Poem About Daily Life Novels & Stories

He thought about what he would tell the person writing it down, if anyone were writing it down. He thought: tell them about the pasta. Tell them about the Tuesday evenings and the consistency of the lamp. Tell them about the woman at the cheese stall who had opinions. Tell them about the supplementary system for flat-pack furniture and the bookshelf argument and the thyme and the field guide and the chalk plant's new growth in May. Tell them about the ordinary days, because the ordinary days are where the love lives. Not in the declarations — though those too, those matter — but in the daily, unremarkable, specific texture of two people who have decided to be here together and keep deciding

I lie here awake but I’m not one to pray, everything’s changed but now I’m okay. I’m rattled this time, can someone lift my chin, keep my head above water before I’m too deep in. I’ve never had problems, where do I begin, but it’s not a problem because I’m just being human.’ I had always liked poetry and this particular one actually got to me because I felt I could relate to it in a weird kind of way. “Poetry is light, poetry is love. That’s a poem written by an anonymous poet on i*******m. Pstar7….”

Of growing up. Another poem-briefing came up when I found myself working from home for a period. How tiring. I'm so bored. What a sea breeze. Lucky I had a red wine. Well, the character in my poem, one of my most present alter egos, was not so lucky. She had children. Alexa, is that you?

I ran when I was struggling to find a pointed pen to embellish the words in the notebook. I ran again in the hope that some things will change again and I don't have to be a frequent one. outside the weather was alarming, monsoon has arrived at its 10'o clock in the morning but I could feel the dark stormy cloud-containing depths as the ocean has taken over the world. Sunday was always the soothing one to collect my thoughts and sometimes I wonder what life is. if we have to wait for a specific day to feel ourselves again? life cannot be defined in a single parameter, how can you define something which you don't even understand?

Recognizing ally when I see one, even unlikely ally. Quote to remember: "We can choose to be alive instead of dutiful." I close the journal and look at the calendar on my wall. December 15th is circled in red. Twenty-four days until I can file for divorce. Twenty-four days until freedom. I've died once already. I can survive twenty-four more days. And then I'm going to build the life I should have had the first time. A life where I'm not a wife, daughter, sister, bank, or dumpster.

No emergency. No fighting. Just the palace existing. People living. A maid laughing softly with another. Children running through the halls. Guards changing shifts. Someone complaining about paperwork to his fellow worker. Normal. It almost feels wrong. Because my entire world feels like it is falling apart. But everyone else is still moving. Still eating. Still laughing. Still living. Maybe that is how the world works. It does not stop just because one person is struggling. I eventually find food. Something simple. I sit for a while.

I let the question hang in the air until it felt heavy. Then I chuckled bitterly, my chest aching as memories of my complicated life with Henry surged through my mind. I swallowed the tears threatening to choke me and said into the microphone, “No, it’s not worth it.” "There’s no such thing as normal life. There’s only the life you choose, and the life that’s forced on you. Money doesn’t make you lonely. Poverty doesn’t make you happy. Those are just illusions we create to comfort ourselves.” Murmurs of agreement rose among the crowd.

The poem went this way, Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there; I did not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sun on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning's hush, I am the swift uprising rush Oh quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there; I did not die.

I loved them. I kept walking. It seemed like I had walked 10 miles. I stopped, hearing noises in the distance. I listened as hard as I could, and there it was. It was the sound of people talking. “Today was another dreadful day at the farm.” “Did you not get as much food from the harvest as you had hoped?” “No, and we needed the food. The queen does not give us much. We depend on these crops to survive.” “Our queen and king need to be replaced.”

Definitely, the world's worst sound award goes to your alarm. My day started with the usual- me cursing my alarm. I knew very well this day was going to be the same as yesterday, the same as the day before yesterday, the same as the whole week, the same as the whole month. Yep, my life went like a cycle and the truth was that every one of my age's life is a cycle- recapping itself every day prompting us that we are ordinary people with ordinary life; nothing entertaining to do. I didn't even know the purpose of living like this you know, especially with the High School life I was enduring right then. It's gonna be over soon but still...it's not over yet! I'd to resist the urge to throw off t