lol, just something i wrote for my thursday night drama class... i haven't performed it yet.
it's also kinda rough, so keep in mind it's just a work in progress! ;D

but just to set the scene for you, this is half real. like i really do have this dream/memory/whatever. but the recounting of the dream/memory/whatever to a therapist is not true. jsyk. oh, an it's supposed to be all disjointed and choppy and have a lot of "um"s and "likes". they're not as annoying when read outloud. it makes sense, whatevs, lol.

( okay, to the thing... )

So here's my speech for public speeking this year... I really like it ^^ and I really feel like I'm standing up for some of the wonderful music and people that I believe in. And let me tell you, it was SO hard trying to cram everything I wanted to say into 3-4 minutes... so much great stuff had to be cut but I'm still pretty happy with what it ended up like.

( Hope you like! )

Born to the darkness
By the eyes of the moon.
Life taken, life given.
They see a new reality through changed eyes.

Taken under the wings of the creators,
The wise ones.
And taught to lure and seduce so eloquently,
To take so brutally what they can no longer possess.

Fledglings learn and fly away
Once they have been schooled
And equipped enough.
Living off kisses and red wine.

So well they have learnt.
And so well they put to practice
The skills they have learnt.
And so well it is for a time.

Years of repetition and routine.
Nothing changes but nothing stays the same,
And the fledglings-no-more grow weary.
The world is changed, their life is not.

Nothing excites or astounds them anymore.
The world is dull and boring.
And so one fine summer’s day,
They might step out

And take a walk in the sunshine.






Hmmmm? Like Y/N?

This is dedicated to Talie, dancinginastorm, for loving me and vampires ^^
and Libby, mere_accessory, for not laughing at the ironic title.... *ahem*

The Calm before the storm.
Figures floating, waiting,
Anticipating chaos.
Voluntarily crushed together,
Swimming, struggling
As the tempest begins
And some are submerged.

Desperately they fight to say afloat
While lost at sea. Exhilarating, electrifying.
Hands raised at all times, a signal.
Voices hoarse from screaming over voices and thunder.
Limbs tense from battling with limbs and metal bars.
But they don’t try to escape, why even try?
They come up for air, drenched and euphoric.






Yep, 'nother poem. ^^ Only less morbid, more... well, less morbid.
I did this for english. We were supposed to compose our own poem based loosely on Wilfred Owen's Futility. Try not to look at it too literally; it's not really about what it seems. Tilt your head to the side, think outside the box, keep an open mind. Or ask me if you can't be fucked to analyze. Hope you like it! =]