Poetry Stitched in My Thoughts

Like a pawn move one space at a time, life is a game in the hands of the beholder.

Many options lead to different paths but the outcome of the game is your choice but not your choice alone.

We affect those around us every day; pieces fitting into a million puzzles.

Each piece gets lost here and there but is always somehow found.

Some take longer than others and some never finish the game, and yet they live on through memories of items.

Objects may be inanimate; however they hold more emotion and meaning than most of us will ever know.

They have futures and pasts just as you and I do.

My advice is to count on yourself alone, but don’t be ashamed to borrow someone’s time.

You are a picture of a completed puzzle don’t live your life with the pieces glued together so they may never fall apart but don’t be reckless and treat the pieces poorly so that when put together again they won’t fit the same.

You are one in seven billion and living in the moment, being free for a second is worth more than your hopes and dreams because that’s what they are, dreams.

Here, now, the small moments of joy that make you forget what’s bad, those are the moments you most likely won’t look back on and although forgotten, they’ll be a valuable part of your story that tells who you are and how you came to be.

~A. Howard

The Wake Up.

I was having the best day ever

Until I woke up.

I was happy,

Until I woke up.

I was at peace,

Until I woke up.

All of my goals were gained,

All of my dreams were dreamt,

All of my wishes were wished,

Until I woke up.

Now I wonder why anyone wakes up,

Why anyone would wish to wake up,

Why anyone would give himself to the wake up.

We all have to wake up, accept the lucky few who die before waking up.

The wake up isn’t about waking up.

It’s not about the early mornings.

It’s not about the evenings.

It’s about the everyday that occurs after the wake up.

Parents protect you,

Teachers push you,

Society warns you,

Everybody knows about the wake up.

Everybody takes it differently.

Some accept,

Some deny,

Some try to overcome,

As if the wake up is something you can avoid,

Like the only way from it isn’t to die but to keep your childhood, holding onto the TV shows, the friends, the innocence, the love.

But the wake up doesn’t see your childhood.

It sees whatever it wants and nobody can ever escape it, and it knows. It knows you can’t leave.

It knows everybody eventually cripples in its clutched when it reveals the hate, the anger, the tragedy, the loneliness, the emptiness.

IT KNOWS EVERYBODY CAN HEAR IT, EVERY LANGUAGE CAN TRANSLATE IT.

It knows you’re helpless!

Everybody thinks they can overcome the wake up.

But the thing is, we already woke up.

A Poem By Liz Rodrigues. This poem began as a simple scribble on paper. No more than thoughts jotted down while bored in class. I came across this piece of art and thought it necessary to be published. The Wake Up is layered with the untold truths of life and riddled with thoughts many dare not to ponder let alone say aloud. I felt these cold words strike a nerve. The Wake Up described so many memories in my past I wonder if it feels the same for others upon first glance…

~A. Howard

 

M.I.A.

The text format to our soon to be posted video:

I see a bitchy attitude under a veil of black strands.

A hypocrite who sees nothing past her own nose.

 

We were such good friends, yet we’ve got nothing in common but the interests she pretends to share.

If only she you would take time to understand a feeling as simple as empathy.

She’s seen as a disgrace to her own family and that earns her ‘unwanted’ pity.

First abandoned by her your mother and disowned by heryour father.

Hurt, abused, abandoned.

How can i do the same?

 

The stutter in her tone and the faked desperation in her heart, it all adds to the shitty attitude and the poor actions she takes to keep us around while forcing us to drift further apart.

 

Your anxiety is nothing but an excuse to do what you want. Your “bipolar” disorder is nothing but a phrase to you; a scapegoat that holds no weight on your silver tongue.

 

She tortures the ones she thinks she loves. She purposely stabs the ones who try to help her the hardest. They are quick jabs like a dancer’s steps. Hidden. Subtle. Lethal. She lets the (blood hope)drain from their bodies until not one goddamn person is left, yet we hang on like toy soldiers. Fight to find a better you. We leave no friend behind.

But what if you’re M.I.A.?

 

Leave no man behind? HA! All we do is chase after you! YOU LEAVE US BEHIND EVERY STEP OF THE GODDAMN WAY AND WE STILL STAY BY YOUR SIDE BEGGING FOR YOU TO LET US HELP, AND ALL WE DO IS TAKE THE DIRT YOU DISH AT US. OUR FRIENDSHIP IS NOTHING BUT A BATTLEFIELD AND I CAN’T NO, I WON’T BE HERE WHEN YOU PLEAD AND CALL! IM NOT YOUR TOY NOR AM I A SOLDIER!

 

Why have friends when you won’t bother to fight for the ones you love? Love, friendship? It’s not a battlefield. It’s a mountain range with it’s ups and downs, short peaks and endless valleys that seem to drag on forever–

 

Like the titanic, the damn thing won’t sink.

 

But there is an end. There is a flat ground. There will always be another peak, no matter how steep that angle is. We struggle to get to the top then stumble down to the bottom in a fury of regretful words spat and snarled in snarky tones. We are friends. We survived the steep ends that feel like bridge drops, then climbed until we reached Nirvana while knowing full well that the only thing ready to meet us on the other side is a bigger fall.

 

We break up and make up. This is bullshit, no one who’s sane would choose to go through, but we do because we love you.

 

“You don’t get to choose if you get hurt in this world, but you do have some say in who hurts you.”

(~John Green, The Fault In Our Stars)


But we don’t cut the ones we care about out of our lives just because the road gets bumpy. You signed up for a commitment you can’t cheat on or walk away from. There are no winners or losers in this. I’m with you, ‘til the end of the line.