Am I not making myself clear?
Please don't draw me in red!
I'm allergic to red crayons
AHHHH! My butt itches!
Please draw me to scratch!
You are so evil, don't put my
Hands in the air!
Speaking of hands,
Can I have fingers?
I'm really sick
of these spindly
little arms you give me
Can't you make me more
than just a stick? Also,
I don't want to listen to
Hannah Montana!
Can't you listen to
MayDay Parade
or SOMETHING ELSE
while you draw?
HOLY MOSES!!!
Why are you drawing a DOG?
I'm scared of dogs!
You are such a mean
Little Third grader!
If I had fingers, I'd
Wring your little neck!
I don't care what you want
Me to look like!
... ... ...
Can you at least draw my
mouth screaming?
NO! Don't draw that smile!
I am not happy!
I'M ANGRY!
LISTEN TO ME!
Oh yeah...
You.
Can't.
Hear.
Me.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Headphones
Passage of happiness
Floats to my ears in blue
They bring me my muse
And never something less
Streaming rays of magic
Sometimes it's tragic
How beautiful it sounds
Spinning in its rounds
Connected to the best invention
Created with the best intention
It always clams me down
And medicates my frown
You bring the music to my ears
Consider yourself comended
Floats to my ears in blue
They bring me my muse
And never something less
Streaming rays of magic
Sometimes it's tragic
How beautiful it sounds
Spinning in its rounds
Connected to the best invention
Created with the best intention
It always clams me down
And medicates my frown
You bring the music to my ears
Consider yourself comended
I suppose this means goodbye
Your colds hands embrace
My hot pale face
All I can do is plead dearly
Please just stay a while
But your statue-like eyes
Offer no compromise
My watery eyes close
This is the last time I'll see you
I suppose
This means goodbye
My hot pale face
All I can do is plead dearly
Please just stay a while
But your statue-like eyes
Offer no compromise
My watery eyes close
This is the last time I'll see you
I suppose
This means goodbye
Thursday, March 4, 2010
It's 12:59
Stuck in time
12:59
Will I get out of this abyss?
How did I even get into this?
This mess that binds me
Tries and tries me
Please dear clock,
Do your tick-tock...
No?
Trapped in time
It's 12:59
Forever
12:59
Will I get out of this abyss?
How did I even get into this?
This mess that binds me
Tries and tries me
Please dear clock,
Do your tick-tock...
No?
Trapped in time
It's 12:59
Forever
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Surreal sleep
Drowning in my dreams,
so authentic to me it seems
A place where pencils run,
swifly beneath the sun
It's a land where impossible is not word,
Well at least that's what I heard
from the elves running through the trees
Loping over grassland with most ease
It's a place where turtles run without shells
For the turtles can indeed protect themselves
so authentic to me it seems
A place where pencils run,
swifly beneath the sun
It's a land where impossible is not word,
Well at least that's what I heard
from the elves running through the trees
Loping over grassland with most ease
It's a place where turtles run without shells
For the turtles can indeed protect themselves
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
White-blue cascade
Water falls
Not in a stream
In a gush
White cascades whisp
Over my frail body
I hold my hands up
To surrender
But still the
Waterfall falls.
Not in a stream
In a gush
White cascades whisp
Over my frail body
I hold my hands up
To surrender
But still the
Waterfall falls.
Your co-writer
Stuck in the space
behind your ear
I become inspired
My pink thinking hat
is brimming with ideas
Pushing and Shaking
In this prison
Behind your ear
And you curse
As I crash to the floor
You wrap your fingers
around my hexagon shape
Wondering how I escaped you
You tuck me into
Your fiery red pony-tail
I've become un-movable
Plugging myself into your mind
Allowing my inspiration
To be yours
Your eyes light with color and
You reach for me behind your ear
But I am not there
You waste precious seconds searching
When I am nestled in your hair
By the time I am discovered
The inspiration is gone
From both of us,
You, the poet
And I, the pencil.
behind your ear
I become inspired
My pink thinking hat
is brimming with ideas
Pushing and Shaking
In this prison
Behind your ear
And you curse
As I crash to the floor
You wrap your fingers
around my hexagon shape
Wondering how I escaped you
You tuck me into
Your fiery red pony-tail
I've become un-movable
Plugging myself into your mind
Allowing my inspiration
To be yours
Your eyes light with color and
You reach for me behind your ear
But I am not there
You waste precious seconds searching
When I am nestled in your hair
By the time I am discovered
The inspiration is gone
From both of us,
You, the poet
And I, the pencil.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Crystal prison
Who is this beautiful beast that stands
Stands before me
Behind the crystal door
of this portal
The door I will never open
Behind her beautiful face
there lays magical objects
I reach my fingers out to touch
But my fingers crack against the glass
The best runs her fingers through her hair
I find myself doing the same
She smiles at me
A glimpse of straight teeth, and
Stars glowing in her eyes
I wonder if I look the same as
I feel my mouth
and My lips
Pull into a smile as she did
She straightens her cardigan
I copy the gesture
She grins
And I mirror her movements
Every single move
She backs away from the portal
I am thrown into the darkness
The dark cold of my prison
She slides the wood door into its home
and I close my eyes
Longing to be out of this mirror.
Stands before me
Behind the crystal door
of this portal
The door I will never open
Behind her beautiful face
there lays magical objects
I reach my fingers out to touch
But my fingers crack against the glass
The best runs her fingers through her hair
I find myself doing the same
She smiles at me
A glimpse of straight teeth, and
Stars glowing in her eyes
I wonder if I look the same as
I feel my mouth
and My lips
Pull into a smile as she did
She straightens her cardigan
I copy the gesture
She grins
And I mirror her movements
Every single move
She backs away from the portal
I am thrown into the darkness
The dark cold of my prison
She slides the wood door into its home
and I close my eyes
Longing to be out of this mirror.
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