I see this girl walk everyday down my street
Her eyes saddened by the sight
I didnt know what was wrong with her
I saw her every night
Everyday she looks past me like I am thin air
I glare at her hopeing she wil respond to my eyes
She past by me
You can tell she just cried
Wipes away the rushing river tears
I try to say something But i dont speak
She sniffles wipes her face everything was unclear
I approach her so we can meet
She looks at me as I stand
Are you ok?
I grab ahold her hand
She looks at me
Who are you? she turns her face away
I am here to help you through your sturggles
Im sorry i dont know you
She pulls her hand from my firm grip
She walks away fast
Her eyes stil drip
I never find out what was wrong with her
Why does she cry
Why everynight
She keeps on passing by
I try my best to get her attention
She ignores me
I am her wrong selection
I want to help her through her problems
I want to help her solve them
What can I do to make her notice me
I don't her to be like this for eternity
So here I go approach her again
WHo are you?
I want to make your heart mend
She stares at me like i am a mirror
Like I just shocked her with a great terror
Why do you want to help me
I just know that happiness is the key
You don't know me
You wouldn't understand
Why are you crying even before I stand
Please leave me here to die
You don't know why I cry
She trys to move past me
No
You wont go
Please leave me alone
Let me walk you home
She stops
I was suprised she opened up and spoken
Do you know how to live in a house that is broken
My dead flower face droops down
I stay quiet, i don't make a sound
Thats what I thought you would never understand
You don't know how it is to be abused by a grown man
She walks away
Leaves me there
As the days go by
She lays down and cries
Hopin everday she dies
Her emotions so mixed
They can't be fixed
She stuck in a state of bliss
What will she do when the world disapears
No one will be there to catch all her tears
She's held back by all her fears
Just cause of her one peer
Everyday she goes to school
Listen to staff, obey all the rules
There is always that group of fools
That put her down
She doesn't say a sound
They treat her like the ground
What shall she do when the world disapears
No one will be there to catch all her tears
She is held back by all her fears
Just cuz of one peer
I lay my eyes upon this girl
My mind does a swirl
How would you feel
To know this is real
That this is her everyday life
Her lifee along lived strife
What shall i do for her
Can i find a cure
Will she listen to me
Or just stare blankly
I can't comprehend
My goal is to make her heart mend
So she knows she has a friend
Maybe this girl will realize
That there is no reason to die
Over one stuupid guy
I have read with interest the fractured versions of the origins of town criers, however I would now like to share with you all the real story……
The first town crier was of course an Australian.
Norman Ness, the first born son or Sacks Ness and Mary Ness. He was appointed to bring news of the happenings in the small hamlet of Ire which is somewhere in Queensland. As he approached the town square to deliver history’s first proclamation, he started to speak. He was distracted by the mutterings of some small children to his right. As Norman called out “Who’s That”, the small children mocked and mimicked him replying “Who’s That”. This great amusement pleased the gathered crowd and Norman commenced all of his proclamations with the calls of “Who’s That”.
Norman was an orator, an adventurer and a warrior. He left Ire to discover the world in his very own hand carved canoe and made his way to the land now known as the United Kingdom.
Norman was bigger, stronger and far better looking than any of the inhabitants that he encountered and he impressed them all with his fine proclamations and fighting ability. He would start his calls with “Who’s That” and the crowd, having difficulty with his superior accent would reply with “Oyez”. This reply stuck and is used by Town criers all over the world today.
The people of this land were so impressed, that their leader approached Norman and asked him as to his heritage. When Norman replied “I am Sacks son” the leader replied “Then we are all Sacks son”. Thus the birth of the Saxon nation.
I want to preface this..... whatever it is. If I hadn't been crying already, stunned from witnessing someone else's raw pain, this couldn't have happened. This is my attempt to show someone, even if only one person, that they aren't alone, aren't the only one suffering in the world. You aren't a faceless person amidst the masses to me. If this helps anyone, at any time, it's more than worth my own pain in producing it. If it effects you and you feel some flicker of recognition, I'd like to help you if I can.
I'll tell you of a time, the time I lived in hell. Every day they'd come to dig, every day I let it all just slip further away, evertime I let my soul start to die inside.
Every time I longed to die, every day I pleaded for god to end the lie, all the tears I couldn't cry, all the pain that I kept for you, locked so deep inside.
All the times they cut me once more, digging for the next solution to this dying catastrophe, every attempt to fix the wreck, as this disease rages forth unchecked.
Every cough that bent me double, all the blood tinged sputum I had to force out, the endless days of being so numb only my soul could hurt, every piece of me that died, everytime they robbed me of something else. The months of time where the only place I could run, was in my dreams, but you never can outrun the pain, or truly stop that inner pain, come pouring down, like blood tinged rain.
