Am I the only one noticing this?
Another type of drugSadness is like a drugAnother type of drug by ~Enemom
Except there's no needle,
no smoke and no cigarettes.
Just a whole lot
Of sorrow and regret.
My faith My faith should not be a deterrent.My faith by ~Enemom
My faith should not drive you away.
My faith should let you come
And experience what I say.
There is so much acceptance of things nowadays.
So many different things,
It gets ScArY.
How my faith seems to be the odd one
How my faith is not part of this acceptance.
Why isn't it?
We spread love throughout the land,
We've had hand in the morals of humans throughout the ages.
We've given so much,
Some of us gave all we have.
So where is our tolerance?
Do we not deserve acceptance?
Why should you get it?
Why shouldn't we share it too?
To those of my faith,
Whatever happened to
"Love thy neighbor?"
"Pray for our enemy?"
"Love, and tolerance?"
Whatever happened to those?
Do not hate those who aren't like us.
Do not hate them at all.
An ugly past I hate my own past.An ugly past by ~Enemom
I hate it so very much.
So much destruction,
So much despair.
You think I'm mean now?
You never saw me at my worse dear.
I only let one person know my ugly past,
And I'm glad I can trust her.
But my past is so painful,
The mere thought of it makes me gag,
Makes me sick.
I once was a girl so vile,
The moment you met me I could make you hate me.
I turned against my own friends,
I started tearing them apart.
I started to break everyone's hearts.
Most of my past is just a bunch of mistakes.
Most of it is just vile, disgusting black ink.
Most of it is stupidity and youth,
Most of it is horrible ugly truth.
But telling me I'm bad now,
Telling me I can't keep my mouth shut
Telling me I'm a bad person,
Dear, you want that?
Go back into my past
And meet the old me.
You'll hate her even more.
Flash backsFlashback: 6 years old.
A small girl is crying on her bed. She just had a nightmare. To her, it was terrifying. And scary. A tall, brown haired woman with piercing blue eyes begins comforting her. She picks up the child off her bed and rocks her side to side, singing a song about a snowy land. The child falls asleep in her arms, and the mother pulls the girls hair out of her face. She kisses the child's cheek, then tucks her in.
Flashback: 8 years old.
A black haired girl walks home. Her hands are burned and tears slide down her cheeks. She got into a fight earlier with another girl, one who could control fire. She tried her best with her ice, but sadly, she failed. She ran away from the girl who burned her quickly. As she walks home, she tries her best to lower the temperature, but sadly her hands are burned and she can't. When she gets home, her mother treats her hands and heals them with potions. It wouldn't be her last encounter with a fire bei
Time and Ideas They say you can't turn lead into gold. I say you can. But not here. Not in this world. Not in this time. Not right now.
They used to say it was impossible to fly hundreds of years ago. Look at us now. Airplanes, jet packs, rockets, and helicopters. What would they say if they saw the future? Where people rode in airplanes that fly so high, where rockets blast off and visit the moon. We just needed ideas for that. And ides come from our minds.
People say that our minds push us forward. But what pushes our minds? It's a question few consider, or even think about. It's a question no one asks, so it's hard to answer. But the answer is simple, for it is always there.
Time. Time is the key. When we are alone at night, as the clock ticks, an idea comes to us.we develop that idea later, when we have time. As time flows, so do ideas. Even when we aren't alone, even when we are doing something, time is flowing. And time pushes out
Shell A shell.
That's what I see.
As I drive down the road.
On the way to the sea.
A little gray shell.
So tiny, so fragile. So hollow, so small.
It's hardly even noticed, hardly noticed at all.
I stop and look at the shell.
I notice the cracks it has. I notice it hides some. I notice it.
I notice the poor little shell.
I pick up the shell. I put it in my hand.
Oh how tiny it is, barely bigger than a grain of sand.
No wonder no one noticed this shell on the sand.
I speak softly to the little shell. I hold it close.
Nothing. No life. Not even a tiny burst.
I hold the shell close and whisper to it.
"Let me fill you up with my heart. Maybe that will help."
I took out my heart and placed one small drop.
One tiny bit.
The shell couldn't take it.
It's walls were too thick, yet they were so thin.
Thick to kindness, thin to harshness.
Like an umbrella that's only good for when the sun is shining.
Friends Honestly, I look now.
I see people falling at my feet. Like broken plates.
Like dead flies. Like falling falling stars.
The feelings surrounding someone's fall.
It isn't please at, no not at all.
Those feelings are dark, and bleak, and dreary.
So black and blue are those broken hearts.
That spill forth sadness and angst.
All we can do is try.
Try to fix them.
Whether we caused it or not.
We must try. It's what a friend does, it's what friends do.
But you can only do so much. Only help so much.
Beyond that, all you can do is hope. Hope that things will be better.
When you can't do much for a broken friend,
Stand them up.
Help them make their amends.
Help them fight their battles.
Be their loyal soldiers, defend them with all you've got.
I will say this. I will say it aloud.
Life is too short to be in a dark cloud.
Life is too short to always be gloomy.
At one point, you've got to be happy sweetie.
Don't you dare Don't you dare tell me how I should act.
Don't you dare tell me how I should dress.
Don't you dare tell me how my body should look.
I'm a woman, I'm a female.
But you won't see me shopping for clothes.
Or whining about my nails and my phone.
You won't see me in cute clothes often,
Because I usually just throw some on without a care.
It's just how I am.
You won't see me starving myself,
Or comparing myself to supermodels,
Comparing myself to other people.
I'm not a circle queen, I don't force you to act a certain way.
I'm not limiting you because of your looks.
I'm limiting you on your friendliness, your quirks, your personality.
Don't you dare tell I should be skinnier or should be thinner,
Because I'm proud of having a bit of fat,
Proud of having wider hips!
Seriously, what's wrong with that?
So I'm not a skinny hourglass.
Is that really that bad?
I may not be skinny as a super