Untold
On social media we always post certain things. People there know us for those things. But they don't actually know us. They pretend they know us, we pretend to know them. But what about the untold?
Do we actually know what they work as? Is it true what they say? What do they act like not only behind a camera, but on their own? It's the untold. The places that we refuse to go, the places we want left alone. It's the untold that feeds your growing impatiens.
We think what we want, believe what we're told. But what is the real truth? Are there things that we don't know? Why do they do certain things? WE don't ACTUALLY know anything. It could be a blanketed myth? A fabericated truth? Is it truth at all? It's unknown.
It's untold.
Jungle Book Inspo
A fire where I hunt, people whispering in hushed tones.
My paws burn and the child runs away. A wolf takes it humbly in.
I try to kill it, be the leader of the jungle.
Years pass of me trying to take it, the life of the boy, Control of the Jungle.
Many times I try yet I fail.
I hunt down food and go to the lake.
Lapping at water, I hear a cry.
The cry of the boy from years ago, warning of herds of buffalo coming.
Hoof beats follow every turn.
From both sides I am doomed, a flaw that this crevice has.
I cry for my last breath.
I haven't killed him but he has killed me.
This is my last breath.
When You Sleep, I Watch
In the darkness of night, when you are hidden and tucked under blankets. Fighting for sanity in your dreams. I come for you. A dream, the worst of all. Black and White, red and colorful. I follow you.
In the form of a snake I wriggle.
As a kid I was paranoid of the dark, like most people. I was always scared of the shadows in darkness. I would hardly ever sleep because every time I closed my eyes I thought that I saw in my nightmare. Now I have gotten over it, but it's still vivid in my head as if real.
I prefer to call this nightmare " Unnamed" or " Cursed Name" and sometimes " Unspeakable." I was really creative. So, I fell asleep and my dream grasped me before any other could.
Everything was black. A giggling girl's echo chased every corner of the room. I couldn't figure out why she was giggling, or where she was at. So I sat there, waiting for her to explain or to show herself. But she didn't she kept giggling. And sometimes she would whisper things in a breathe. I could feel her close, but I didn't know where.
Finally I called out. " Hello? Why are you giggling? What's so funny?" And I remember it, her raspy voice, the smile in it. She paused giggling. Then very quietly she said, " You're going to die! There coming for you!" And she continued giggling.
Who, I thought and as of she heard my thoughts she paused and answered, " All of them." Then I remember her, she turned toward her eyes flashing red. " All of them will come!" psychopath.
I started running, but hand grabbed my legs, tripping me. I turned around and started kicking. Then I saw it. I screamed and clawed at the stone around me until my fingers bled. But the blood wasn't red, it was black. I could feel the pain as it clawed up my legs.
I turned around and started to frantically hit it. It opened it's jaws wide. It looked like a Gill Man from Black Lagoon. And then I screamed as it shoved my face in it's mouth. And I woke up.
Fleetfoot?
I've grown up around chickens. They were MY chickens. I started out with five, but right now I have forty-two. I've got seven males, two monarchs, two heirs, and the rest to the butcher. I've got red stars, red rocks, a black rock, and black hens which I don't know the breed of.
To be honest, I've always loved chickens. Whether alive or on my plate. But my dad bought me twenty-six chickens. Red stars. After two days all of them died. As chicks. SO dad got another batch. In this batch twenty-two died. Dad burnt three of them by dropping the light on them and so I was left with one.
She was quite energetic and always was running around her box. So, I named her after a warrior book cat, Fleetfoot. She was absolutely the best. She would stand on her stuffed animal and tweet. I would pick her up in my sleeve and she would cuddle in my hand.
Fleetfoot is honestly my favorite chick of all time. But I had to go to school. And I would have loved to see her grow up. While I was away she climbed up her stuffed animal and tweeted. She probably tweeted half of the day. But I found her at the end of school and she had fallen to her death.
So, now all my usernames are in memory of her.
Scars and Bruises
I hide them. Under a sleeve or skirt.
Scratches that I have earned over years.
They burn and bleed.
They pull and tear.
I spend extra time every day trying to hide.
I don't want to show my bruises and scars.
Most people show them in pride of the battles they've won.
Yet I don't, I'm shy.
A scar down my heart. A bruise that I've brandished.
I trust nothing, it turns into hurt.
My face blushes when I look for a second to long.
Scared to meet other eyes that bore.
Maybe they wonder whats underneath the long robes.
Sometimes I wonder to. Only for a second.
They told me when I was young that I'm ugly.
One said that only scars could ruin the only beauty I have left.
So they hide. Under fabric, under a mask, under make up.
It's all a fake reality. One meant to hide the pain.
To hide the tears behind a smile.
But it never quite reaches the eyes.
You would know its fake if you look closer.
Only problem is, nobody does.
Nobody confronts the truth. They don't look at details.
They marvel at beauty as a whole.
Not beauty in one place.
I never knew, but that's why I'm ugly.
They never cared to look at tiny details.
Only the whole picture at once.
If they had looked at details they would have noticed.
My thick lashes, the way my lips curve in a smile.
He said that the curl at the end of my hair was beautiful.
He said that my eyes were enhancing.
He said never to fear the scars.
They just show that you survived, they show the battles.
A scar shows that you beat what tried to kill you.
So world, here are my brandished scars. And there meant for you to see.
I'm not hiding anymore, nothing is going behind the scenes.
Real beauty comes from what is there. Not what you are putting up.
Not the make up reality that you have.
You don't need to wonder what 's underneath now. Because here it is.
Off
Choose a path. If wrong it's okay.
It'll meet up to the true path again.
If I doesn't somebody you love will shove you to it.
Whether there are brambles or thickets. They help you through.
You may be discoursed but you'll get back.
Every time you fall over somebody's going to help.
Only if they don't have other motives.
People who love you help you.
So when you get discoursed you get two things out of it.
You find who loves you, and who doesn't.
Then you find the right path.
No Love Comes Without Pain.
They wished to get rid of pain. They talk about true love though. Did they never think of the travel to make it there? Did they forget about the travel after one is gone. If you don't feel emptiness and pain when they leave, was it really true? If you feel whole before they came is there really any more room for a loved one? If there isn't painful struggles while they are still here are you sure you wont leave them? Part of true love is pain. If there is no empty space or void full of pain before you meet them there is no love. If there are no struggles how do you know if they would come back to you? It's the part of the process. What matters is when you leave them only to come back. That's when they know you love them. If there is no pain when they leave was there really any room in you're heart for them when they were still here? Is you're pride to big to let any body in? When there is true love you will hurt and morn when they're gone. Only because they were a part of you. And now they're missing. So, don't try to take pain out of the equation. Add it. Then you know true love, because it's so beautiful that it hurts. No love comes without pain.
Blushed
My eyes divert from what's in front of me.
Years of offering what I want to others takes it's toll.
My cheeks turn red.
I've never wanted something so bad.
That's why I turn away.
I know it will hurt some how.
After time if something goes wrong it will burn.
Not wanting to get hurt is the way I've lived.
Never reckless and uncontrollable.
But those people stop caring after awhile.
They've got better coping skills than me.
My shield and armor are weaker.
And so here I stand, uncertain.
Food? I’m in.
What food would I ever be? Well, I'm a cold person. . . I don't need to elaborate. And I can be sweet at the same time if you give me time. I come in many flavors. Crazy, funny, mean, nice, and mostly weird and goofy. So, I think I'll settle for ice cream. If you give it time it will warm up from an icy stage, and it comes in different flavors. Only difference is you put ice cream in the freezer. Yet I'll put you in the freezer if you try anything.