Poetry 2 Blog by the Best JennyCrackas Wifey
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You haven’t got a clue What she does endure Tragic life, not knowing If they’ll ever find a cure You sit and stare And judge her ways Avoiding her Assume she’s crazed But she is just trying To deal with what she’s dealt Constant voices haunting her She’s hiding what she’s felt They’re telling her she’s useless In everything she does You tell her to snap out of it And not to make a fuss And this pushes her over the edge She is close to snapping You blame her, call her mad But this sickness is so trapping And so you fail to see Her side that loves and cares You miss out on all that’s good Given the chance she would be there Pushing aside her illness And all the fear she feels To help you through the tough times Understanding what is real You just write her off Because that’s easier Your ignorance is bliss Life’s simpler without her She isolates herself now She’s crumbling inside Teetering upon the edge With no-one to confide She honestly believes that To die would be the best She forgets the few of us that care And listens to the rest You and her voices That show your prejudice Break the little strength she has She believes she won’t be missed The tablets have stopped working The mental wards are grim She gulps the pills, shuts her eyes tight To escape you and her and him I am going to miss her She’s everything to me I’ll find a little comfort though She’ll finally be free Free from all closed-minded Who judge a book by its cover No matter What you think or say I will always love her ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Somebody very close to me has Paranoid Schitzophrenia. Alot of people assume that this means they have a split personality - this isn't the case! Schitzophrenia is an illness of the mind. It affects the chemistry in the brain. It can make a person suffering with it feel fear and bewilderment. They may believe that their thoughts, feelings and actions are known and controlled by others. They may lose their sense of individuality, uniqueness and direction. They may become paranoid and believe people are following them, persecuting them. Unfortunately, in general, society doesn't understand mental illness and doesn't care to. People with mental illness, who display their differences (this may be responding to voices in public etc) are stared at, looked at strangely, dismissed (even by family members who cannot come to terms with their loved ones illness). This can make the person who is unwell become withdrawn and lethargic and in some cases suicidal. All I can say is, before you judge a mentally ill person for their behaviour - imagine how you would feel if you had someone abusing or criticising you for hours on end only to find that nobody is actually there. How would you deal with that?? You wouldn't find it helpful if people ridiculed or laughed at you would you?? People don't make fun of somebody with cancer or diabetes - why mental illness?? Please, just be aware! Thanks for reading! I don't mean to preach - it just means so much to me to raise awareness of metal illness and lower prejudice against people with mental illnesses.
Tiny tattoo feathering your face, As star dust halos your hair. Silky ribbons blow in the breeze, From the rainbow that is your fare. Dip your hand in the Milky Way, It' sweet ambrosia to taste. Sweet nectar sips from heaven, Tarry here, there is no haste. Moon bathing among the stars, As you travel across the skies. Magic myst, take you where you wish: In a blink you shall have arrived. Cherubs dance in full attendance: Slightest wish at your call; They lay worlds at your feet, Give you Love: the greatest gift of all.