There once was a boy
Who did his best he could
He did his best to live
He did his best to love
But as he tried so hard
He only poured regret
He only awaken hate
He only broke even more
He has given up all hope
Can he go back now?
Can he find what he seeks?
Can he get what he longs for?
All this boy wanted was a fairytale
With a happy ending
But his dreams got shattered
And now he lives a nightmare
The tale of the boy
Who wanted to be happy
Comes to an end
And all he hopes for is death
And that boy is me.
She had been hurt, more times then she could count. She was sick of the never ending pain, caused by various boys, some that she had once even called her best friend. That’s how everything started for her, always. It went exactly the same way every time. She’d meet the boy, talk to him for a while, then they’d become friends, so she would be hanging out with them a lot more. They would soon form a bond that tied them as best friends, they were always the people she could tell everything to. Then, they would show her some kind of affection, hint towards her that they were attracted to her, some had even told her strait out. But it always ended in hurt. In pain. The pain that she took away with her one solitary companion. Her razor.
First there was Hunter. He had been staying with his sister for the summer when they met. And he had gained her trust. She could tell him secrets and know that no one else would know the next day. That’s what attracted her to him the most. He ended up going out with her cousin, whom she hated from that moment on. Her cousin knew what her feelings for him were, but still insisted in beating her. To her cousin, it was a sick, twisted game. And she won every time.
It happened that he had to go away for the weekend to visit his father, she called him every day, while his girlfriend didn’t call him at all. When he came back, he told her that he realized his mistake, and broke up with her cousin for her. They went out for about a month, during that time period, he went back home. It wasn’t far, only about a half an hour drive. But he soon stopped answering her calls and returning her messages. She was hurt, and she broke it off. They still talk, but rarely do they ever see each other.
No one could see Clayton, almost as if his skin of black silk hid in Hawaii’s night sky, his bright white eyes with their ebony irises matching up perfectly with the constellations, his life rotating around with the rest of the planet, but his heart seasick from the motion of the waves that brushed on shore, a tainted tidal wave of crimson that stained him and his callused hands red, making for a local motion of those who just noticed his typical Molokaian mistake turned tragedy that resulted in him being painted with a magic marker, coloring him invisible.
I could claim the identity of nothing more than that mysterious white girl from mainland, a foreign concept to the sun kissed bronze and brown bodies that crowded around the sea-rusted vehicles cresting the side of the road closest to the beach. My Californian accent had already slipped from me, as the mahina crept out from its shelter behind the violet clouds in the night sky. A bonfire blazed near the low tide, roaring up with flame and fury at the countless branches it consumed with its hellish heat. My eyes glanced to meet his, then strayed to the massive cast that enveloped his leg.
"Hey, how’d you break your leg?" I ignorantly inquired.
" ‘s not broke, torn tendon, Mon." His Hawaiian Pigeon echoed thick in my ears, comparable to that of a Bob Marley compact disc.
"Oh, how’d that happen?" Before he had time to answer, his melancholy coffee eyes danced around wildly in a flurry of frantic memories.
"Car accident." With those two words, I quit my questioning, detecting more than a simple car accident hidden behind his dark marbles. But, roaming rumors of the island fulfilled all that I needed to piece together the rest of the jumbled jigsaw puzzle.
"Yea Mon, you best leave dat Clayton ‘lone, he’s some serious issues, Mon."
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Syrupy Sweet
By Michael Feuerstein
“William, come off that goddamn roof and fix the sink, I think one of the pipes has is leaking all over the kitchen floor” Said Anne, Williams wife.
“Ill be down in a minute”
William smoothed the soil out around the plant, press his finger down into the dirt surrounding the last tulip. He then pulled himself off his knees, took a couple of steps back to look at the work he had completed. It was finally finished.
“I’m done” he said in calm raspy voice.
He smiled from ear to ear, and it was warm and inviting. He lifted his dirt covered hand and wiped the sweat from his brow, as he starred at his accomplishment. He had just finished making a garden on the roof of the apartment building he lived in, in the city of Harlem. The owner said he could as long as he tended to the maintenances work that needed to be done around his building. It had taken him 7 months to make construct plant and tend to, and the garden was finally in full bloom, it Full of grape vines, and tomatoes, tulips, and roses, daffodils and herbs. A sense of pride filled him, that he had not felt in a longtime.
“William David Floyster, please come down stairs NOW!” yelled a voice from the bottom of the stairs of the roof.
“I’m coming, I’m coming” said William as he turned to the roof door and made his way across the small pieces of gravel that covered it.
“She sounds more like my mother everyday” he muttered under his breathe.
He turned his head towards garden as he walked for the door and said “ill be coming back soon” with smile.