Motivational-Poem

She’s a little tipsy,

kind of weak.

Sometimes quite shy,

but really nice,

trust me. 

 

She’s named my motivation,

don’t you know her?

Well, I would like

to introduce you,

but haven’t seen her

all day. 

 

She needs some time,

holidays, some happiness.

 

Dear motivation, would you like?

We’ll go for a walk, it will go on,

become a run, a sprint, you’ll see.

Just take my hand, I'll show you how,

the sun is shining and you will grow.

 

 

 

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Beautiful

“What are you doing on the damn fucking tree?”, she was shouting in the green coat of the tempting tree.

“I felt like writing the most amazing children’s story.”, he responded with an enigmatic smile on his reckless face.

“While you are sitting on a damn fucking tree?”

“He simply smiled: Yes, on this very tree.”

“Why? ‘nd what’s it about?”

“Because the world is beautiful. And that’s what it’s about. The world is beautiful.”

“But this world isn’t fucking beautiful. Look at it, how can you call this world beautiful? This world is not giving a shit about…”

“You just have to look through the right eyes. There are people for whom the world is beautiful. Look through their eyes and you will see the beauty.”

 

She nodded: “Yes. That’s what the whole shit is about.”

 

perspectives writing world beautiful
The world is beautiful
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Alienness

As long as you haven’t seen it with your own eyes I don’t think you can understand what I try to describe to you know. Those abnormal creatures, when you see them in real live, you have this certain feeling, this scary but also exciting tingly feeling in the tummy. Somehow you could even get attracted by this exotic moves and alien dress. Do me the favor and try to imagine it, I know you can’t get it if you haven’t experienced it but give it a try. I really want to share my memory with you. Maybe it’s easier if you close your eyes, forget your normal surrounding to lose yourself in the wild water of meaningless existence. Of course I just request one of your moments, just a little one, than you can come back into your normal, reasonable life. 

The very first time I saw one of them was at a walk through the park and because there was only one of them I first expected him to be on his way to a costume ball. His pale, almost mousy hands where sticking out of his black, traditional cloth. He was tall, over towered me, scared me, threatened me with his appearance. Like you, I only knew about him from stories, from the television and some scary nightmares in my childhood where they came to my dreams to eat up the ones who were dependent on them. Frightened, with these stories in the back of my mind, I forced myself to go on and passed him.

But it wasn’t as bad as I thought, honestly speaking. I had luck, because he really appeared to be a nice one. He raised his hand when I was almost next to him, but thank god, he was only adjusting the thing around his neck, almost looking like a dog’s collar. Later I got to know that they call it tie, but I still prefer to call it collar. It takes a bit of the feeling of danger by which they are surrounded. Makes them somehow kind of cute, almost tame.

In the meantime I learned more about them and to be honest, I’m really curious to study them further. Did you know that they spend most of the day or even whole days inside those huge, ugly buildings? They spend their time there working, calculating, cheating and exploiting their customers. Many people, I think they are quite racist, say that’s all they do, everyone of them. But I know there are some of them, who are not that bad. You could maybe even say that they have something like a conscience. Of course not exactly a conscience, but something similar, I’m sure.

 

They have their own names for themselves. Businessman or banker and things like that. Actually I’m not that sure if both words mean the same or are somehow different from each other. But I think as long as they are enjoying giving themselves those peculiar names, it should be fine. I once saw one of them tipping like mad on his computer for an eternity. Still I’m not sure whether he has feelings or can reflect on himself. That can’t be a happy life, but anyway, he seems to be living this way by choice. But what am I talking about. He is just not human. Maybe some kind of primitive machine, still haven’t figured out what live is about. Sometimes they try to behave like humans, show feelings, maybe even feel those feelings they pretend to experience. Normally they need to drink a lot of alcohol therefor and then they move in a clumsy way which is meant to be dancing. A few of them almost look like normal people, but not quite. My flat mate is not even recognizing it. She thinks they are all the same, no difference at all. Besides she’s behaving kind of rude towards them. I like her anyway and nobody is perfect.

Well, deep in my heart I solemnly believe, we are all human. 

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Normality/Alienness/humanity/short story
Alienness and normality -strange words competing in a meaningless night to determine humanity

"If there´s a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, than you must write it." Toni Morrison