The Idealist

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Things are never what they seem or what u imagine them to be

Submitted: January 04, 2009

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Submitted: January 04, 2009

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The Idealist
 
“What doesn’t kill you makes you stranger.”- The Joker
I am a twisted individual
You say twisted
I say individual.
I have big dreams in life but sometimes they are forgotten by the afternoon.
Sometimes they manifest on paper or sometimes they just stay in my head.
Or sometimes I project them onto others,
 but those dreams usually end up dead.
I am somewhat of an idealist so the way I imagine things to be,
Just isn’t always consistent with reality.
 And when my ideals die, so does a part of me.
While sleeping, have you ever dreamed to have found money in your hand?
Then been rudely awakened to empty palms
It was only a dream but you still don’t understand
Why you are still so disappointed that the money’s gone.
Sometimes I get lost in life like it’s a midnight’s dream
I love figments of the imagination.
And when people turn out to be nothing like they seem-
That’s when I wake up empty handed.
I’m the strangest one you’ll ever meet
And my scars run deep
So don’t stare at my disfigured image.
The marks fade with time but I usually don’t get far
Before new wounds replace old scrapes.
I am very strong willed but I can come off weak
Especially to the ignorant and naive
They see pain as weakness and sadness as defeat
But it only makes me stronger when I weep.
And I continue getting stranger by the week.
So I want someone to look at
And I want another one to hug
I need someone else to talk to
And someone else to fuck
If I split up all my needs
There is no sense to fall in love
No time to get attached
Then I’ll bury myself with music
Think of words all day and night
 Not enough time for dreaming
But just enough time for gin
And thinking of the past
To prepare for a similar future
Planning for a different path
But not sure how to choose it
So meanwhile I slash a few tires
Burn some bridges for old time’s sake
Punish myself for what I couldn’t change
Look over my dirty slate.
I’ll invent my own happiness
But I’ll cry if you say I made it up.
So don’t give me money in my dreams,
If you plan on waking me up.
 
 


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