John walked the two mile journey home with pride swelling in his chest. He hadn't felt this good since he first began college. The sun felt great beaming down on his back with joy. He held his hands casually in his pockets as he walked along, gravel crunching underfoot as he made his way towards the great white beach house. For a man of 25, someone would think that John lived alone and on his own. This wasn't the case. Naturally, his parents being over-protective, offered him free room and board during his college years as long has he graduated with a major in medicine. He soulfully agreed. His feet found a change in the underfoot tone as he exchanged different types of earth. His feet were now scuffing against smooth concrete up the walkway to the enormous beach house. He didn't realize, but a small grin had overcome his gentle face. Dimples cornered the soft pink rolls that were his lips, a smile discreet yet revealing plastered his face. The walkway was shorter than he ever imagined it to be, and before he knew it, he had reached the door and twined his fingers around the elegant handle. John pushed the door forward to unveil the beauty of the beachhouse. The front room always seemed to bring out a cooler illusion with all turquoise couches, white walls, and mixtures of blues and greens coordinating with the scene of the family room. His mother was sprawled out on the L-shaped sofa, holding a martini in her right hand, completely clashing with the atmosphere. "Hi Mom." John greeted, tossing his keys on the glass table behind the twin chairs side by side. "Hello darling, have a seat!" She replied, obviously drunk with her slurred words. He smiled. "Nah, I'll go up to my room. What's for dinner?" Just as he asked, his stomach rumbled with anger. "The Johnson's have invited us to their barbeque and a bit of hot tubbing. They said I should stay off my feet." She said, taking a long casual drag from the clear liquid. "For once, I think they're giving you good advice. I wouldn't be going anywhere in your condition.." John teased. "Oh Johnny boy... Let your mother get a little thrashed. Go to your room." She waved him off with a proper hand he'd never recognized all of his childhood. He shook his head and took a left turn to the stair case, climbing each step slowly and deliberately as he viewed all the dozens of picture frames crowding the walls. He stopped at about the seventh step as he gazed into the picture frame of when he and his older sister were in the backyard of their first house, playing with wiggly worms. His face broke out into a full-on smile. He remembered shortly after the picture was taken that his sister Marie dared him to eat the grey lively worm. And he did. "John! John! Look what I found!" His nephew Spencer said as he held up a magazine high in the air, expecting the world to see it. John suddenly felt sick. It was a magazine nobody should look at, especially not a five-year old. His sister was going to beat the crap out of him if she ever found out. "Spencer, um...Spencer, we need to put that back where you found it, okay? I believe I told you not to go in my room without permission?" John scolded. "I'm sowy Johnathan, but Nana told me I could play with your cars. One wolled under the bed and I found this." John smacked his forehead with his palm. He probably had scarred the kid for life. "Gimme that!" John said snatching the deceitful magazine from the child's small hands. He stomped up the rest of the stairs, Spencer on his tail like a lost puppy. " Why did you pick it up in the first place?" John said irratated. "I saw boobies." His childish voice rang out through the whole house. "Could you keep it down??" John hushed him. The little boy's face softened and drooped with sadness. "I was just answering your queston." He blabbed, sticking out his lower lip. "You mean question?" "That's what I said!" He declared. John rolled his eyes. "Now, you promise not to tell Mommy about this?" John pleaded. "Pwomis." He lisped. "Alright. I forgive you." He said, opening the door to his room which was cool and nice. John probably had the most average room in the entire house. He didn't care about the extensive decoration because this was only his room during the summer and then it was back home and back to school. He glanced around the small space with the queen size bed with the blue plaid comforters and wooden dressers and desk. His laptop was sitting crooked atop the finished oak, shining a black screen. The air conditioner was buldging out the window, blowing the dark curtains out like a fat man. "Now put it back where you found it and get ready for dinner." John said, lightly spanking the child's baggy pants with a smile. He was really a cute kid, his mousy mop of brown hair sheilded his eyes and brown freckles dotted his nose. He squatted down, putting the magazine back nicely under his bed and getting back up to leave the room. John watched him and shook his head, closing the door. He could just barely hear the light pitter-patter of steps receeding down. John viewed himself in the mirror. A different shirt might do. He made his way to the dresser across the room. His shoes lightly clunking on the hard wood floor. Pulling open the first drawer, he saw all sorts of colors of shirts. Some blue, some red, mostly white, and a little pinch of brown was thrown into the collage. He randomly pulled out a shirt, which happened to be a brownish maroon color with black buttons all the way down the front. It was dressy enough for