Okay... So today wasn't exactly... The best. You planned for productivity And wound up without. It happens. 'Kay? It happens. Repeat after me: It. Happens. You still tried your best. You still did better than last time. You still got a bit done. It's just one day. Just a drop in the bucket, In the grand scheme of things. So don't feel bad, okay? Don't beat yourself up. Never feel pressured To always be at your best. I know things seem awful now. But because I'm you, I also know You always make it through. We will make it through this, too. You are loved, Never forget that.
The Missing House by ThornyEnglishRose, literature
Literature
The Missing House
I must have been very young indeed when I noticed it, because I'd only just learnt to count to twenty (and I was, though I say so myself, an intelligent child). 'Mummy,' I said, as we stood four doors down from our own house. 'There's no number thirteen!' 'Some roads don't have a number thirteen,' she said, as if this were perfectly acceptable. I was outraged. 'Why not?' 'Because it's an unlucky number.' The older one gets, the less sense the world seems to make. What on earth was an 'unlucky number' supposed to be? Further investigation made a nonsense of what my mother had said. In every residential road I visited, I looked for numbers twelve and fourteen, and then for number thirteen. It was always there, either between those two or on the other side. Why was our road the only one with no number thirteen? There had to be a real reason; I was sure of it. Then, after I was put on 'free reading' at school, I began to think there might be a real, supernatural reason. The
Oooh Ma, Oooh Pa
Must the show go on?
Oooh Pa, take me home!
Oooh Ma, let me go!
There must be some mistake!
I didn't mean to let them
Take away my soul!
Am I too old? Is it too late?
Oooh Ma, Oooh Pa
Where's t
I read all of the love poems written thoughtfully for others like a voyeur from my computer screen drinking in all of the words that were never meant for me
I feel the world's chaos As my own Black specks of moments Form a body I inhabit for now And I know No force can keep them Together much longer I feel the world's sorrow As my own My demons flow, grinning Out of my wide-open wounds To form rivers and seas To pour down freely In a never ending storm Shards of madness Thoughts penetrate the electric air Born of darkness I am the world’s shadow Oh, the randomness How it squeezes my liquid soul Never understood As a human never accepted Into the twisted order of yours And so I scream Out here, with the insane wind My lungs Belong to no one And I let the anger of the earth And its passion so absolute To be my own