Compositions

I recently uploaded a bunch of my compositions to a website, and I thought I would share one of my favourites here with you too.

Just please don't laugh.
:)


Lies.
Not white ones,
ones that no one knows
the truth of.
You're not even sure what
the real thing is.
You've spent too much time
Living lies.

Eventually I crack
I can't take it.
I don't want to start over,
because I know I'll break.
I'd rather leave,
leave everything behind.
That way, I would cause
no more anything.
I've confused, ruined and misguided
so many people and lives.
Not to mention my own.
There's no trust, no love, nothing.
I'm so alone, so far away.
Yet so close and distanced.
This has to end.
Just pretend
there was no beginning
So there is no end.
Don't remember me ever agian.

I'm so broken.
All confused.
No one's here to guide me.
I want someone else's shoes.
I need to heal the open wounds,
yet protect the mending scars.

I'm moving too fast.
I never liked waterfalls.
RUSH
Not fun, no even close,
they pull you under,
pretend you're having fun.
But then it all changes.
You can see, hear, feel,
but you're ending, collapsing.
It's all over.
You're at the bottom.
No one's holding you down,
but you just can't get up.
You refuse to breathe.

Main stream was never my thing.
I was proud of little things,
envious of other ones.
I didn't want to be,
or so they thought.
I had dreams,
feelings too.
You were too distraught to see.
Why should you care?
I'm just another tear
in this flawed life.
We ignore things we don't want,
and excentuate everything we do.
Why be real?
Why be yourself?
You won't be accepted.
You're all alone.
How does it feel now?

Hide and jump.
Say you're sorry.
Belive in everything.
Feel and express.
Shout and whisper.
Be kind and rude.
Have willpower to give up easily.
Poosibilities are limited.

Death is morbid.
Morbid is death.
What colour's your angel?

(April 3rd, 2005)

Lastly, I promised Nicole that I would publish this somewhere, just for her. This was written in a grade 10 English class, and I'm sad to say, I didn't do too well on it...

To You I Give
(Revised Edition)
Dedicated to Nicole Daigle

Not a pair of jeans or a hoodie,
I give you a jumpsuit.
It is an infamous polyester creation.
It promises itchiness,
Like Gram's wool socks.
Here.
It will restrict your breathing,
Like a sumo wrestler on your chest.
It will make you cry with embarrassment,
A stuttering fool in spandex.
I am trying to be helpful.
Not a sock or a belt,
I give you a jumpsuit.
It's skin-tight feeling will stay for a while,
Like a snake trying to shed its skin.
As we are,
For as long as we are.
Take it.
Its invisible zipper will stay hidden,
If you like.
Lethal.
Your skin will long for its feel.
Its cling will haunt you.



Love.
Hannah.