I had an idea for a 500th blog, but with time and family matters, there was no time for it. So that blog will be a random along the way sometime . . . soon, I hope. For how, a music poem will have to do, and with the title it is, will give a hint about what the songs mean. The video and songs belong to their rightful owners and are free choice to listen on.

With that said, enjoy the poem on pushing forward.

I have come to see efforts as this,
never ending at best,
but never a dull moment,
fleeting to maybe chasing the sun at times,
fruitless yet worth it.

In mere weakness of this,
could it be tossing a white flag,
hoping others will understand those it only comes off insignificant and stupid at the end of it all . . .
no I don’t think so nor want to find out if those,
blameful words mean it.

Aiming to be a hero of any kind,
sounds something,
only created in stories are about saying in truth,
but maybe . . .
just sometimes,
the small things hold well,
if given the chance,
doesn’t matter if others agree about it or not,
just doing may do something,

Leaving nothing else,
only teardrops left behind,
because of how this work means nothing, but what it could for others,
if they knew for moment,
of being a respectful human being was all about,
maybe than,
life becomes brighter.

A cheap shot of this,
a person of many arts,
could only be aspiring for the applauses,
oh how wrong those people are.

There is no alibi here,
only the words that sometimes are brushed off easier than taken,
for the former is how people take matters that are not their own,
which in many cases,
no they shouldn’t be,
but shouldn’t be handled so coldly onward.

Some people will come off headstrong,
don’t you dare in any way in thinking,
they are just head strong in what they do,
there are vary reasons to it all,
but there must be open and willing ears to listen.

Am I wrong to think that,
or is just something in human nature that has yet,
been explores?

Sure in matters of what happens in life,
the pixel and flesh realms,
it’s out of my hands,
leaving only that it can be heartless,
cold and detachable like a frostbitten limb,
becoming in a slug place discoloring,
and useless . . .
soon removed for lacking exercise anymore . . .
in this hallow bitched world we live in.

the words becomes,
sending anyone under pressure,
that they may never make it,
but somehow,
they do,
if tried from the start and smashed hard on the out.

Hearing in the darkest places,
of those who have given up on life,
calling out to a force that doesn’t have a solid form,
and only goes for how far they’re willing to believe,
in hopes of breathing to stop . . .
I am done with that,
for them to call out;
take me away from this!

Life is a circus,
with its own set of rules,
that in some ways,
we all follow at the end of it,
but holds little in the long run,
people remember that at least!

Live on the reflection of who you are,
not what you are, imitative as it sounds,
what other way is there to say it,
when it’s true.

Some nights are just worth a battle,
acidic endings or not,
fight on!

Before long,
all of the nights,
certain nights,
those nights that didn’t drown you,
will be what makes days handled better than you think.

Keeping it simple and just be strong.

Live somewhere in a high place,
live to what others thought you never could do,
be on top of the world and mean it,
with your heart on your sleeves that,
you never gave up being when young,
and no doubt foolish in others blinded eyes.

There are lack of no surprise of what one person,
can do,
but a people could even more,
if walking is second nature.

You were given reason to take flight in trying,
in better chances failing,
but that’s all the reason why wings,
mend and break,
heal and bend,
they adept slowly into what and who intends to be.

Questioning that maybe,
not everything fits the goal,
others pleading with misjudgment that of why don’t you get a job and live the modesty life . . .
there is a chance it’s not for everyone.

A task life has come,
running up that hill of choices,
and wrong,
and pushing forward.

Maybe no one has a right choice now,
but here I,
a stupid girl have at least a hint to maybe where I want to go,
and hopefully for others,
they as well find theirs.

In many trials,
not all ever worked out,
I’ll admit that much,
of how it can in the world,
for how hard out here it is,
not just from a one sided view,
but in eyes that just didn’t know,
until too late.

You can call it out now and just say,
that I’m just American trash that lives in a small world that goes far beyond,
the end of my nose,
I am not going to denied that because of petty words that try to lash out on already scarred flesh,
what it matters on getting the job done,
not living in the flames of errors aftermath.

At a drop of the hat,
there’s going to be a tears to shed,
for something that happens every day, or when building come crashing down,
because of differences and life choices.

I rather be a unconsciously untitled poet,
who spouts rhythm lack thereof rants,
than live one second of those who waste lives for bare living everyone else does,
just to get by because a life is a life,
a toy,
broken enough and toss away . . .
no thank you.

For if shedding lives away,
just so the world,
can something close to being complete,
may I fall into another realm after that,
into something more promising results,
no matter how cheesy they may be.

Saying it now,
being incomplete never felt so good,
until seeing what is out there,
debating on leaving the bed or not half the time,
becomes the chore of the day,
but moving on is the band-aid cure.

I can still hear those who try,
battered more than me,
wondering over and over,
in words,
I as well say in hopes of this crap to be done with,
as anyone else,
asked this;
when will my life begin . . .
if so,
you are far from a quitter . . .
good work.

How to save a life,
got a whole straightforward when those words are said . . .
just don’t over think it.

Before long it will start off as a tall tale to remember,
like a once upon a December,
is was but a dream,
alas became real,
because you attempt what others dared you not to do.

For a joke,
we have 99 problems,
that shape us,
hold us back,
and remind us of who,
and what we are . . .
just to where there nothing else to forget of it,
when there one problem we don’t even need,
that it’s just a fleeting memory at best!

This message will never get old,
refined in new words every time,
till I collapse,
I won’t give up . . .
in life and those who live in it,
because I’m caustically slow with stupid,
that I hope for the best in everything,
even though,
likeliness of it,
is small . . .
it’s worth it.

As now,
this is a game,
with a pleasant ending that goes;
game over . . .
you won.



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