Seeing is much better than looking, there's a difference though, think about it.

What is art ?

What do people see? 

They say beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder but what they didn't say is that race, tribalism, pride, prejudice and oddness all lie there too,

Real art 

What is real art? 

Real art is when we see each other as equals 

No tribe, No race, No more being declared a third  world country, weak, disabled, black, white, poor, rich, illitrate.

Real art is seeing each other as humans.

Art is not just something that makes us happy,

Art is everywhere, what was see reveals the seer,

The eyes of the beholder don't just find beauty where they want to but also shallowness oddness, confusion, race, pride, prejudice and a lot more.

We should see beyond societal conventions.

Have different eyes.

Art is from the heart

Art is love made public.

#Art

His loving touch warms my skin

This is love, it is not sin

People hate that we are gay

I wish that they’d just go away

We are happy, can’t they see?

Can’t they just let us be?

Love is love, it is true

But some just don’t have a clue

Why do they bother us?

Why must they cause a fuss?

Religion is just the ruse

That the haters like to use

They would hate us anyway

Just because we are gay

They will never make us split

In my hand, his does fit

A look from him and I do swoon

I would bring him the shining moon

No matter what they try to do

I’ll still tell him, “I love you!”

She isn't suicidal

But maybe she is.

She won't cut herself

But maybe she will.

She won't pull the trigger.

But maybe she will.

She won't drink the poison.

But maybe she will.

She won't jump.

But maybe she will.

She won't take the pills

But maybe she will.

She won't hurt herself

But she already does.

She won't kill herself.

But she's already dead.

So what if I'm dead?

We'll meet again one day.

It's not farewell my friend.

It's just goodbye.

When I went to heaven,

I was crying and choking.

Over what I had done,

And everything I left behind.

But then I remembered.

It's not farewell my friend,

It's just goodbye.

And I smiled.

Thumbs is my cat.

She has thumbs and that's not usual for a cat.

Thumbs the cat acts like a dog.

She comes when you whistle a certain way.

A long high note then a short low note.

If shes walking all over you and it annoys you, 

you can point your finger down and say 'lay down' and she'll do it.

If you see her stretching out in the hall and you get her to look at you,

Just say 'Pretty Kitty' in a condescending tone,

She'll start rolling around, trying to be cute.

It works.

Thumbs the cat acts like a dog and that's okay.

Yet a girl can be a girl, but act like a boy,

but a boy still cant still be a boy and act like a girl.

It's not okay to be weak.

It's not okay to be a woman.

But Thumbs will continue to be who she is,

without anyone's approval.

My cat has thumbs, she is different,

and I love her so much.

Fuck you. 

Fuck him. 

Fuck her. 

Fuck me.

Fuck them. 

Fuck it.

Fuck that lady.

Fuck that dog.

Fuck everything and everyone.

Fuck! And goodnight!

Now children, are you sitting comfortably? You have your milk and cookies?

Then I shall tell you this tale...

The children were very naughty in Old Blossom cottage, and mother dearest didn't know how she could cope any longer.

Freddie had thrown the dishes to the ground. Smashing them to tiny peices beneath his booted feet.

Louisa kept telling Lies. She had told the smaller children that the man from down the garden was going to begin hurting them that night. 

Jojo made a mess. A terrible mess. He would throw toys to the ground and mess up the beds. He would even put things down the toilet. 

Sammy James was the only good boy and mother dearest had begged him to tell the children a story and have them put on their pyjamas and brush their teeth.

He did that for their mother because he was a kind, and helpful boy. He didn't tell lies.

Once the children were tucked up in their beds he proceeded to tell them a magical story about a princess and a beautiful white horse. With singing teapots and runaway boys.

They were all slowly falling to sleep when Sammy James changed. His voice dropped to a deep growl and his story completely changed direction.

"The old Mr Man is coming because you children have been bad. He will creak up the stairs with his walking stick at midnight. He will take your skin and Wear it as a hat. He will gouge out your eyeballs and use them like marbles. But before he does any of that, he will remove your fingernails one by one and put them in his purple fingernail bag."

Then Sammy James stood up and left the room, heading to his own bed. 

The children shivered in the darkness. The fear making their skin cold. 

