16 and me
My heart is a quiet hallway,
Echoing with words that never left my mouth.
I collect broken moments
The way others collect memories.
The mirror doesn’t recognize me anymore.
It shows a girl with tired eyes
And a smile that learned how to lie politely.
Everyone says i’m growing,
Yet it feels more like fading,
Like watercolor left out in the sun.
I like being alone to a certain extent,
But I hate feeling lonely if that makes sense.
I write my feelings in invisible ink,
And hope someone learns how to read it.
Being sixteen is knowing too much
And still not understanding enough.
Being sixteen and me,
Is watching friendships grow like gardens
I was never invited to walk through.
Their laughter spills everywhere,
None of it reaches me.
I carry whole conversations in my chest,
Things I would’ve said
If anyone had stayed long enough to listen.
Some nights I lie awake
Counting all the ways
A heart can feel crowded while being completely alone.
A Newspaper
Once upon a time, the Guardian was a famous newspaper
it was democratic, to a certain extent, and readers are
invited to give their view, but with moderation and niceness
If not, they would politely ban the regressor
When the paper was famous, it was a bit left-wing, but always ready to see the other point of view
It was pro-Israel, defending Palestinian artists' rights
while overlooking as long as possible, the utter brutality
of Israeli politics against, say, Palestinians
The fact that the Guardian has been able to change is its
ability to alter its stands, yet holding to their journalistic
who are not left-wing, except for some of them who
Thanks to nature and time, they have wings.
Today, the Guardian is no longer a newspaper; it is more
like a color magazine dedicated to true sex stories shies
not away from lesbianism and what we now call gayness
It caters to a younger middle class, employed in, I think
show business, or the media, with titles like TV analyst
Or a researcher of AI, who will one day make all of them
out of work
When I get up in the morning, I drink a cup of coffee and
For entertainment, read the Guardian
Please write me a letter, tell how are you
Think of me please for a moment
You might not be interested but this is true
Without you life is a torment
I’m so devastated you wouldn’t believe
I can’t think of anything other than us
How did it happen that you chose to leave
Why did you display a mistrust?
I tried to be tactful as much as I could
But maybe you were so uptight
And tired as well, that you thought its no good
To continue with me every night
Maybe you laughed, thinking I’m still a child
But what if we are, to a certain extent
Little children, and maybe this helps to survive
Although we don’t see if it can.
Please write me a letter, forget what you feel
Bad always shows more than enough
You’ll be surprised how its easy and real
To write me a letter of love.
I'm in love with you so so deep
I dream of you in my sleep
I hope this dream do come true
Searching for you and only you
This dreams got me floating fast and high
This journey I'm taking I do know why
Your heart can take you many places
Travel so far see many faces
Dreams come true I know this much
Can't wait to find you and feel your touch
Dreams are real to a certain extent
Dreams can be a wonderful event
I have a vision that's clear to me
Of who I'm searching for and trying see
I'll open my eyes to see the light
My search for you I know it's right
Life is never what it seems
I know I'll find you in my dreams
No news is good news; the known saying goes
Whether stated in prose, or its meted in rhyme
That's the outlook it seems the eu's designed
Whether covid or conflict, they play the same way
There's no voice of dissention, allowed; it's all bad
Yet they're in control of its outflow, and in general
That's sad' Maybe RT was biased? to a certain extent'
Yet people did watch, and so adjudge; on its bents
I could always turn it off though; and often I did'
I didn't need a big brother, with volumes of kid'
So they believe the known saying then..)
(No news is good news) yet straighten their ties
Slap on greasepaint; and polish their shoes'
Then feed out, even more jollop
To you'se; thats no lies'
There’s a thunderstorm watch
Though it’s sunny outside
So I don’t feel the need
To take cover or hide.
Yet it may come to call
Like the weatherman said
And that knowledge will fill
Many people with dread.
But I don’t feel afraid;
I don’t need to be out.
If the thunder goes boom
I’ll enjoy it, no doubt.
For when Nature decides
She has reason to vent,
I admire her pluck
(To a certain extent).
When we take a walk down any high street
more and more signs of to let or for sale
the demise of the independent shops no more
even the national ones struggle to stop the nail
It's so easy to put the blame on the web
though that's to blame to a certain extent
but many owners find their rent too steep
not making enough leaving them with a tent!
Is it inevitable for them to give up?
or should they fight on no matter what?
with most just ending up to be bankrupt
seeing the web besat them up with no dot
The future holds we know not what
for not everyone can be part of the net
too expensive or location is not available
some prefer to shop where they are met
The world is going just too fast
it needs to slow down and just ask
is this really for my benefit at all?
for soon eventually, all things will fall
(I have written this with my thoughts about The Death of the High Street as opposed to online shopping, supermarkets etc. Do we want to see our favourite department stores close as so many are struggling? Debenhams is cutting stores in bulk currently. What can be done about it if anything? Do we even care? Do you prefer online shopping?)