the Johnsons'. He peeled off his shirt, uncovering his hard earned abs and puffing chest. He glanced over at the mirror and did a serious model look, examining his body and flexing a manly muscle. He inwardly laughed at himself and pulled the brown shirt over his head, carefully unbuttoning the first three and grabbing the silver chain from the top of his dresser. All he needed to do was gel his hair, pop in a mint, and he'd be ready for the traditional barbeque at the next door neighbors. Everybody was ready ( and sober ) by six o'clock sharp. Spencer had his tangled hair combed, teeth brushed, and clothes changed into a pair of swimming trunks and a white T-shirt. John's mother dressed up fancy for the occasion, always wanting to look better than everyone else in her fitted white dress. His sister was more of a laid back lady wearing a pair of stylish jeans and a cotton hooded jacket. And it was last that John's father, Marcus, got dressed in a classy get-up of tan slacks and a Hawaiian short sleeved polo. Everyone made their short distance to the Johnson's home just 100 feet away from the gargantuan beach house. Everyone was greeted with a neighborly hug except for John who didn't get one from the Johnson's youngest daughter Katie. She was too shy to hardly look at him, so he put his arm around her and gave her a friendly noogie. She smiled, but didn't look him in the eye. John had no clue what her problem was. The smoky flavor of the air was a succulent as the ribs themselves. Tender and juicy smothered in honey-barbeque with a side of Jo-jo fries. Everyone licked every bit they could off of their fingers before taking another bite. John glanced at Katie who was using a fork ever so properly. She was behaving very strange. The Katie he knew would talk with her mouth full of food, pass gas whenever she felt like it, and always went tubing with him, having a great time. Now that she had turned 13, everything was changing about her. "So how was school this year Katie?" John asked her, looking her right in the eye where she definitely didn't feel comfortable. "It was fine." She said shortly, staring down at her plate with the crispy fries. "I haven't seen you in a year, give me details." He probed. "I had my first boyfriend." She said with no expression. "Oh, how is he?" John asked. "Fine." "So Marcus, I hear the new settlement is going over well?" Mr. Johnson asked, taking the awkward air away from his daughter. "Just fine, all merry. We bought out this new land where a tornado swept out an entire farmer's community back in 1987. It's been abandoned ever since." John's father said, clearing his throat before he began. "Oh... I heard about that. Every person killed, it's a shame..." The conversation dragged on and on. All about work and school and more work. John was getting quite bored and grabbed more fries onto his plate. There was small bit of silence before the giddy Mrs. Johnson spoke up. "Oh dear! I forgot the fruit salad!" She said, getting up from the table outside by the hot tub. "What time are we hot tubbing?" John asked. "Oh yes, probably in about another half hour or so. After Ginny's famous fruit salad." Mr. Johnson said with a loving smile to his wife who had just came out with the large tupper-ware bowl of the supposed delicious fruit salad. John couldn't hardly stand another bite. With a delayed time of forty-five minutes later, everyone got into bathing suits and jumped into the steaming and bubbling cauldron of a hot tub. John let the hot water engulf his body and layed back to relax. Most of everyone else did except for John's father and Mr. Johnson who were talking about the ever-unenjoyable politics. Marcus and David had completely different views of what was right and wrong. One year, their differences had resulted in a whole summer of booby-traps and attempts to kill one another. The war soon ended with the help of the wives stepping in and pointing out each of their husband's immaturities. John began to get drowsy hearing the drawling voices of everyone around him and the hot water taking in his body. His body drifted farther and farther away from his mind of each word that the two families spoke. His neck was getting hot and his head was getting clouded up with dreams and images of certain things. His last thought before he completely fell asleep was his date tomorrow with, what he figured, was the prettiest girl...
I imagine a life With no more harsh words that irritate the skin. No more settlements to end with a knife. In a game of hate, no one wins. In this painting I am dreaming, Each stroke giving meaning. Beauty through each mixed running hue, Till finally I found the part that is you. A beautiful work of art, Caught by the eyes of few. Eyes clasping and never finding thought to part, But only if the world knew.. A gentle touch to add a blush, Softly dabbing with life's brush. Painting a picture for my eyes to see, Painting life's picture of who I'm going to be. Some pink to add life to the nights, A tad of orange for the sunlit days. Some blue for after our fights, A little green to make up in special ways. There are those mistakes, Most people in your life are fakes. But its the flaws in a work of the heart, That makes everything beautiful, pulls together what was apart. In the end as you set down your brush, You look at your painting but was it what you had in mind? Every detail drawn out and paint with great lush, But in the end, you'll always feel it wasn't enough, there's always more to find...
