Two ends

I am split between two ends of the earth.
one that is vital to me
and then one that is vital to another.
At one end I give my good faith
I’ll give you love
I will take the time out of my placement to do what it is you wish for me to do. At the other end
you have greedy
and selfish claims.
The middle ground is what is necessary for us to
evaluate our lives at a reasonable standard.
Too far to the first,
and you realize that you will drive yourself mad.
Too far to the second,
and you will come to see
that there is no one willing to
trust or work with you.

– Writingdilegently

This girl

There was this girl
Who trotted with
Dead flowers in her hair
And dark skies over head
She smiled at rainstorms
And frowned at her reflection
And cried because of her classmates

This girl became spiteful
And her heart became cold

But then she met a friend
Her first in this world
And she smiled at a person
Instead of at her pain.

She pushed the darkness in her heart
And painted it on her nails
Drew it on her skin
Spelled it on some pages

And now
She lives in a hue of shades
Sometimes dark
But never quite dull.
She’s learning
And living
And feeling true feelings
She’s had love scapes
And heart breaks
And fights
And hugs
So many hugs

And you know what?
She wouldn’t take a single one back.
Not a single mistake.
Not a single dispute.
Because now she shines
Her own rainbow over head.

– Writingdilegently

They sat together

They sat together, one resting their head on the others lap. The world around them was darkening, lulling the creatures of the day to halt their mischief. The first looked up at the second.
“You’re always talking about love and all that stuff.”
The second moved from their thoughts. “Yeah, and?”
The first let out a puff of air from within their lungs, “Well, you know me better than anyone. And I know you just as well. And we make each other laugh. And we’ve seen each other cry. So, do you think you could love me?”
So the second sat there in silence. Contemplating the great question, Can I open up my heart to them? And, if I’d didn’t work out? Then its the greater question to answer; would it hurt more to break a heart, or to be broken hearted?

– Writingdilegently

Its not

Its not about you
Anymore than you were about me
Its not about your reasoning
Or about the lies you’ve spun

Its about the autumn leaves
Blowing away what was born in the spring
Its about killing off things
To be born anew

Its not about the pain
Or the feelings I had
Its about letting go of what we had
And looking ahead

– Writingdilegently

Turn back

Why would you turn back
To someone who only brought you pain
When with them you had your darkest days?
What is the point when you know its better
To stand alone
Than to have someone stab you
Both in the heart
And with a shining blade
You think you need one thing
But you know you cannot fit a standard.
I’m lost about that.
Lost about your choices.

– Writingdilegently

A dollar for your love

When we indulge ourselves
In the undefined and pre-imagined
World within our technologies
We loose touch with the inner workings
Of the things that fall around us
The contour of the faces familiar
The depth the the seas
The natural blues and purples of the sky
You see the children looking for it
“Hyper active”ly begging for it
A hand to hold
They’ll pay in full
Just a dollar for some love

– Writingdilegently

Wilted roses

You sit and watch the petals droop
Day by day without explanation
You let the stems sag
And the water turn dark shades
Motionlessly you sit
Your breath shaking the fragile
Remains of what was once
A beautiful banquet
Or bright reds and pinks
To stop an ask you why
Would break the mystics
That join you, the flowers, and I
So I just watch you age
As the flowers do
For you are my wilting rose

– Writingdilegently

Two girls in the bathroom

The first girl sat on the edge of the sink, filing her acrylic nails to pointy perfection. She had a resting face of a crazed dog, complete with snarl and all. She snapped her gum and crossed her legs. She displayed her naval piercing with near pride. Always in the deans office, she didn’t have a reason to go to class.
In comes girl two, shorter than the first, and more conservatively dressed than the first. Her nail polish was peeling a cracked. Eyes closed, she looked near heavenly. The dean barely knew her name, and she preferred it that way. Right now she really had to pee.
Girl one watched girl two as she went towards the stall, then kept her eyes on her as she washed her hands.
Girl two glanced up at the non moving stare.
Girl one, “what the hell are you looking at?”
Girl two didn’t answer just continued on her way.
“Excuse me, but I asked you a question.”
Girl two just shook her head.
Girl one raced before her, stopping her before she reached the door.
“You better answer me before you get me upset.”
Girl two took a breath. “Let me throw some information down before you. I’m not looking for trouble, but you seem to want it. Maybe the attention gets you hyped up, or maybe the violence does. Its none of my business, but you seem to want to make it mine. I have better things to do than fight with you, I have a higher GPA than you could ever hope for. You aren’t stupid just pitiful. Except I’m not the one giving you pity. So just let me leave so I can continue the education that I need that you want to throw away.”
Or at least that’s what she wanted to say. What really came out was “nothing.”
To which girl one replied “I thought so.”

– Writingdilegently

Writers Are Readers

Writers do not have to be told to support one another. Writers are readers. When you read a book or poem or story, you support the one who has written it. We discuss our writing and study the writing of others. Change a few words, and this is about anyone who does anything that involves creativity.

– Writingdilegently

Why I can’t do acting

For most of my life
I’ve been trying to turn myself
Into something
Better than
What I thought I was.
But I’ve worked really hard
To instead just be me.
So
Telling me
To come on stage
And act
Would be turning all the work
That I have done
Into time wasted.
I do not act.
I react.
But never with a mask.
Or false persona.

– Writingdilegently