We were young and stupid
trying to roll god between dollar bill and flame
getting high just to get away from the low
because our lives came without floors
and there was no saying just how far down you’d go
We had cigarettes for fingers,
ash in all our poetry
lighters like lifelines in…
Dreams are for the rich
And the poor are only
The forgotten stepping stones of society
Welcome to the vast ocean of Envy and Greed
Anyone that dares defy the ocean’s current
Will be swallowed by its waves
Few even qualify to compete
So don’t even bother if your motivations are weak
MONEY…its all about the greens
Created by weak old fragmented cotton
This is everything that you need
To make dreams become one with reality
Teacher…teacher you lied to me
When you said that dreams were free
Because dreams are for the rich
Opportunities are only false hopes
To spin the wheels of this caste like society
I demand a price check on dreams
A check on those sweet candy like words you spoon fed to me
Because if we depend on miracles and opportunities
We’ll just sweat till out last breath, chasing shooting stars, it seems
Welcome to the land of Envy and Greed
The dreamers and believers will just be crushed by economic shifts
Because the dreaming believers just don’t see
That their reality, runs and spins on green
If this is truly the land of the “free”
Then God bless America was really just a lie to me
Because dreams are not cheap
and losers fertilize the soil
So attention to all dreamers:
It all falls down to fight or flight
and victors are only the truly exceptional
don’t even bother if your motivations are weak
tumblrbot asked: WHAT IS YOUR EARLIEST HUMAN MEMORY?
Sunflowers. My first memory was when I looked at plastic sunflowers in our front yard. I must have been four then. I remember the itching in my legs from the white stockings and green dress that my mom forced me to wear. It was Easter and my sister wore the exact same dress in pink. She kept calling for me to look at the camera but I was entranced by the sunflowers. They were fake yet so beautiful. How could something be so lovely when it wasn’t even real?
Your existence has been diminished
To an urn that rests on your mother’s soul
Atop the dining table.
It’s intricately designed
With hues of blue and regrets staining its ceramic-
Just the kind you wouldn’t like.
We wore black.
Lace and hats
Puffy eyes, silent cries
With shrouded hearts that are lit aflame,
I see a dame who has no name.
She strides along with an air of indifference,
And speaks in a tone that holds no interest.
With silver liquid grace that entrances all,
She appears to have a sirens call.
Yet, as many compliment her lovely facade,
I notice the remnants of faint tear drops staining that mournful face.