One such as I was never a friend, I was never there till the end. I was there till you left me, Which seemed to come quite easy. One such as I was never a lover, I was only a friend. No one wanted to see forever, Just till their hearts would mend. One such as I was never a sister, In your eyes I was only an impostor. I had too much pain to forget, And you had no time for such regret. One such as I was never a mother, I could never truly heal wounds. How could I build up the muster, If I was too injured to reward any boons. One such as I? How many burden this cry? Taken up in pain and misery Who could help others necessity? One such as I? This doesn't need to be thought, heard or whispered. One could easily be given the talent to fly, If only given the time that is deserved.
words are only words they falter and are weak Deviate is the world you have taken on But love is the new awakening that has made me strong Your brilliance is the light in my laughter Your sincerity the part that makes it memorable long after Thank you for your patience and the thing that makes you who you are but most of all for being someone that I can adore
Krissy set the green cup down on the counter softly. The ringing still in her ears from the doorbell. She could just barely taste the bitter liquid on her tongue. Wiping her mouth, she approached the door. She grabbed the handle, pulling the door open slowly to reveal John, the man on the beach. "Hey, I was walking on the beach after you left and I found this...I assume that it is yours?" He said, showing the homeless black book with the small rips and tears. "Oh my god, you- Where did you find it?" She asked frantically, offering her hand out to take the holder of her thoughts from the strong man's hand. "I found it on a pile of sand next to where we were talking. Out of instinct, I thought it was yours." He said to her, grabbing her eyes with his and smiled. How could she be so beautiful? "It is... Did you read it?" She cringed. "No, I didn't. There's probably something in there I don't want to know." She looked into his tender dark eyes and found herself at loss for words for a gentle second. She noticed he had changed since she saw him not only an hour ago. He was wearing loose jeans and an over-shirt of a complimenting white. She could tell he was in shape. His chest plump and broad as he held himself. He was a confident man. Her eyes drifted down his front where, beneath his damp white shirt, revealed wash board abs that flexed when he spoke to her. She noticed before too awkwardly long, that she was staring. "T-Thanks." She stuttered, hugging the beloved journal to her well-developed chest. "No problem." He said at first. She was such a mysterious woman. A woman he had to know or he would regret the day he turned away from her. She beheld something special, something so intriguing that made his desire to know her so deep. He swallowed and began again; "You know, I was just wondering... if maybe you'd like to go out for coffee with me." He commented, leaning against her door frame and curving the corners of his mouth in a charming grin. "I-I- Uh..." She stuttered. This would totally change her plans drastically. Something above was telling her something, and she always knew to trust that little voice inside. "If you don't want to, that's okay." He had given her the option. "I just thought it would be nice to socialize with someone new." He drew himself away from her eyes and to her face. She had full pink lips that looked so soft he could have caressed them with his index finger unconscious. Her cheek bones were set high on her face, rosy and flushed from the sunshine that crept over her features. He then found himself back at her eyes, so irresistible. "Of coarse...I-" She really didn't know what to say. "So is it alright if I come by around ten o'clock?" He suggested, taking his weight from her door frame and to his own sandaled feet. "Yes." She prolonged the word. It had been so long since she had that certain feeling in her stomach. The sensation of butterflies nipping softly at her insides. She closed the door as slowly as she had opened it with a good-bye. She couldn't believe this day. It was a great timing of coincinence the moment that he had knocked on her door. If he would have been one second later, she would be dead...
No one seems to know what I am, perhaps they just don't care. But be aware of the fact that I'm alive. I think, feel, hear and see. I breathe. I can hear your grandmothers arguing at Shop rite, about whether or not I taste as fresh as my folks in the old days. They'd slowly shake me up and down. a gesture to go along with an irritated: "If my husband were alive he'd.." or a disappointed: "They don't grow 'em like they used to." I always hated when they tossed me back with a careless flick of a wrist. They don't understand what it's like landing on top of a complete stranger.
If ever there was no nose My life would be real hell I would not stop and sniff the rose Because I could not smell.
I saw a great big elephant and he was really blue. He came right over to me and asked me, "How are you?" I said that I was fine and he answered just the same. And quickly I thought to myself, 'This elephant is lame!'
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