At 3/31/05 04:18 PM, Myst_Williams wrote:
Untitled
Very good, my favourite thus far. Your meter and rhyme etc wasn't there, but it flowed and the words moved with one another in an odd, intriguing way. Ireally like this one.
Yeah...um...
Would that one be mine? Sorry, I'm kinda slow...x.x
Here's a new one. I'm a little nervous about posting it, as it is complete and utter crap, but:
Reality
I opened my eyes to see a large room with posters covering the wall. I didn't read them, I was just looking at all of the rows of sleeping bags similar to the one I was in. Seems that I'm the last one awake. I got up and cheerfully walked into a room of misfits. Even though they didn't look it, they were all friends. This was a place where no one was judged. It was eternal happiness. And although I had never been there, I was no stranger to it. I was a friend.
Who keeps talking outside my door? Will they stop? Will they go away? I'm not worried. I know him. We're relatives. But I'm not sure who he is. I'm not sure if I will be able to get this out right...let alone even write it.
I knew someone here very well. She knew me, too. More than friends. Less than siblings. We were casual when people were around, but we loved each other so much. We were perectly comfortable with it, which was a first for me. We took each other away from reality. It was a perfect love that no one knew of. If they did, they understood. And at night, when no one was looking, we kissed. It was not something very big, we were just verifying and embracing our love. And it was unimaginably perfect in an odd way.
I don't feel very good about this. I'm going to walk away. My fingers are glued to the keys, moving and typing in a mindless, robotic way. And who is the person that speaks so loudly outside my door, in the hallway? What are they doing there? Why are they causing so much noise? Should I investigate or let it go? Such a simple thing can tear your mind apart, such as the creaking noise I am constantly hearing along with the person talking.
I want to meet her again. I am now in a world of prejudice and judgement because of the wrong shirt or the wrong shoes. There, I wasn't short, and I wasn't teased. Definitely not by her. I just want to remember what she looks like, who she is. Subconsciously, I love her. It's surprising, how one can love what they can't remember. Every dream makes a world of contradiction to mortality. That was a place where contradiction was a law accompanied only by peace. That was a place where, unlike here, cleanliness was hidden under the dirt.
