ivy

“Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Chops"
because that was the name of his dog

And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
and read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy
took all the kids to the zoo

And he let them sing on the bus
And his little sister was born
with tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed a lot
And the girl around the corner sent him a
Valentine signed with a row of X's

and he had to ask his father what the X's meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it

Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Autumn"

because that was the name of the season
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because of its new paint

And the kids told him
that Father Tracy smoked cigars
And left butts on the pews
And sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed

when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And the kids told him why
his mother and father kissed a lot
And his father never tucked him in bed at night
And his father got mad
when he cried for him to do it.


Once on a paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Innocence: A Question"
because that was the question about his girl
And that's what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A

and a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because he never showed her
That was the year that Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end
of the Apostle's Creed went

And he caught his sister
making out on the back porch
And his mother and father never kissed
or even talked
And the girl around the corner
wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her

but he kissed her anyway
because that was the thing to do
And at three a.m. he tucked himself into bed
his father snoring soundly

That's why on the back of a brown paper bag
he tried another poem

And he called it "Absolutely Nothing"
Because that's what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A
and a slash on each damned wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door
because this time he didn't think

he could reach the kitchen.”
― Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower

“Younger

There's a conclusion to my illusion
I ASSURE YOU THIS
There's no end to this confusion if you let it wish you well
SOUL TO SELL
Highest bidders, can't you tell what you're getting?
There is a light to all this darkness, I will tell you this
There's redemption in you asking them just why it is
Some answers are better left unspoken when you know you ain't getting any

Younger, younger, younger
Are you?
Younger, younger, younger
Are you?
You ain't getting any
Younger, younger, younger
Are you?
Younger, younger, younger
Are you?

Why we fight to get on loving I've been wondering
How your mind will leave you hanging your heart lingering
STAY LOST
Then found by whoever stays around forgetting
There is a way to be yourself, I assure you this
There's a way to catch your dreams without falling asleep
You might as well get it while you can, babe
Cause you know you ain't getting any

Younger, younger, younger
Are you?
Younger, younger, younger
Are you?
You ain't getting any
Younger, younger, younger
Are you?
Younger, younger, younger
Are you?

There is a light to all this darkness if only we
Fight against them telling us how we should be
I REFUSE TO HAVE YOU BREAK ME
When you know you ain't getting any

Younger, younger, younger
Are you?
Younger, younger, younger
Are you?
You ain't getting any
Younger, younger, younger
Are you?
Younger, younger, younger
Are you?

Younger, younger, younger
Are you?
Younger, younger, younger
Are you?
You ain't getting any
Younger, younger, younger
Are you?
Younger, younger, younger
Are you?”
― Seinabo Sey

“Stronger than lover's love is lover's hate. Incurable, in each, the wounds they make.”
― Euripides, Medea

“Cats don’t have names,” it said.

“No?” said Coraline.

“No,” said the cat. “Now, you people have names. That’s because you don’t know who you are. We know who we are, so we don’t need names.”

There was something irritatingly self-centered about the cat, Coraline decided. As if it were, in its opinion, the only thing in any world or place that could possibly be of any importance.

Half of her wanted to be very rude to it; the other half of her wanted to be polite and deferential. The polite half won.”
― Neil Gaiman