Why is it so
When I walk down the street
with a frown on my face
you grab your bag a little tighter
Your eyes tell.
They say how you want to cross to the otherside.
Your eyes tell.
They say how you silently pray that I might
so you dont have to.
Holding your breath
you dont cross
you dont even blink
You pass me by without saying a word.
Society says that if you did
If you admitted to it
If you confessed your fear
Then infact
you
are one of the bad people
Why is it so
When I walk down the street
with a smile on my face
you grab your bag a little tighter
Your eyes tell.
They say how you think it is weird
somewhat even strange.
Society stipulates that
a person who smiles when not watching TV
Not listening to something funny
or smiling outside any of the prescribed
and detailed rules
must be crazy
In our politically correct
logical
rational
and highly existential society
Where the true intellectuals have the answers
(and have had them since birth)
to all the worlds problems.
Only their:
music
movies
and literature (and anything else they like)
are worthy to even be called such
In our society where complaints and sarcasm
replace prayer and praise
backbiting is common place
temper tantrums after the age of five is completely acceptable
lashing out at someone for something they had nothing to do with
simply because
they were there
is very ok
In our society where there is no belief in any God or Gods
and if there was any
we as humans are self-sufficient enough now
to not have any
need
or
use
of him, her, or them
Our society says
Only a crazy weirdo
smiles at you for no reason.
Most likely because they are about to do something
something crazy and weird
Why is it so
because your eyes do infact tell
you very much think
Im the weirdo
Walking Weirdo by Christopher F. Brown is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at pentopaperandfingertokey.blogspot.com.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://pentopaperandfingertokey.blogspot.com/2010/02/walking-weirdo.html.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Bad Friend
I am not what you thought I was.
Nor will I ever succumb to what you think I should be.
I define me.
Every stroke
of
Every letter
of
Every word
of
Me
You laugh and call me crazy
when I dance and sing.
Life is beautiful if you let it be.
You hate me
You call me a bad friend.
All because I wont entertain your misery
With the same.
Bad Friend by Christopher F. Brown is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at pentopaperandfingertokey.blogspot.com.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://pentopaperandfingertokey.blogspot.com/2010/02/bad-friend.html.
Nor will I ever succumb to what you think I should be.
I define me.
Every stroke
of
Every letter
of
Every word
of
Me
You laugh and call me crazy
when I dance and sing.
Life is beautiful if you let it be.
You hate me
You call me a bad friend.
All because I wont entertain your misery
With the same.
Bad Friend by Christopher F. Brown is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at pentopaperandfingertokey.blogspot.com.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://pentopaperandfingertokey.blogspot.com/2010/02/bad-friend.html.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Words left behind
Words left behind
are what I hope to bring.
Maybe it will be my legacy.
Maybe it is my arrogant conceit.
Whatever it is
Whatever it will be
It is what is now
I can not help but do.
I've gone from hiding them in the dark damp mold
to
shoving them in the face of anyone that dared to turn eye and look
Long after I'm dead and gone
(and maybe even, but hopefully not forgotten)
Loving the lavish grasp that is my fathers arms
I wont think of the words that were left behind.
I will have long forgotten the hope they were to bring.
Christopher F. Brown 2010
are what I hope to bring.
Maybe it will be my legacy.
Maybe it is my arrogant conceit.
Whatever it is
Whatever it will be
It is what is now
I can not help but do.
I've gone from hiding them in the dark damp mold
to
shoving them in the face of anyone that dared to turn eye and look
Long after I'm dead and gone
(and maybe even, but hopefully not forgotten)
Loving the lavish grasp that is my fathers arms
I wont think of the words that were left behind.
I will have long forgotten the hope they were to bring.
Christopher F. Brown 2010
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