teacher: where is your homework? student: ohhh written in the starss! teacher: where is it? student: a million miles away teacher:*sigh*what did you write about? student: message to the main, ohhhh teacher: do you want to go to summer school? student: seasons come and go! teacher: change your attitude! student: but i will never change. teacher: go to the headteacher's office! student: i'm on my wayyyyyyyyyy! teacher: wait...isn't that a song?... stu dent: (take s off earplugs) WHAT?!
Oh but it’s not the love, The love is beautiful. Sometimes it makes you feel like a tiny grape, Crushed simply by their forefinger and baby thumb, Your fate exposed and lying helplessly in the power of This human. Whom you could raise to the sky and still not achieve the gratification they deserve, Oh it’s not the love. It’s a fact. Their thoughts don’t waver on you throughout the day, Praying for your happiness, like you for them. It’s the difference. That when you pass them by and smile or say ‘hi’, They won’t grin about it for hours after. They may not grin about it at all. And that fact drives a giant punched hole, Through the centre of your heart. You hope, This person will fill up the hole. But this hope turns to longing, And this longing turns to aching. And this aching causes something greater, Expanding with time. Until it makes you want to fold away your entire being, Your entity. The fact is... It hurts. -byphee
I constantly wonder why all the good people who deserve good things get bad things, & why all the bad people who deserve bad things get good things. And then it hit me, the people who get bad things are good because they have seen bad and they have learnt how to be a better person.
Don’t tell me Don’t tell me: Trees are harmless when, You almost cried at your first paper cut. Don’t tell me: You love the rain when, You always shield yourself with an umbrella. Don’t tell me: a bird’s song is beautiful when, You scare it off for waking you up in the morning. Don’t tell me: you adore making snowmen when, You always crave for sun when the snow falls. Don’t tell me: You enjoy the sun’s warmth when, You search for a shadow to sit under in summer. Don’t tell me: there’s beauty in everything when, You don’t even look. Don’t tell me: you love me, When you and I both know it’s a lie. And don’t tell me: that you appreciate everything when, You can’t even be bothered, To read to the end of this poem. -byphee