane? I mean I try really really hard to utilize my brain I mean as much as possible without going insane Comprehension tho for me still can walk with a cane Still standing up though on my own 2 feet Its been rough for a while tho my knees they creak the miles Ive walked man only if they could speak I wonder if they would tell me ive already peaked The long walk folks that has been my life Thus far So much self infliction and strife On top of that along the way I casually created a life A beautiful innocent who has not seen much nice. These days there are very few out there who I hold close in the know People with there own problems were all scooping the snow With broken backs wondering what directions to go With diffent speeds craving leads to discover the flow I feel many things im a yoyo you see bouncing back and forth between dilemas that may make me succeed trying to consiously eliminate vices & personal greed alot of easy road or casual trashing some of my needs In my head I get it. an Idea I know what is right Still ive chosen many times to fight the easier fight some call it laziness i might call it a lack of Zest for life worst part is I feel often i dont heed my own advice I know i can be all over the place no excuse in many ways a utter disgrace tornados destroy they dont fix up the place damn do I even deserve to be in this race? aftermath feels like drowning in an acid bath years of hindering decisions i know have surely dropped my class Half Full Half Empty Ive lived a grip right in the past drank the glass grabing cash and still landed my ass I feel weak not only phisically but mentally Battling the thought in reality life isnt friends with me Not always easy life but this block aint just a phase u see when I let live rent free inside my heart and my psyche Alot dont care for me I know this is true Ive burned alot of bridges probably more then you, you, or you tragic ends to some love interests that prematurally grew have said goodbye to some children i loved and I hope that they knew so much time wasted aware and not willing to embrace it maybe change a little bit be a man and fucking face it I been so close many times I can still very faintly taste it Always talk a big game underneath often BASIC I dont need lasik I need to open my eyes Appreciate what I have, build and be willing to cry Look up not down repel the clown first the one thats inside realize no guarentee that tomorrow could be a lie I have a Daughter that is very easy to love The pure innocence amazes and omg what a sponge flip side she has soaked up some grunge 2 rents on the cliff of chatty cathie have plunged Back and forth like a couple of kids destined to fail for so long petty shit we'd never quit of course ive landed in jail calling anyone I know to come save my ass and post bail Holeheartedly knowing people are sick and tired watching me fail I really do have some exceptional friends a few I 100% know I will cherish and climb peaks to defend if they start to break I try to mend and just let it bend I have though noticed a common suspended negative trend maybe its just me realizing people just change never succeded in love maybe I dont know the game feels like circling the drain which then enhances the pain the cold shoulders have been boulders and sometimes unexplained
By Cole Paulsen2 years ago in Poets
An Ode To Snow, Water and Life
The ode is a poetic form formed for flattery. There are three types of odes: the Horation; the Pindaric; and the Irregular. The Horation ode (named for the Latin poet, Horace) contains one stanza pattern that repeats throughout the poem--usually 2 or 4 lines. The Pindaric ode (named for the Greek poet, Pindar) comprises a pattern of three stanzas called triads. This type of ode can be composed of several triads, still the first (the strophe) and the second (antistrophe) should be identical metrically with the third (epode) wandering off on its metrical path. The irregular ode (named for no one in particular) does away with formalities and focuses on the praising aspect of the ode. Writer's Digest, Robert Lee Brewer
By Denise E Lindquist2 years ago in Poets
