The world weaponised hunger long ago and perhaps this why so many are reluctant to make food a human right, we do, after all, have a world of plenty. After all, why be a slave if you can have good food? Then you could focus on what's good for you, your family, your community, your nation and the globe.
It can be hard sometimes. Now and then we will choose the wrong way, a bit like moving against the grain.
We can ruin the wood we call life.
This can be hard to take back, since the damage has already been done.
It will scar you for a while, the mistakes we make but eventually it will fade into the past.
A simple decision can ruin our lives, but only you can choose whether to hold on to the past pain or let it go.
The Kids- Spoken Word
We're the kids nobody knows
We're the kids nobody hears
We're the kids nobody listens too
We don't beat the same drum
We don't sound like the rest
We are not fueled by; greed, lust, and fame
We are fueled by; society's rejection, our rage, and our pain
Because we are not mindless slaves
Our lives don't conform
We are more than we seem
We are not just poor kids with a dream
We are the speakers for the kids words can't be freed
The kids like me, like you
That know the world is insane
And we are not afraid to phrase the truth even if we sound crazed
We are more than you know
We are more than you hear
We are more than you listen too
We are more than our rage
We are more than our pain
We are more than our dreams
And I promise you this is not a phase
These are the thoughts in our brains
That makes our hearts pulsate
That keeps us breathing
and fighting to stay alive
We are the kids nobody knows
We are the kids nobody hears
We are the kids nobody listens to.
Without laws to require fair and balanced journalism, over time the media becomes a doomsday scroll of extremes. Especially vulnerable to mistruths are those who work with their hands, for they lack the luxury of increasing their logical thinking defences as the more academically employed do.
My treats came in pairs. Riding my bike was a treat and eating a cupcake was at treat. Then, on top of that I guess staying in shape was a treat too... but three isn't a pair right? What even is that? Ah, a trio. Yes, as I was saying, my treats came in trios...
The rain had always been something enchanting to me. Not the romantic, heart and flowers type, but in a different way. It felt as if the Big Guy above all of us were crying. Were despairing at the foolish sins and actions we mortals committed. Either way, it struck me as a wonder of the nature. The rain would bring in it's cold weather, inside which I would feel warm. The aftermath of a shower would be this sweet, earthy smell. It bewitched me. The beads of water upon flower petals were quietly dramatic. Perhaps, a moment for a photo shoot. The sun would shine down after the rain, but there would be nothing hot or sticky about it. The atmosphere would be pleasantly damp, and it would give me the spirit of a dreamy poetess.
If I were to set about tidying a house by messing up the parts that were tidiest you'd think I'd gone nuts, yet this is precisely what the terrorist does. Instead of finding ways to bring comfort and order to places people are suffering using their God-given ability to love, be logical and speak up, they make more negative chaos, more mess. All they do is make things worse for everyone. They aren't simply bad, they're dumb.
Moss-laden bricks of grey-orange, fitting as guards on the threshold. Behind the fool’s-ancient wrought-iron gates. Where rows upon rows of crumbling mounds stood in various interpretations of upright, their pores bathing in light from an ill moon, ailing. Porous trees hunched over most of the void spared by the sickening light’s expanse, plunging the rest in healthy shadow. The place echoed.
To enter, I must skirt around a pile of wet leaves. Today there is no weather; there is no wind, just howling. The temperature is of a mild apparition and so I hear the winds company more so. The leaf barbs that bar nefarious entrance are of little consequence to my apt overage and the grey-orange guards do little but deposit their dust upon me and my cloth.
It is essential to value all citizens as an equal and loved part of the nation, of the national family, and for immigration to become a grown-up discussion based both in heart and logic. Realistically, any buffer can only take so much addition before it cannot buffer the changes and remain stable. And buffers are all or nothing, they are either within boundaries or they are not, and so change is sudden and challenging to reverse. Thus a social haven, a peaceful society, can only remain a haven while its social buffers remain within their buffer range. Any chemist or biologist can tell you that this is true; as it is in the body, it is in society. So while we must always remain big hearted we need to let both heart and logic guide us as a national family and keep us united. We can accept new family members to our nation within realistic boundaries of what we can cope with and we can donate aid to countries in need as much as we are able to in order to increase the quality of life for people globally. Only by remaining united can we be strong and rescue others in various ways. We can't become a nation that requires rescue. Thus, we can't take everyone and we can't ignore their suffering. So an adult way forwards will emerge as we take a psychologically mature view - heart and logic combined.. a new "heartology." It makes a path we can all be proud of even when it involves tough choices, as it inevitably will.
Warming up with a hot chocolate and a lap blanket was quite my favourite way to spend those wintry days.
Her face wasn't anything extraordinary or significant, and yet, he felt somehow magically draw to those serious and silent features. Though she always avoided his gaze, he couldn't help but notice her clean skin and lack of makeup, along with her always messy hairstyles. Perhaps many would consider her homely, but he found her awe-striking.
