White jellybean liquorice

She's the one who's always there
The one who stands beside
The one who holds the world
The one to whom I confide

The one who waits at the station
For a bus that never comes
She's the one who does her homework and
Who equals me at sums

She's the one who reads my rhymes
The skeptic of them all
The one who thinks twice
The one who wishes she was tall

The one who won't eat apples
To keep the doctor away
Unless the doctor's cute!
Is what she'll always say.

Big Head

It's slowly dawning on me as VCE unfolded to us all; this was all one big competition. Friends turn into competitors in the bid to come first. The awards, the recognitions, the money; all acting as one big facade of achievement and happiness. Not at all. It created a ranking order, a food chain. The unfortunate were spelled under the glory and triumph of a DUX. "Bow down to my strength, my intelligence. Bow down before me." The recognitions also created a black market within a select entry structure. Many passed through the system unnoticed. They fed on the disappointment, the falling of grace of those who were so close but yet were so far. They leeched them dry of hope and spirit, until they fell to a crumbling pile at the psychologists front door step, and someone else stood up to take their place. This repeating cycle rolled through us all, creating waves of power and knowledge.

My brain feels like a slug. Or two.

Today is one of those days where everything feels like an effort.

Your brain feels like a slug and your head is just there and it's really heavy and you don't move it much in case it falls to the side and just keeps falling.

Your eyes are heavy but you don't feel tired. You can't pull a smile even at the hint of something funny. Your expression is the loosest but tightest that its ever been.

Your teeth just sit on one another and if you concentrate your mind on them they actually hurt.

Your arms feel like they're detached from the body entirely. They just hang by your sides and don't do anything. They don't fidget or throw things. They just sit there.

Your legs are just there. You can feel a faint thumping in your foot as if you can feel the blood pushing itself back up the body and towards the heart. Your feet are cold but they're covered in socks and shoes and the room is warm.

The voice inside your head is a deep one.

It tells everyone and everything to go fuck itself. 

If you go to sleep in this state, you'll feel even more tired when you wake up.

I don't like this feeling.

Wishing the wall wasn't green

A friend of mine wrote this. Check out her blog at:

http://randomdoodlesofmine.webs.com/shortstories.htm

Year upon year, in desks we sit

Quiet halls filled with rows of quiet students

Shoe watching teachers

Tear stained papers

And everyone wishing, the wall wasn't green

Times written on the board, getting slashed one by one

The clock on the wall, tick-tock, tic-tock

Pens scribbling, fruiously

Erasers rubbing, vigorously

Staring at the wall, wishing that it wasn't green

The last ten minutes, then five, the one

The sprint to the finish or a stroll to the line

When the teacher calls out, "Stop!" and "Pens down!"

You know you should follow, or shit will go down

And all the while wishing, that damn wall wasn't green 

Your mother loves you

A bicyclist, an activist, a perfectionist, a mate.
A chronologist, an erotist, a conceptualist, one to absolutely hate.
A feminist, an irrationalist, a narcissist, a tipsy plate.
A playlist, an optimist, a revolutionist, a lightweight.
A dentist, an educationist, a paleoanthropigist, an overrate.

Loving from afar

I want to sing it loud and clear,
That this loving from afar,
I don't want this secret;
I want the world to know.

You look the other way
When our paths cross.
I bite my tongue
This loving from afar.

From across the room
I realise I'm just a willing fool;
A confident spark
Burning like an ember long forgotten

So this is how we must remain
Silence is a blessing
Must it be so?
This loving from afar

It shouldn't come as a surprise
With those bright blue eyes
What I'm feeling
This loving from afar

I'm stuck on this plate
That someone spins so wildly
Tipping toppling turning;
You were the clown that stopped me

This loving from afar
I understand.
Silence is a blessing.
It must be so.

Goodbye

The development of artistic flair is an education very few receive but many more could master.