Sometimes I feel like practicing my rhyming LOL
I've seen the crowds rise to their feet,
I've tasted victory on every feat,
I've heard the praise for every obstacle I meet,
But if they only knew the throne is such a lonely, lonely seat
Heavy is the head that wears the crown,
For after the crowds disappear and the sun goes down
These castle hallways haunt me so
Fear follows me wherever I go
I built my palace on a lake of tears,
On broken swords and shattered spears,
And a mighty ruler learns after many years
That the powerful don't show their tears
And I'd give all the riches and all the fame
I'd give England, France, and Spain
Just to know that tomorrow won't be the same,
To know these thoughts won't be in my brain,
To lose myself and take a different name,
But there's no rest for the king
And I know what tomorrow will bring
For me the sun won't rise and the birds wont sing
There's only this painted frown,
Heavy is the head,
Heavy is the head that wears the crown.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Disorder
It is difficult to say why it happens, difficult to say exactly how it feels, and difficult to share with others.
I want to tell the whole world what's wrong, and all at once keep it to myself forever without telling a soul.
I want to scream a million different things. Things about the torturous mind, about the hopelessness, about why the caged bird sings.
It watches like a falcon, silently waiting and watching, and then quietly pounces on every hope and joy until none remain.
It stalks the jungles of my thoughts like a jaguar, full of hunger and silent malice.
It strikes like a cobra. One brief violent flurry of fangs and venom, and then suddenly nothing.
Nothing, like it had never occurred, the mind can't seem to ever recall how it could have felt the way it did five minutes ago.
It leaves no scars, no clear marks, no blood, no bruises... it leaves not a trace of its lethal injection, barely a memory even remains.
But it happens, and it happens frequently. My hands begin to shake, my vision begins to blur, my breathing becomes strained, and every friend in the world melts into the earth and does not exist.
There is only me and the python, only me and this disorder, and it is a battle I fight very much alone.
I want to tell the whole world what's wrong, and all at once keep it to myself forever without telling a soul.
I want to scream a million different things. Things about the torturous mind, about the hopelessness, about why the caged bird sings.
It watches like a falcon, silently waiting and watching, and then quietly pounces on every hope and joy until none remain.
It stalks the jungles of my thoughts like a jaguar, full of hunger and silent malice.
It strikes like a cobra. One brief violent flurry of fangs and venom, and then suddenly nothing.
Nothing, like it had never occurred, the mind can't seem to ever recall how it could have felt the way it did five minutes ago.
It leaves no scars, no clear marks, no blood, no bruises... it leaves not a trace of its lethal injection, barely a memory even remains.
But it happens, and it happens frequently. My hands begin to shake, my vision begins to blur, my breathing becomes strained, and every friend in the world melts into the earth and does not exist.
There is only me and the python, only me and this disorder, and it is a battle I fight very much alone.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
La Catrina
(I'm definitely not done editing this! It has some flow issues to correct, but I thought you guys might enjoy the rough draft :D )
The streets of Mexico are alive tonight. Rows upon rows of candles cast their flickering light on the cobblestone streets, allowing the townspeople to steal glances at the brightly colored flowers and ofrendas. The smell of freshly baked bread fills the air, mingling with the incense, and chocolate, and roses. Men on stilts strut about the village as children skip along below. Mariachi music dances within the listener's ear, bright colors and candy skulls fill every empty void; the streets of Mexico are alive tonight.
A young girl paces slowly towards a small framed picture with candles surrounding it, her zapatas clicking along on the tile. She is wearing a traditional dancer's gown, the many folds dragging along the floor as she walks. She kneels down and places a doll amongst the candy skulls, flowers, and candles, right next to the framed picture. The doll is a catrina, a day of the dead figurine resembling a skeleton. It depicts a woman wearing a traditional dancer's gown, its many folds bunching up on the ground as it is placed at the ofrenda. "Ay Esperanza, I miss you Esperanza, if only you were alive tonight."
And suddenly, the young girl was in a different place. A place where there was dancing, and long flowing gowns, and everything around her began to dance as if it were all part of some grand Jarabe Tapatio, and her heart was full. She felt a wholeness again that she thought had been lost to pain, sadness, and emptiness. She felt a presence she had so missed and so longed for, an incredible warmth that brought her relief at last.
Just as soon as the dance had begun, it ended. And the candles faded, and the music stopped. The sweet smells dissipated, and the presence was dropped. And there she sat, the bottom of her gown forming a great circle on the floor. And she cried, and she cried, until she could cry no more. "Ay Esperanza," she wept, "Ay Esperanza, if you were only alive tonight."
And she looked up at the sky, perhaps wondering if she would ever dance with her mother again. "Ay mi madre," she cried, picking up the catrina and holding it close to her heart, "ay mi madre, me duele tanto, me duele tanto, if only you were alive tonight."
The streets of Mexico are alive tonight. Rows upon rows of candles cast their flickering light on the cobblestone streets, allowing the townspeople to steal glances at the brightly colored flowers and ofrendas. The smell of freshly baked bread fills the air, mingling with the incense, and chocolate, and roses. Men on stilts strut about the village as children skip along below. Mariachi music dances within the listener's ear, bright colors and candy skulls fill every empty void; the streets of Mexico are alive tonight.
A young girl paces slowly towards a small framed picture with candles surrounding it, her zapatas clicking along on the tile. She is wearing a traditional dancer's gown, the many folds dragging along the floor as she walks. She kneels down and places a doll amongst the candy skulls, flowers, and candles, right next to the framed picture. The doll is a catrina, a day of the dead figurine resembling a skeleton. It depicts a woman wearing a traditional dancer's gown, its many folds bunching up on the ground as it is placed at the ofrenda. "Ay Esperanza, I miss you Esperanza, if only you were alive tonight."
And suddenly, the young girl was in a different place. A place where there was dancing, and long flowing gowns, and everything around her began to dance as if it were all part of some grand Jarabe Tapatio, and her heart was full. She felt a wholeness again that she thought had been lost to pain, sadness, and emptiness. She felt a presence she had so missed and so longed for, an incredible warmth that brought her relief at last.
Just as soon as the dance had begun, it ended. And the candles faded, and the music stopped. The sweet smells dissipated, and the presence was dropped. And there she sat, the bottom of her gown forming a great circle on the floor. And she cried, and she cried, until she could cry no more. "Ay Esperanza," she wept, "Ay Esperanza, if you were only alive tonight."
And she looked up at the sky, perhaps wondering if she would ever dance with her mother again. "Ay mi madre," she cried, picking up the catrina and holding it close to her heart, "ay mi madre, me duele tanto, me duele tanto, if only you were alive tonight."
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