Mavry Potts
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Today I have two pieces for you, the second one will be going up three hours after this one is posted.
~ You will breathe Inhale the gaseous remains It might be hard But it’s worth it. You will swallow Consume the spoiled milk In might taste bad But you could be dead. You will exhale Let out the poison It might be the last But you need to. You will walk Step onto the hot coal It might burn your feet But you can’t stand still. You will run Away from the monster It might be tiring But you need to survive. You will sleep Through the screams It might be what kills you But you need the energy. You will die Just jump right there It might not be what you want But it is what we require of you. The sudden fountain that springs up in front of you. It covers you with the black goo it’s spitting out. Slowly it consumes you and you can do nothing about it. The world around you is spinning. You’re perfectly still, but the whole world is spinning. In these final moments of your life, you think of everything you’ve ever done. All your accomplishments that have led to this slow and dizzying death. No one will ever know where you disappeared off to. Most will assume you just ran away off on another pointless adventure. Eventually, someone a few centuries from now will find your bones perfectly preserved in the tar. They’ll examine you and determine your age, gender, and even what era you’re from. They might notice the remodeling on that one bone you broke as a kid. Maybe they’ll see where you were stabbed in the leg that one night. Your leg never worked the same after that. They might figure out your profession from occupational markers. Maybe they’ll try to find who you were. Maybe they’ll figure out who you are and maybe they’ll try to contact your few living relatives... if any. Maybe people will miss you. You might go into a museum as evidence from the past. That’s all you are anyway, evidence. These people bottled up their feelings long ago. How else are they supposed to deal with dead bodies?
At this point, you probably forgot that how you died was so strange. Maybe that was your mind compensating for how terrible your death actually was. You were stuck in the tar for what seemed like forever before you actually died. Next time when you’re adventuring maybe you shouldn’t step in the mysterious substance. Of course, there won’t be a next time. You’re dead after all, face it. Describe failure to me. Is it that pit in your stomach you feel after you realized you caused it. Or is it that smile you fake trying to show everyone you’re perfectly fine. It especially hurts because you told your group that you didn’t care if you won or not because you really do. This is the reason you hate group projects so much because the group environment throws you off your game. You’re a solo act you’ve always been. Sure these are some of your best friends around you, but that doesn’t mean it makes it any easier. You’d rather be with complete strangers. You’re friends with them because they’re like you. A bunch of you working together is just plain stupid. Who thought this was a good idea. You know this is going to happen again. What are you supposed to do just reject being in a group with your friends? You know nobody else wants you in their group, remember you purposely avoid talking to other people. They all think you’re a freak, antisocial, loser. That’s why you always lose.
Describe winning to me. It feels good right. Yeah, not for long. See the only one who really cares that you won is you. The fact is you always win at this and it doesn’t surprise anyone. Honestly, everyone hates you when you win. You act like a big, selfish, loser. Your big smile just makes people want to gouge out their eyes. You know they don’t get it. They don’t get how much this means to you. Sure you win at this particular thing every time, but you never win at anything else. You do hundreds of things and this is the only thing you ever win at. All these people in the crowd win a whole lot more than you. That’s why they don’t get how much this means to you. Maybe that’s why you always lose. I understand okay. I understand how much you want to win, but when you do no one gets what it means to you. I understand how hard you push to accomplish because someday someone will be happy for you. I understand that people like me and you are the ones who will eventually accomplish the big things. We are the ones destined to be on TV nominated for those big awards. When our names are called as the one who won a ginormous smile will grow on our face. When we walk up that stage we’ll break into tears when hundreds of hands slam together to make that terrific noise. We’ll open our mouth and thank all those people who never understood. We are the ones who will win something that very few can say they won. I can promise you that’s why we always lose. Rhythm and rhyme
I’ll keep trying I’ll hold it close Despite the pain I know I’ll mess up I know nothing else But that doesn’t really matter. I hold you close You are my anchor You are my paperweight I’m not floating away You’re keeping me grounded You’re keeping me alive Despite my needle sharp spines. Know I won’t let go We’ll continue on We’ll be survivors Unlike the so many others We aren’t going to die We aren’t going to hurt These are the bones of survivors. To know is to grieve
to actually feel something the pain of the steady beating drum the weight of one last goodbye. To know is to hurt to know there is nothing and you can do nothing about it until that one last sad goodbye. To know is to love to feel for those few souls that even with hard work is here until that one last terrible goodbye. To know is to feel the pain that millions scream they make your ears bleed out to that one last forgotten goodbye. To know is to be afraid to not know what awaits you the pearly gates aren’t what you fear it’s that one last goodbye. I have a tendency of writing when I get stressed. Spilling out all my emotion into something that no one could possibly understand. Most of the time it’s a nonsense poem seeming to be talking about one thing to most people, but meaning something entirely different to me. I’m actually very glad I found out I could do that, because before I knew poetry was actually not all that bad I would try to sing and dance to get rid of stress. As soon as I started writing I realized how stressed dancing actually made me. Up until a year ago I took five dance classes a week and I had a headache by the end of most of them. I would freak out when I saw the girls on pointe because even then I knew they would never move me up. Something about me just wasn’t pointe material. I left dance though. Another thing I recently quit was choir. A rather innocent thing to quit you would think. See I’ve been doing a choir forever and I can tell you that the one thing I’ll always remember from choir is the people. The whole atmosphere always made me uncomfortable. Sure I love singing, I’m pretty good if I do say myself, but I just didn’t like the people. I’ve gone so far from the topic of writing at this point. See what I’m trying to say is that over the past two years I really have discovered myself. I went from being a dancer and a singer two very extrovert things to being a writer and a theatre techie two more introvert things. I’m not saying I’m an introvert, I’m really not. I just don’t want as much attention to be on me. The less attention there is on me the less stressed I am and the more likely I am to succeed, then I can handle the attention.
