the ink in which i write

Silently I stumble

On roads to yet be known

With nothing in my hand

And below me only stone

Without a destination

No curfew and no rules

I strive to constantly stay clever

But my thoughts are thoughts of fools

So loudly my dreams rumble

Like lightening, storms, and thunder

But when I can stop walking

That, I will forever wonder 

When we were in school

And we were restless

It was all quite

liberating

And you were tall

And I was short

It was all quite

the same

And we were young 

And we were dancing 

It was all quite

extraordinaire

And you were drunk

And I was sober

It was all quite

okay anyhow

And we were in love

But not with each other

It was all quite 

one-sided

If someone cries silent in the night,
but see does no one ever
Is for someone the dark a fright,
or is no one not that clever?

Wiped a tear,
from my chin you did
But why the cause
you never saw
My words were dressed,
in stress and pressure
They danced
Away from the mind
of yours
They danced
Away and now hidden are they
Gone

I don’t want to be the word, I want to be the meaning behind it

Some arrogance dipped in vanity,
you take a sip and then proceed
You claim equality,
but only if you’re in lead

If there is something I really dislike, it’s when people have to remark on how “easy” or “light” a book is just because it’s written for young adults or has gained a lot of positive response from the general mass.

Sure, there’s tons of bad YA literature and only a few of those books might be considered classics in a hundred years, but does it really make them less readable than books written by, for example, Nobel prize-winning authors.

Even if those YA books aren’t very thought-provoking or new-thinking, they are the gateway to finding all the gems that hide in the ocean of literature.