Greatest poet who ever lived.

Yo, i knew him before all of you, but it wasn't the him you knew
before he was a prophet he was a poet, and before he was a poet
he was a writer, and before he was a writer he was just like me
and before his projects where poems, his poems where a hobby
The hobby grew and took him to a place where he got to choose

though it only ever seemed like the choice was win, or loose.

and to win for him meant nothing, as the face he saw wasn't his

there was a man from within but but his words came out wrong.

that's what got him into writing, and he would write all day long

an imaginary world where he could write his wrongs

or at least, have them documented. You should read them.

I have them. they're obviously not what you know of him.

but there's something in these works that i think got left behind,

Something that we all leave with a more pure or, naive time.

A man had come and took his place, looked into a mirror and saw another face

but it didn't matter anymore because this face was pretty. and they noticed him, now they liked what he wrote so he had to win

And there where places to go. Shows to watch, no time to stop.

and he never did. God knows if he ever really lived or only, only wrote about it.
The writer I know i believe died a long time ago, and this one was never rated, but was always my favourite.
And that's why, i don't want to state it i hate to say it but i always felt, betrayed.
Like, he changed. We would write and play videogames in his room for days.
everyone thought it was all we knew, when he left there was no way i thought he'd get to where he got to, probably because i didn't even want him to. but, now im here looking at all of you, i guess we all look a little different, depending on the view. He grew. I didn't. But only in the hope he'd one day come back.
So i can't discredit that man, he lived and died for the cause, to get on the stage and feel that applause so when i go if you could at least do that, send him off, with one more clap.

say it right.

I drew a quick breath

as the rain hit my neck,

to shield short pain my collar was lifted

fact is my skin's always been a little sensitive.

and I thought: like feist- i feel it all

but like dizzee- i stand up tall

as if everything i see is apart of me

and I'm embodied in everybody

but then everyone moves in different ways
so much so i get to the point where
i can't find myself some days.

So yeah, i've been needing some help lately

don't yet leave I need to listen to someone other than jay-z,

telling others "I'm not depressed Just stressed"

not depressed just stressed.

to everything and all I've given my best

apart from myself. With that I need your help.

words hurt but not as much as fists do,

that's what i thought until i realized

i wasn't strong enough to say- I miss you.

"so, how's it going?"

"you alright?" "How am I?--- Okay"
although recently it's felt like

every word I've said to you I've

been saying the wrong way.
Like, if i could just, say it right.

Your hair was the lamp post.
You hair was a lamp post giving light

to a night almost lost

(hear what I'm saying)

of all the videogames I played donkey kong

country was the best. but that doesn't matter

because you're the coolest girl I ever met. No

as soon as the feel of life began to get me bored

you didn't so much reinvent the wheel

but give me a hoverboard

it's hip hop on an accordion

tin- pan blues with a heavy base

something that works though at first

you'd have though it was out of place

so how can you expect me to understand

and stand and watch you hold his hand?

I mean,

he does what he can

I do what i will

he says what they say

i say what i feel

he's keeping it real

While I'm trying to live a dream

for years i've been cooking a scheme
and i don't even know what that means
like we're some carbonara dream team
hear what I'm saying I'm not saying it right
hear what I'm saying I'm not saying it right

look,

your relationship with him is respected, really

i really do accept it

I just don't understand why our friendship

has to feel so contraceptive?

as if we're not connected

acting like you never felt it

on that kilburn station underground night

when the rain and light hit your hair just right

and i suppose you've never been able to know

for when we kissed your eyes where closed

but me, i found it too hard to believe

so mine where open

trust me, in that moment, 

time moved in slow motion and

in each raindrop was our reflection

that's why I still have these emotions

two years by and I'm still haunted

by this beautiful past

and it's only when I'm looking back

this new future has hits me too fast

too hard are these two hearts to last

further than.. us? fuck.
hear what I'm saying

I'm not saying it right.

hear what I'm saying I'm not saying it right

Hear what I'm saying I'm not saying it right

It's not about you me or him

it's about the loss of love at first sight

to the same thing

it wasn't about the fame

it was about hitting the stage
and no longer feeling the same old same

I'm not insane for saying this, right?

just understand, i don't need all this

to be up there, i would pause

every applause

and give back every clap

because when with you

I didn't have to act

and i don't even want it back

i know it sounds distorted

to want to go back to when

i wanted to go forward
because what was
still is and that's flawed

and you don't need to know this

but as i go on and ramble
as i always seem to do

i get closer

and i realize, I'm was saying it right.

I just... didn't want to say it.

Crossing lines.

somedays i don't know when the story ends and the life begins

ever since schooldays where i did joke sketches of my friends

writing my world and all in it has always been something i did

little did i know that alienation would be the price i'd have to pay

i-- even on this. An explanation...

to creative people. answer me, at what point do real people come first?

and when do your characters become realer than your friends?

maybe this poet is beginning to break down, after three months of flying

i've just crashed back on the same fucking island i flew away from

to the subject at hand.

(please stop making everything rhyme, if you can)

wait- uh- damn.

when can everything stop being material and start being real?

i don't ask for much, i just want to stop thinking and start to FEEL.

put that in caps. for effect.

heh

damn i need a drink. STIFF drink!

eighty one.

Never have i thought of these scribbles as poems

to me, they've always been sort of confessions

the thoughts i was too scared to say to my aimee

the feelings i was afraid to feel, and if i put it down

i could pretend they weren't real, just entertainment

but to all my friends, to my mum and dad

who read these things and may think im sad

please believe it's simply the outlet for a darker side.

ah,

most of the time we'll crack a joke 

but rest assured every man has once been a sad bloke.

the last letter

know

your last may just be your best.