A world of contradictions
contradicting living each day like i’m dying. A world of contradictions contradicting surviving every minute in peril. A world of contradictions contradicting a platoon will attack the defenseless base. A world of contradictions contradicting we will win this by losing the war. A world of contradictions contradicting the tree will be alive again despite it’s wilting leaves. A world of contradictions contradicting the red light now means go go go. A world of contradictions contradicting we will survive this battle by being dead. A world of contradictions contradicting we are the champions of the underworld. A world of contradictions contradicting have faith in our methods i promise we will win. I'm undeserving of this. I look at the views on this blog everyday and I just don't get it. I'm undeserving of this. I don't get why you guys feel the urge to read what I'm writing. I don't even like reading it sometimes. It's not like I can figure out why you read this stuff anyway. Not like any of you comment. I'm a starving writer. I get writers block so often that the only way that I get these posts out is by just randomly clicking keys on my keyboard. I feel forced and stressed daily to be a certain way. I refuse to be that way. I create characters out of nothing draw them out in my mind viewing them from every angle every way possible. So I guess in a way I'm trying to thank you. So thank you!
Living a lie through glass
speaking of who you can be but never being close you're living a lie. Peering into the future falling way too fast eventually you'll hit the ground peering too far ahead. People tend to appreciate you your glance is subtle I see the lie no one really appreciates you. I want to apologize in advance I can see your eyes shifting you're uncomfortable I'd like to apologize in advance. You're living a lie through glass Peering into the future Where people tend to appreciate you I already apologized. The world is pulling me under. Suffocating me in its grasps. In one second I might die or succeed in everything. I don't know where I'm going. I feel trapped. I don't understand why I can't understand. Why is up all of a sudden down? What is the reason behind this madness? Where am I to go after the fact? Who pulls the strings? Am I just a puppet? Please don't let me drown. I need to see tomorrow. I don't understand why. I want to live a real life. I drag myself down. I can never live a real life. I feel trapped in a circle. Over and over I will fall into the void. I'm dead inside, yet I'm still functioning. I'm still alive to you. I am trying to survive, the apocalypse. The apocalypse has already begun. We are already losing and no one is doing anything about it. I fear for the ones who come after us. They will not be able to live with what we let them. So I fear for everyone. We can live, okay.
Watch the words flow the rhythms ignite it might not be right but at least it feels good the rhythm might die but the words will live on for what we say in the dark always lives a long life. We're not in control but that's why we like it we might die today but who really cares our lives on the line but we've never felt better so that's why we do it because we just want to live. Painful nights realign with our thoughts dead inside we might strive to be better but never really try and that's our problem we don't know how to be better. We're living through we'll make it to tomorrow even if it hurts to breathe it hurts more not to so I'll make it to tomorrow if you make it there with me. My life was simple our lives were easy we threw easy in the trash we liked the accomplishment more so we don't have easy lives but at least we don't have boring lives. Our baggage tried to kill us we didn't let it we'd rather suffer when we suffer we learn and learning is fun. I will conquer the night to live through the day it might be difficult but who said it would be easy I can push and force my way but I won't ever get it, will I? I don't like pressure
it's like I'm dying like someone is scrapping at my skull and thinking I'll be fine because I am fine. What's the point of having the power to make a difference if we never lift a finger. We criticize the people who try, but never try ourselves. I guess you might have a reason to criticize them if you've been in their shoes and done better, but I doubt you have. Sure you have the freedom of speech, but your speech bears no fruit to make it worth it. You blabbler away all day with nothing acomplished from it. So what is your purpose? If all you plan to do with your life is criticize other people's efforts. So maybe once in your life maybe you should lift a finger. Speak to what you believe and then actually take a step towards accomplishing it. You have the power to make a difference, you just never tried.
The post this week is rather simple. I want you to look back at the daily poems I have posted that last week, part 1-7 and read them in order.
I'm sitting down now and forcing myself to write. I want to let the rage out and confuse myself. I want the words to spill out and form a masterpiece. I know that this won't be pretty. I know this is choppy, but what else can I do. I'm a minor detail in this whole world. I'm just a little speck of dust compared to the whole universe. My actions might seem insignificant, but they really aren't. Think, what can happen from one action? Imagine how many people you'll meet in your life, you affect all of them. You might feel insignificant some times, I know I do, but we do more than we think. Many will have children, and those children will have children. You are the source of thousands of humans. You are not insignificant, you really aren't. That woman you just smiled at, just decided that maybe the whole world isn't evil. That man you held the door for, felt for once that he wasn't invisible. That little boy you passed the ball back to him, would have run into the street if you hadn't. That little girl you just gave a piece of chalk, will be a famous artist. That baby you started at, for a little too long, will remember your smile as the first time someone loved him. We don't notice how our little actions really affect the lives of others. Just know they do.
Applaud my mistakes.
Cherish my real life. I could be as fake as this whole wide world. We can live here. Our choices ours. We can be real like your own thoughts. Freedom free. Living here. We're hoping for new life. Hold on. Pull tight. We live alive. One. Choice. To live. |
Mavry PottsPosts every Monday and/or Wednesday Archives
December 2017
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