Stupid Limerick
There was once a boy who was not from Basque,
Whom always tried to put on a happy face,
He tried very hard,
But didn't look the part,
So he resorted to putting on his happy masque.
Tears
When you were still a newborn, you had not yet learned the many complex forms of expressions of dissatisfaction. You need the attention in order to get someone to attend to your needs. Hence, you cry. Your cry when you are hungry, when you are with strangers, when you are handled the wrong way, when you are uncomfortable, when you are in pain, when you are sick, you cry when you want something and want someone to get it for you because you can't do it yourself.
But as you grow older, you found that you could pretty much get things done by other methods. Like talking, for instance. You are hungry, you tell your parents that you want food. You are uncomfortable, you tell your parents that. You are sick, you tell your parents to send u to the doctor. Some of us still cry from injuries, but that is usually from the pain, its not actually a means of getting attention from others.
Your tear ducts dry up when you grow old. You never cried anymore. You are a man, you could do anything on your own; you don't need another person's sympathy. You can handle all the crisis and difficulties in life. Or so you thought. But there are some problems that do go unsolved. But you do not cry in despair because you are a man. I can take it, you thought.
Where did all the tears go? Not out your eyes like a gentle stream. But they do not disappear. They are there.
They are there in your heart, locked up there, away from the vision of others. Please, listen to it. Its screaming for you to save yourself. It will accumulate and accumulate until one day you will not be able to take it. Your heart will go and the tears will burst forth like a torrent, a flood, and you will drown in your own tears, tears that you have been ignoring all your life. Tears that are in your heart. Let the tears flow. Cry if you must. But never keep it all locked up inside until its too late.
The Truth
Lies are so attractive, so pleasing. Its telling is simple and requires not much of an effort in conjuring it. That is, however, not applicable if your name is synonymous with a butt hole. But its hard to keep up with lies. Its hard to blow it up, making it sound impressive but yet keeping it rather believable and appealing to others. Lying is part of the art of deception. It is an art that few has mastered, but yet many people endeavour themselves in this, aiming to achieve a mastery of lies and the control of the other's mind, and often this task ends up being rendered irrelevant by the personel's own incapability. Its a task only for a master, the lesser skilled might be tore up into shreds by our unmerciless and everlasting frown upon the unfortunate person.
Thus, dealing in the truth is seemingly a rather more enjoyable and less dauntingtask. But the problem is, most of the time the truth is so perplexing that most of us would be flummoxed when actually confronted with the truth. Because the truth is that the truth is often inconceivable and incredulous. We often could not imagine or predict what the outcome of any circumstences. When told of the truth, most of us would naturally assume that what they had just recieved is actually a lie. Don't believe? Try it, the next time, that you get the to tell the truth to a person about a situation and that the person has already some preconceived thoughts about the truth, but of course, his predictions does not matches the reality of the situation. His reactions and actions would be: surprise, thought, disbelief or questioning, if he or she really trusts you.
Why do we readily accept lies, but yet balk at the prospect of accepting the truth? Lies are created by the human mind. Lies are born of what we desire and crave. Lies are made realistic by us simply because we are ready to accept it in place of the truth becuase its so attractive; its what we want, its what we need, and we need nothing else if the lie, in our naive and hopeful pondering selves, becomes the truth for us. The lie is the truth for us. The lie is believable, its conceivable by the very sensible and logical imaginations of a human mind. Thats why its the accepted truth.
Reality is scarier than your most nightmares Well, said, Roisin. It is scary because it is hardly imaginable. It is not in our control.
And that's the truth.
Listen
Listen
Listen, please, won't you listen?
Please dear, listen
Please, I need to tell you, listen!
Listen to me, listen
Listen dear, please, listen
It's not hard to listen
If you would stop for a moment and listen
If you would close your mouth for a second and listen
If you would stop to think and listen
If you would take your fingers out from your ears and listen
If you would stop interrupting me and listen
If you would stop pushing me away and listen
If you would stop whining and listen
If you would notice my presence and listen
If you would stop pouting and listen
If you would stop asking me to shut up and listen
If you would stop bitching and listen
If you would take a breath into your overworked lungs and listen
If you would stop screaming and listen
If you would just shut the fuck up and listen
And listen,
And listen,
And listen,
And listen,
And listen,
And listen,
And listen,
And listen,
And understand.
Everything would be fine.