4/24/15
Who's at fault
For such misconduct across the asphalt
Similar to the color of Hawaiian black salt
If your intent was meant
To only go to a certain extent
And not one hundred percent
Then honestly you didn't give it your best attempt
No offense
But it might make even more sense
If you look at both sides of the fence
Always not just at your own expense
Don't get jealous
And be selfish
By trying to embellish
A made up story beside the trellis
While being a bit overzealous
A hundred feet above some buried relics
That were considered cursed and hellish
By: Dalton Ogletree
To a certain extent we have no love,
Angry words spat can never be withdrawn.
To a certain extent one may never smile again,
No joy, no sense of humor.
To a certain extent insecurity strikes,
Yet none of it were we ever given.
To a certain extent one isn't himself,
'If they discover, I take quietus'
To a certain extent we are blind,
Even an insensible can sense the tension.
To a certain extent we are always unaware,
'If only we had taken to be awake.'
To a certain extent one might never write again.
Ink and paper present, thoughts blunt.
To a certain extent be inpersistant.
Lest you pursue harm.
To a ungraceful exent,
I might not see the kingdom.
If only it had come to my knowledge
How uncertain the extent was.
To a greater extent we are bitter.
To a uncertain extent we are at peace.
To this extent we are alive.
To an unknown extent we are dead.
To an annoying extent we laugh.
To certain extent we cry.
To a certain exent we consequently act.
Yet to another,
Nay, no consequenses.
The pink petal is holding the buds safe like a mother hen,
I see another overlapping,
As I keep removing the laps one by one,
I realize, isn't our life's destinies going the same,
We achieve one goal, to start one anew,
As we peel the clusters one by one,
Here the stamen and the baby pink plastic like looking layer-
The rest of the flower, latex white,
Picked for cooking along coconut- a tasty delight.
But as I go ahead the layers, size of the clusters small and small,
And plucking getting tough and tough,
Hands blackened, sticky and tight,
As if struck with -Araldite.
I manage to go to a certain extent,
I keep waiting; probably I shall see the top portion now,
Which my mother claimed to be sweet and soft,
Like the heart of the lord
But on and on as I kept peeling,
But after a certain spot
Whence I had no patience left,
I took a knife and slit the cone,
Only to see the layers on and on,.
At this point I had this thought,
Final goal being God,
Final destiny happiness,
We all climb from one step of stairs,
And go along many a stair case.
We reach God the ultimate truth
Or leave the road in between,
This is a dreary journey we make,
To receive the joy of everlasting happiness.
Don't be afraid, I'm not going anywhere
I'm not going to run
Its scary
But we're giving it a try
Numb
Dont force it
Go with the flow, let it happen
Falling for you hard
Didn't realize it was so deep within
Butterflies
Body still trembles
You drive me crazy.... not a bad thing
Stunned
Fearless, to a certain extent
Your so real, not like the others before
You got that shine in your eyes
Through which you can see your innerself
Your emotions,
There's just something about you
I catch myself staring at you
Finding you look right on back
Making eye contact
Gives me goosebumps
Turning away with a smile
As my face turns red
Babe, your amazing.
25 April 2011
Changing times changing wars
Soldiers aren't just men anymore
Gender roles have mixed and mixed
Some women look like men some men look like chicks
Equality is good to a certain extent
Till it all gets exstream and away from what God meant
There is an order to everything
Its not winter then fall then summer then spring
You don't put your cart before your horse
You don't bake the flour then add the ingredients of course
Women are not husbands and men are not wives
You don't love evil and God despise
The secret ingredients of Viagra I'm gonna present
There's Asprin, Ibuprofen, Vitamins A and C to a certain extent
But the biggest surprise
Which will open your eyes
is that Fix-A-Flat makes up over 90 percent!
Her heart has just said that
It has found the one
That it wants to settle with.
So in anticipation of the day
She will have to hang about
In a life that she would
To a certain extent do without.
For the existence that she previously knew
And dipped her toes into
Would only make the birth
Of courtship she now desires
End up in a swell of sand.
She knows that it would take years
For her soul companion
To comprehend that her
Life in now fixed Just for him
And in the closing stages he may not
Agree with the amount of
Selflessness for such an individual,
Thus may even end up walking away
From such a surprising scene.
In her heart she also knows
That the life that she
Lives on this life altering hours
Will never make him even
Imagine of staying, for he has such morals
That just makes her seem to be a stray.
So to that new life that she is going
To set on herself today
She shall at slightest have
The smallest amount of chances
to be in his hands until the end of instant.
This now gives her everlasting hope
To live until that last day.
As I wonder why
Somehow, parts of me find it within themselves
To find the answers to previous questions
So as to remain open
And to continue to hear
And to always love-
All, blindly given with the unspoken hopes of their return in equal measure
Perhaps for a time
And, in a way
To a certain extent-
Maybe?
Will the wondering continue without end?
And, will the standing continue to be alone?
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