Midnight struck and those naughty children were still wide awake.

If they were asleep they wouldn't have heard the creaking of the stairs, or the regular tapping of a wooden walking stick as the noises approached them.

The End.

Did you enjoy that tale children?

Now off to bed with you all. 

Please behave in the morning.

The sound of flesh upon flesh. 

Sometimes it's good. Sometimes we like the sound. Perhaps some of you enjoy listening to the neighbours screw. Or even the sounds your own bodies make.

When you're only a child, sitting on your bed in the twilight hours holding your baby brother and you can hear the flesh on flesh sounds, then it's not good.

I was 9. When I first heard it. Or I was 9 when I realised what was happening. It wasn't the sound of flesh that woke me. It was my baby brother crying. 

I crept into my brothers room and took him from his bed. 

I could hear the sounds that traveled up the stairs. The sounds of flesh upon flesh. Fist hitting skin. My mums shouts and cries made me need to help her, but I couldn't.

Who would look after Lewis?

I took him to my room with me. I gave him cuddles and told him not to be scared. 

I wanted to cry so badly. But I was busy being a big sister. I told him happy stories. I tried to keep him calm. 

And when I heard my mum scream, followed by the smashing of ornaments I knew she had tried to run. Get away. She didn't want to fight anymore. 

The lump formed in my throat and my brother gave me the strangest look. I had to be brave. For him.

So I swallowed it. 

And I continued our story. 

I was being a good big sister.

Who am I? I'm just a peasant. I was on the edge of killing myself. I'm the one who never made into the story of Cinderella. I knew Cinderella before she was Cinderella. I knew her when she was living in that ugly house with her treacherous sisters and awful step-mother. They were so mean to her. She had the bruises and scars to prove it. I met her one day in the forest. I was out working gathering firewood for my master's fireplace. She was out hiding from her sisters after they decided to read her diary. They laughed and made fun of her. They mocked her entries of hoping to find "the one" someday.

She felt broken. Even when she was crying she was beautiful. I loved to write. I thought it was so awesome that she shared that interest. Our relationship grew. We both were a mess and we picked each other up. We shared the best and worst of ourselves. We told each other our darkest secrets. She was kindhearted which only made her even more beautiful. I would've married her right there. I fell for her.

There was a party at the palace and I was not invited of course. I did watch from a nearby tree. It was almost funny to see all the women tripping over themselves for the chance to marry the prince. I even cracked a smile a couple of times. Then I saw this stagecoach pull up. Immediately everyone stared. The way the gold glistened caught everyone's attention even the prince. Who is that? She got out and my heart shattered. I should've left then. I just couldn't believe what I was seeing. 

Angry, sad and confused, I was a whole mess of feelings. I saw them meet in the middle of the ballroom and dance. I saw them laughing and staring into each others eyes. I saw everything. Everyone else didn't see it. Everyone else didn't even recognize who she was because they never saw her like I did. 

Midnight couldn't come soon enough. All of a sudden she ran out of the palace. She lost a glass slipper on her way down the steps. As upset as I was, I tried to sneak over and grab it for her, but right before I got there one of the Prince's men picked it up. From that night we didn't talk like we used to. I didn't see her much and I knew the Prince would soon find her. He is what she wants anyways.

Who am I? I'm just a peasant. I watched from a distance a story you all call a fairy-tale. I pray to God and ask why did I have to go through this? It would have been far less painful if I would've killed myself before any of this happened. 

Today is their wedding day. Today is the day I die. The palace is again filled with happiness. This time I'm not there to witness it. I can't see much through these teary eyes. I keep seeing her looking beautiful in her white dress walking down the aisle. I shakily tie a rope. As they stared into each others eyes, I stood on a chair. As they said their vows, I wrapped the rope around my neck. Finally, when they said "I do," I kicked back the chair. They kissed and my rope broke. I died that day. It's just that my Hell is that I'm forced to watch them live happily ever after.

The woman cried as she read the words over and over again, the words now just a blur. 

They had taken her daughters body but the bath was still full of water. Blood still on the floor.

How could she of not known? 

She grabbed her own paper and pen from her daughters night stand and proceeded to copy the words down.

I'm sorry.