I come with no strings attached I come with no expectations I cross my heart Crossing your dream from the list of Buckets that makes the you Different from the list of me
Empty
Silent
My dreams no longer describable Though as likely as a common folk Unbecoming the pauper I will love you from afar From a safe distance I will admire you
From the top of my head, varying from a chance to share deep thoughts to fun and easy-going inebriation, but mostly both. Some of us go way back! Makes me wish travelling was cheaper. Anyway, these people:
Me thinks there was a spelling error in there as I is not worthy of inclusion on such list. #ignoreme Though I will always suggest following @fifty-shades-of-apathy cuz … just because #thereareonlyafewthatcanmoveme
I’m not particularly impressed by Tumblr on IOS right now… *pheuming* WTF so you mean when you say IT COULD NOT BE SENT – TRY AGAIN ????!! All of my my frcking words are gone you stupid shit of an app. You better sort yourself out or I will get my Scottish dictionary out… and that will not be pretty @staff
I live in a rural area and every Friday ‘my guy’ arrives in his cheese truck. Sells the good stuff with his son. That flavour, I gotta tell ya, really puts any store bought brand to shame. And the mouth feel! That young matured cheese just melts in your mouth.
Also, awesome to read you didn’t stop at Amsterdam! I know that’s our main attraction, but it’s so international you hardly get the Dutch experience.
“I have a cheese guy” – respect! My culture also embraces cheese, but unfortunately I now have to survive on cheddar…
For those of you in the know, and you Not yet fully enlightened, I hereby proclaim my innocence; I am no longer a virgin of words, No longer an Angel of syllables, I speak my words without fear (a lie) I whisper my dreams without tears, I let my last moment of youth Embrace me, before the final toll, Before the final reckoning
Writing for an audience that may never see your face and vice versa. Creating stories that may never have a beginning or ending or middle. Describing dreams as nightmare and days like nights. Chewing up and spitting out cliches until they too become a cliche. Dying forever just to live in a moment. Writing a thousand words just to use one line. Being loved and hated by strangers and yourself. Idolizing the dead, romanticizing the fictitious, forgetting to pay the living. (sometimes) Understanding that your art may never pay a bill, save a life or make someone fall in love, with you or anyone else. Being a poet is having a superpower that changes without warning and turns your villains into heroes. Have fun with that thought.
