you came back for me for three weeks.
i had you to myself for three weeks. i let myself get carried away, dreamed about what i had and if i could keep it. i got a tattoo. i don’t regret it. it reminds me of what i had, never again.
three weeks out of the 100 years i could possibly live.
it was like drinking the most beautiful water after being parched my whole life.
it was the best three weeks i will ever live.
i didn’t have you for six months.
i did whatever i wanted for six months. you didn’t have me for six months.
i was alone and it was the best feeling. because i wasn’t just alone. i was alone without the repercussions. nothing to remind me i had other people to care about.
no one to tell me i was doing anything wrong.
the best six months of my life.
– just a place to store my stuff
the way my hair falls into place after blow drying it
chocolate
open car windows
sending stupid things to my friends
long facetimes
convos with my mom
being really detailed in a painting and having it turn out really nice
sports with my friends
when ppl start convos with me cause it makes me feel like they actually want me to be there
1ams in my room with one lamp on
taking notes
posting things on my story for a specific person to see
posting a picture of me and not feeling bad or vain about it
doing my makeup
choir
night drives with my dad with jazz music playing really loud
yelling sweet caroline in the car with my dad
playing music and singing really badly but it’s fun
looking at things i know i’m not gonna buy
tuning my guitar/uke
playing music and just sitting on my bed listening
new sheets or pillowcases
wow ok i think this is one of my worst poems but its ok cause we out here trying our best. the more difficult thing i found about writing this was how i couldn’t really seem to get the right words out on paper and how to get them to sound a certain way. if i could perform it as spoken word i would but i can’t so i just hope i wrote it down right. anyway here it is have fun.
(for mom i guess??? idk that feels weird to say)
im sorry
i’m sorry that i leave my cups on the table, never fold my clothes, can’t remember to make my bed, stay up past 12 nightly, and argue with my brother on who gets to sit in the front
i’m sorry i didn’t pass the gifted test, never ate my vegetables, can’t put my phone down, don’t leave my room, that your words go in one ear and come out the other.
im sorry i can’t do math, the numbers are getting sticky in my head, in a flytrap of the insults you scream, the disgust you bleed. when you speak each syllable is enunciated with so much disappointment and i am so so confused
because when i take a step back, reread my part in the script, i see your lines
your words have not gone out the other ear they are clawing up my throat, your insults are my thoughts, your disgust in my veins, your disappointment in each letter of my lines.
so i am so, so sorry, that i am you
Let’s face it, pop music has changed and not for the better. Radios seem to drone on with the same tracks, each of them with the same chords, same words, same themes. But why? What happened to music and why does it all sound the same?
We can start with one observation. They’re all about love. Why? Well according to an Brian Fauteux, an assistant professor at University of Alberta who studies pop music, “we all have an idea of what love is, and could be, and it’s comforting to experience a sense of ourselves in popular culture” (folio, Betkowski Why We Love Love Songs). To put it shortly, we like to relate, and love is the most universal feeling making it a gold mine for artists and social media influencers. Unfortunately this means overuse. Love songs date back as far as 1000 B.C. written for King Solomon. Perhaps it is time for a different approach
When you listen to any recent song, have you noticed, they all sound the same? This could be because of chords and song structure. Hundreds of songs are just the same chords in the a repeated fashion, F Am C G. Some of the most popular songs such as Jason Mraz’s “I’m Yours” or even Africa by Toto can played with these chords. Chartmania broke down each song in the billboard top 5 in 2017 and we can see clearly that the use of 4 chords is most popular.
You can read Chartmania’s whole analysis here
Now, this doesn’t mean anything particularity bad and doesn’t really contribute to why music might be at its downfall. Afterall, less is more right?
I CANT FINISH THIS CAUSE IM TOO LAZY AND THIS ISNT A PASSIONATE SUBJECT FOR ME. this post has big gen z energy
if you get triggered by abuse or something like that i would recommend you yeet away from this post. also wow first post and i already ruined the theme of this blog.
this is a thing i wrote and no one’s gonna read this but whatever have fun.
update: i just realized there’s a lot of places where there are supposed to be spaces but for some reason every time i go in and add those spaces it doesn’t stay. so just a disclaimer sorry about that.
Sounds.Sounds as simple as a door closing. Footsteps up the stairs. Children laughing.But for my bruised mind it’s not just a door closing, it’s a hushed breath andangry tears, it’s not just footsteps it’s the indescribable dread of knowingyou are not safe, it’s not just children laughing it is the volume always leading to a frozen stillness of worry between smiles, or screams. A game of tag or am I truly running, but only difference is that this game has a worse outcomethan becoming “it”. In this game, being “it” means begging for the fists to halt. In this game being “it” means blurred sight and tasting copper the nextmorning. Being “it” means the bathing in hopelessness from knowing that you,this weak four foot nine small little girl has nothing against the rushing fists, one after one, the screaming of when does it stop, the only thoughtbeing it will end soon hold on you have to hold on. having your bloodshot eyesgaze dazedly in the mirror afterwards, knowing, that that blood you see was caused by someone of your own blood. A father, a mother. And when the pain seeps from your skin into your bones that’s when you realize, it’s not just a bruise, a split lip, a headache. But the real, greater damage. A damage no amount of lipstick, band aids, or pills can fix. The knowledge that there are,and will always be, never healing fractures.
two cents 