A typical Sean poem about a not so typical girl constantly in a love/hate relationship with the world and, it’s never for any good reason… because there never is one. It transcends success and failure. It’s poetry in motion. Even when it feels like it’s not- it is. A life that if was a graph would look like a rollercoaster but, at least you’re not still in neverwhere engaged to a guy who you KNOW when he gets older is going to pull his white socks up as high as he’ll wear those cream shorts you know? (With that dark brown leather belt? And the cheap sneakers?)

At times one lives not a life accepted, but know we never accepted, the life expected

so do do do do what you want to forsake these feelings just gives your past an excuse to haunt.

cheah.

artists are so cool

I'm so not mainstream

not a part of any team
lets listen to patrick wolf as
Led Zeppelin are so passe
I'd pick wes anderson over scorsese any day
such tastes above such stature
nnrapture polaroid picture a christmas sweater
naked legs beneath riding an inclusive
(elusive? obtrusive?__) lecture
such style lends to others that waste
so originally cheesy
duran duran on my sony walkman- that's a tape player by the way? yeah?
home artists filled: crackpots diversity
without having to be-fortunately-diverse
fun. dance. love. the mantra that i speak
though i do not preach in reason, reasonable
seeing as i know nothing at all. an artist
a clay-maker. poet, writer and drug smuggler
my flat is like no other )(sd arliar)( but it's true)
university a wonder my day job is great
because it's... non-existent. nnnn tristan
and isolade or iso-sol wahtever it is
it inspires me to rock and roll like the skull on my back
the rose on my shoulder the dragon that crawls
up my leg. nnnn soooo unique
nnnnndo i have to leach off messages of peace?
annnnn if my life is just a squeak in a fabric
torn apart by fascists who know no art
let my veins bleed once more to gesture how
i will take no more, I'll twitter these views
until i die making up plays about robot slaves
foribelievethatiswhatweare (besides it sounds cool)
a-(and that's what I'm about really)-n life makes mean-(being cool)-ing full
steps.
in.
the.
wrong.
direction.
for you let this be an education, i lay in misdirection
a permanent tennant to the house of creative masturbation.

On that day on the way

Whether driver or passenger
We ride together
Ready to fight whenever
And laugh forever
Like the Northmen,
We're Depending on each other
But obviously
We look a little better

Our heart's been known to wither
I don't think I could do without her
She keeps me a steady fella
Her lips my umbrella-ella
I'll love her until I die
And if you don't know
Just check the eyes
When she leaves I'm not the same
She's the girl who hates the game
And I wont back down again
No I wont back down again

Your gift and curse is felt
Times I've wished another hand were dealt
But maybe our presence can be felt
After all,
I have the pen
And you read my page
We'll run for mountains
Away from our age
Like the last sage
Trapped in Loki's maze
If only our peers
Could understand our rage
At the actors and
The Writers
In this mediocre haze
Drive for days and days
Live by our cowboy desert ways
Writing books forever
Every stage shall feel our thunder
And while we're drunk on laughter
We'll see imitators pinning after

And though my anger
Will never die
I take comfort
In you hearing me cry
Not a coincidence that
The one who understands
is the only one who will listen
and we don't need Swiss cottage
underground for your
hair to glisten
and in these words
just listen clear
and in these words
just listen clear:
as long as we're near
You wont ever have to fear
And I will always be near
because the loved one
Is loved around here.

Brave. Bold. Books. Old

The fifty pound
The Rectangular
Red notes
will
take hold
Until
like them
I crinkle 
and 
fold.

Once straightened out 
I'll be both the brave 
and the bold
Strong as the knights 

from books of old.
Work hard so our 
presence is felt 
around the world
showered with fans 
so we never feel cold

But when the armour
rusts
and the  
pages
turn to  
dust
will it  
matter
If people  
ever
talked about us?

so what's the point then?

Ping-pong against competitive old people
Lost as quickly as I could
Got out of there
Mission accomplished!

Read a book

Or write a shitty poem

Under a dim sunlight

Listening to cornflake girl

Shades on

Next to a pool

I feel a time and an age going by
While I sit under a dim sunlight
Thinking about a mistake I made

While I read a book

Or write a shitty poem

Two weeks after the trip what I do

listen to vampire blue

underneath the london clouds

out my window there is a wall

foundations are sloppy

It reminds

On top of a ladder as a painter decorator
I guess i was pretty low at the time

Digest the feelings onto this page........
Though it’s waste paper

never was.

Write the story but don't be held for the consequences
jump the fences hide inbetween the sentences.
im whinning about nothing i have no tragedy no harmony
no bitter sweet story and should be thankfull because
if something big ever hits i'll regret writing this.
but i guess i just want something to happen
something for me to be alive for.
helpless, hopeless speaking in favour of progress
less i digress into representing distress.
how uncharacteristic of me moaning about a life
i was once afraid to leave to no longer spend hour
upon hour rescuing princess Zelda but to instead
reap the worlds wonder to impact to just go.
And with that, I'll see you all tomorrow.

man,

Don’t bother phoning boy
You know she wont call back
And even if she did boy
She’s not going to tell you what you want to hear
No, she’s not coming back round here
Relax those shoulders boy
You’ve done all you could do,
Move a mountain,
It won’t make her love you

Just, stop writing that poetry boy
Is she really worth it?
Put that pen down boy
Does she really deserve it?
Can you honestly say that your back is got
When you’re doing all you can just to get
Creative support?

Just, stop those tears boy
Don’t go crying on the train
You’ve been hit by pikies boy
You’ve taken bigger pain
Don’t you fall like the rain
Don’t you stand still again.
Hold on, be strong
Run faster than you ever have
This ache has gone on too long
You’ve already done more than you should ever have

So please
Pick yourself up boy
Release
Liberate
If you wait
The life of a fool
Will be your fate.