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Time management and stress

I’ve bitten off more that I can chew. I know it and everyone around me knows it because it is glaringly obvious that I cannot cope with everything I have chosen to take on. I’ve decided to do a million and one things because I – ignorantly – believe that it would be fun to. In retrospect, I believe I’m only doing 3 major things, which is in actual fact taking up a lot of my time.

1) School: Well, hey, that’s kind of mandatory, isn’t it? I have to do that because I want to go to university and I want to try and do well in my A-levels. And that’s mainly because I don’t want grades to limit my choices in the future. It’s as simple as that.

2) Spoken-word poetry: I absolutely love spoken-word poetry and I want to continue to progress in it. I want to improve and be as great as Sarah Kay, Shane Koyczan or Joelle. They are amaze balls and I want to reach that level. But it’s super hard to commit to it outside of school and stuff.

3) Organising events: I love organising things which help other people showcase their talent or give others the opportunity to network. I love it. The one I’m doing at the moment is actually quite major and because of it I’ve been incredibly overwhelmed recently and I’m trying not to be. But I can’t help it. So, I’ve been over relying on my friend to take up most of the responsibility which is so wrong of me to do and I want to help but I also don’t want to get in her way. So, I’m in bit of a pickle.

That’s it basically. I guess, writing it down has made me realise that most of the problem comes from my desire to give a hundred percent to everything that I am doing. And I need to realise that right now I can’t. Maybe, time management would really help? I don’t know, I’ll try managing my time for a week and see how it goes. Which will surely work but it will take time before I start seeing progress.

But, right now, I have bitten more off that I can chew and now, I am beginning to choke.

Nakedstreetkid out -_-

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Poetry

grow timid

I wonder what they feel
Do they feel power in their glares?
Eyes full of anger
Waiting for you to despair?

Their teeth grind away
Chewing on their hate
Consuming through their meal
Do they wait?

Wait for you to serve them
Wait for you to bow and kneel
Hold out your key to them
Fast behind their heels

It was strange when you got up
Marched away, only to return with his paper
Each step growing timid as you approached him
How could you feel safer?

Sit next to him
Feed him his food
Maybe he’ll treat you nicely
If he’s in the mood

No hits when you get home
No shouting or screaming
No cheeks hitting the floor
Nor skin on your body peeling

You’ll be safe for now
You’re hidden in the crowd
Your face a blur
Just be careful not to say a word

Poetry

Poppy seeds

When we mourn, we mourn silently
Our heads dropped
Hands clasped together, behind out backs

Jack had fallen where he stood, gun in hand, pointed limply at the enemy that shot him
We stayed behind the trenches and watched how each bullet poked holes through him
As if he was a piece of paper, sliced open by the teeth of dogs
The shooting had ceased after a while
The blood remaining in his body soaked through into the ground
We buried him where he had stood, where he had fallen
Dug up a hole and lowered his previously decaying body into it
He was finally at peace
I stared into his eyes, dead of any light as we shoveled wet mud onto him

Over and over and over again we did this to our comrades

Buried them where they stood
Buried them where they fell
But we never found any of them again
We had already moved past their makeshift graves
Powered by the need to defeat the “enemy”
Who had hurled bombs our way, pieces of shrapnel exploding into the terrain behind us

By the time the war had finally finished
By the time we returned to each respective grave
We couldn’t find them
Their limbs lay dispersed from their body
Like poppy seeds
Scattered across no mans land
So, we left their parts on foreign soil and powered forward

When we mourn, we mourn silently
We mourn at an empty grave, an empty tomb
Matured poppies alive on the surface of our hearts
Hands clasped behind our backs
Reading a muted prayer to God for us to find them

Poetry

Towers

The quiet grips my eyes outside
The screeching sound of silence fills the air heavy with sorrow
Over our heads, the facts pushes our necks down
Dripping our chins down to our knees
I look up and tear my eyes to the T.V
Where Towers of metal from a fragmented building collapse
Mouths open, ready to scream at shocked expressions
My dad turns down the T.V
The presenters voice rattles in the background
And our souls shake with it
The unnatural sounds of nature rising paints away the disaster occurring in a man-made world
Droplets of singing birds cascade down into our ear drums
Rustling leaves wet with tears from the clouds begin to meditate softly in the background
And yet, the stillness of the sky dumbfounds us
Pieces of winged shaped metal no longer soaring between the clouds
Creating an eerie silence for man
Allowing a bracket of natures music to be overheard in the distance

Poetry

When God happens

When God happens we are left with a myriad of excuses escaping mouths without mourning. People grieving for their loved ones hidden under lands covered in sand and sweat. Soldiers running from point A to B without remembering that their actions amount to very little, but the construction of loathing within a new generations mind. New excuses are made. Filled with the hatred of the young, fueled by the hatred of the old. Fear is so easily mistaken for bravery.

New soldiers arrive. Eager to destroy others without the true realisation they are killing people. Not just the men that the bullets that are used to tear through the flesh but the children of these men. The wives and mothers of these men. The friends of these men. When they kill one, they kill many.

They kill so many.

Poetry

Depression

It is a strange world to exist in
And I could not replicate it if I tried
The fog, the haze, the unmistakable maze
The pied piper that promises lies

A tune here, a whistle there
A tongue twister comprised of bile
A jitter, a bug, a half-milled slug
Why must it be so vile?

There are very few things that interest me
A knee, a tree, a bee
But it is these things which will destroy me
And take me away in glee

Both knees shall be broken into two
No valley shall I pass through
A bee shall no longer buzz and sting
There, you see, I’ve lost my wings

And the tree, what a wonderful tree
Completely full of life is she
But with my hands, myself, my child
Maliciously I will snap it flat and hear it crack

And in such conditions
I will flee

Poetry

I shouldn’t be here

I’m just a kid again
The shame of walking to school with my brother’s clothes on engulfs me
Eats me whole

The soles of my feet grabs the gravel at the pavement
My shoes are vacuums
Split at the sides, circles dug deep
I pull one foot in front of the other

And as I slither into school their whispers consume me
Their stares paralyse me
Constricting my throat
No word escape my mouth
But grieving sounds of solitude do

The world disappears in my mind
A hazy fog of bricks floating above ground
Expressions dislocated from faces
Experimenting with a frown and then a laughter
That suddenly clicks into anger

Shouting cuts away at my fog
And I begin to move

Slowly, slowly, slowly forward

A breath escapes through my nose
My eyes shimmer close
When I open them, I’m at the the steps

I’m ready and first in line
I’m first in line and watch them
Playing tag and jumping on the fence

While I sit on the step

While I sit on the step

I’m first in line people

I’m first to die