Tag Archives: death

Love Poems

A love poem from a person with Dyslexia:

Roses are red,
Violents are blue,
Sugar is sweat,
And so are you.

A love poem from a person with ADD:

Roses are red,
Violets are blue–
But not only violets;
The sky is blue, too.

A love poem from a person with OCD:

Roses are red,
Violets are blue–
Roses are red,
Violets are blue–
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I plucked off the petals,
And sorted them too.

A love poem from a person who’s Bi-polar:

Roses are red,
I wish I were dead.
Violets are blue,
I’ve got the happiness-flu :)

A love poem from a person with Terret’s:

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
F@$%!
…I love you.

A love poem from a person with Schizophrenia:

Roses are red.
Roses are red.
Roses are red.
Roses are red…

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Splash

You’re standing on the high-dive platform.

Below is the pool. That is death.

Your friend just pushed you off the platform. That is life.

Are you going to smile and make a splash, or curse at your friend the whole way down until you’re under water?

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Memorial

You come home to a house you’ve kept clean for a week solid after spring cleaning, but today you are tired. You drop your stuff on the floor and go to the kitchen to grab some snacks. You’ve worked hard this week. You decide you deserve a treat. You can’t remember the last time you had a milkshake. You scoop out the ice cream, Oreos, chocolate syrup, and some more ice cream, and hold the “blend” button. The blender decides that now is a good time to commit suicide and grind its gears, and not your milkshake, until you hear a pop and see a little wisp of smoke trail away from your newly departed appliance. You now understand the phrase ‘giving up the ghost,’ but you still don’t have a milkshake. You find yourself on the couch minutes later with a long spoon and the top half of the blender in your hand, scraping out the last bites of your milkstir, and realizing that the top half of the blender actually isn’t a bad way to eat a snack. It even has a handle and a spout. Over the next few weeks you keep using the top half of the blender to eat while the bottom half still sits plugged in on your counter top. No, it still doesn’t work. And now you’ve gotten used to it being there that it has just become part of the kitchen counter; a fixture, a statue, a memorial even. A few months later you invite friends over and one of them gets really drunk and asks you why you couldn’t just make margaritas from scratch when the blender is sitting right there. You tell him, “oh, it doesn’t work.” Like it’s supposed to not work. And he just stares at you for a little while because he’s obviously drunk, and nothing is wrong with you, or the blender.

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What is wrong with people?

What do you mean?

Like, relationships. You don’t see bears in the woods cheating on each other.

True, but bears aren’t people.

Sometimes it seems hard to tell.

Yeah, but the difference between us and bears is that bears don’t know that they’re going to die. That’s why they don’t just start yolo-ing all over the place.

They can’t be completely clueless.

It’s not called the animal condition, it’s called the human condition.

I beg to differ. Animals in general avoid things that would kill them. I’m almost positive that they know they can die.

Yeah, that they can die; not that they will die. It’s nothing more than a reflex.

So if you knew you were going to die, would you go on a crazed sex rampage, or would you keep to yourself and one other person?

What are you talking about? I’m not going to die.

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What’s on your mind?

Every living creature dies alone. That sort of thing.

That’s not always true. I’ve heard sometimes big groups of people, like in cults, come together and have mass suicides, like a big suicide party–oh and don’t forget about natural disasters. Lots of people die together in those.

Thanks. I feel way better now.

Well don’t drag your shit onto me. I’m feeling pretty good right now and I don’t want to deal with your existential crisis. I’ll deal with it when I get depressed on my own accord.

You could have just said that first. You don’t have to be such a jerk about it.

I was starting to feel bad, so I had to knock you down a few pegs, which made me feel better I gotta say.

Haven’t you heard of sharing the load to make it lighter?

Haven’t you heard about turds in punch bowls? I don’t want your shit in my mouth.

But we never talk about this kind of stuff. No one does.

And for a reason. People want to feel good. Yeah, we all know we’re all going to die, but we’d rather just distract ourselves from it than spend time thinking about it and dealing with it. Why do you think people are always on their phones doing dumb shit when they could have a quiet moment to reflect? Why do you think we distract ourselves from thought in general?

Yeah. I guess we’ve kind of gotten soft. No one wants to do the hard mental work to find true satisfaction; they just want to play fucking candy crush and feel happy for beating the next level or watch some fucking cats doing cute cat things.

Well yeah, that’s just the way it is, so deal with it.

I’m trying.

Well you’re sucking at it. Try harder.

But if I just distract myself it won’t actually change anything.

…I’ll give you some advice that my great grandpa gave me before he died, as long as you promise to shut up.

Ok. Sure.

When you feel like you are going to die — don’t die; and you will survive.

He said that?

Well, I’m translating, but that’s the gist.

Bullshit.

Well it’s what he said. Now shut the fuck up and eat some ice cream.

There’s no way he said that.

He was on the forefront of wisdom, what do you want me to say?

How about what he actually said?

But that is what he said.

I object! You expect me to believe this ill-conceived hearsay?

Why not? Everything is hearsay anyways. You wouldn’t even know how old you are if someone didn’t tell you. Everything can be true or false; it just matters if you believe it. You see, there’s a certain point in life when you realize that you’re not the judge. You don’t decide what happens, so you try to be the lawyer for a while, arguing about why it happens and all the time-consuming, convoluted questions that go along with that. But then you realize that you’re a crappy lawyer and are only confusing yourself, so you take another step back. Your real job is to be the jury, and decide what you want to believe. Because believing is the only choice we have, and the only decision worth giving a damn about. So don’t tell me you’re going to die, and don’t ask me why it will happen; just tell me what you’re going to do about it.

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concrete jungle zoo

After a devastating earthquake in a destitute third world country, many first world organizations sent ‘short-term missionary teams’ to help the devastated population return to their lives.

There was rubble and wreckage and people collecting their broken lives in a wheelbarrow and hauling them away by the side of the road. Without homes, the people were openly on display as cars drove by, however no one seemed to notice in the same way you don’t notice every breath you take.

The short term missionaries then rolled through with their shiny rented cars and took pictures like it was a zoo. Normally in these circumstances those inside the car would be afraid, but the glass windows of the car served as a barrier that detached and removed these short-term missionaries from the world; but from the outside it was clear that those in the air conditioned cars were the ones on display.

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