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Literature Text
What It Is
20-1-16
It's pouring out your soul at 3 am
to someone who feels so near,
even though they may be a billion miles away
and at the other end of a screen.
It's staying up late to chat to people
on the other side of the world,
even though you know your parents are going to moan
and bitch and be nasty because you will sleep all day.
It's tales of woe and tales of joy.
Tales of terror during the night
and mood swings in the morning,
followed by stories of sorrow in the day;
all heard with an open heart and kind ears.
It's friends emailing your parents when you're suicidal,
because they care and don't want to lose you
to some emotional, or emotion-less,
baggage you can't talk about to anyone but them.
It's trusting people with your accounts and passwords
for times when you are in hospital or away,
so you know you will remain safe and protected
from trolls or hackers or art thieves.
20-1-16
It's pouring out your soul at 3 am
to someone who feels so near,
even though they may be a billion miles away
and at the other end of a screen.
It's staying up late to chat to people
on the other side of the world,
even though you know your parents are going to moan
and bitch and be nasty because you will sleep all day.
It's tales of woe and tales of joy.
Tales of terror during the night
and mood swings in the morning,
followed by stories of sorrow in the day;
all heard with an open heart and kind ears.
It's friends emailing your parents when you're suicidal,
because they care and don't want to lose you
to some emotional, or emotion-less,
baggage you can't talk about to anyone but them.
It's trusting people with your accounts and passwords
for times when you are in hospital or away,
so you know you will remain safe and protected
from trolls or hackers or art thieves.
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Comments9
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It's lovely and so true! That's really what it is.
It kinda reminds me (in a good way!!) of a German poem (you surely never read). It's called "Was es ist" (What it is) by Erich Fried.
It kinda reminds me (in a good way!!) of a German poem (you surely never read). It's called "Was es ist" (What it is) by Erich Fried.