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| like a writer |
You could brave the economy and become a billionaire. You could roll in all the right circles until your taste is as fine as a red carpet rolled out from a Bentley. You could do anything with the blank page life gives you with the dawn of every new day. Sirs and dames, let me tell you this, you will achieve all this, you can have all that, but in the end, somehow you will seek to steal someone's heart. It's boils down to simply that. Stealing a heart here, and stealing another there.
I bring you this post, hot like a freshly baked cake. I bring you this post, easy like a vanilla very nicely lightly sugared icecream. And all for one thing, to steal your heart, to steal mine, and to steal my loves heart. It all drops down to that.
They say with every birthday, you kill a dream. Adult becomes more sound, you play less and dream less. Everything you wished for, from the fairy tale to flashing lights, you kill. Cause reality sets in, and you can no longer live in a castle, cause castles are only in novels. I am looking back to the most stupidest thing I wished for since I was in love with toy cars, and I will spend every blank page of my life finding it. I rather die finding the right words, to get me read by the world. I still live, I still go to class, but when am not in class am under this green umbrella with golden ornaments on my balcony, trying to write my way into your hearts. Cause as I was a child, I wanted to write. I write for me. I write to make my childhood dreams a reality, except for eating a whole truck load of soil. Those are dreams if you pursed would take you right to the toilet. And the plumber has not fixed my flash yet, but even when he does. No, soil eating for me. Am not a child dammit!
Have you ever heard a song, and put it on replay. I am clearly not in touch with people, cause the people I hang out around people ehi cannot listen to a song on replay for thirty minutes. Where is the bloody commitment? It's not so much the beat but it is that too. It's more the words of a song that drain my energy and the same words that reloads it. Words have a way with me, just like I have a way with them. Talk about your greatest weakness being your greatest strength, the moment of your most thorough heart break is your most beautiful production. Life is so damn ironic.
I wish words were a person, I would play with her, I would take her for coffee, and she would always have something to say to me. I would play with words boobs, I could play with her booty, spank it all around. And she will have something to say. Probably bang! Bang! Bang...
Can you imagine if I could sleep with words, with every stroke I give her, she doesn't breath, she describes how she is breathing, how she feels, every muscle that clenches and unclenches in her orgasm, the drops of sweat that drop off, she describes all this... I would love if words had legs, had lips could talk cause she would melt me. Problem is words are just in the dictionary.
I love to write, I love to search parts in me and out them on paper. I love to look at the clouds, describe them in such away if you read them to me a year after, I would paint the sky exactly how it was on that night we first kissed.
And I love to blog too, cause that way I just don't write for me, but for me is why I wrote most I guess, but then again times change and feelings grow. Now I have feelings for you reading this. Yes you. No don't get shocked, come down, be easy, do you want to drop your phone or close the window on this screen. I have feelings for you. No? We don't have a connection, you don't feel the connections? Okay then am leaving.
Am walking away now, am carrying my words with me, please tell me to come back, am walking, wave, do something tell me to come back.
That's what happens when you steal someone's heart, then they steal yours, and then you get too comfortable and they take back the heart you stole from them. You are left in love. You are left in love. Get it?
She has her heart and your heart too. And she is walking away. You are seated wondering what the hell? You look at your chest, wonder what your ribs are about. Your ribs are supposed to protect your heart, to cage your heart so that it is safe. She has stollen back her heart from you, and taken yours. Reality check. She is gone. Left you heartless.
And what are heartless people? Dead. Blood is pumped at where the dic is. No, am not saying that your dic is on your chest, but it might be there anyways. Am not talking boob shag over here, please! What do you think this is? Cause that's what you feel for everyone else who doesn't have your heart, heartless. And you stick skirts all over the place, feeling empty, like you don't have a heart. But it's true, she left with both her heart and yours. And that's why you are left sleeping around like a heartless bustard, cause dics don't do much choosing. (pun intended). Dics don't choose. The heart does. The heart likes, dics just get horny and pump when the heart is missing.
And after time and time, after chase and shag. Skirts tall and short. Women fine and hot, you find yourself in the kitchen fixing yourself breakfast alone on Valentines day. And the girls that shows up on valentine day comes to fuck her brains out from the frustration of being unable to steal another guys heart.
I learnt early. I learnt young, that bliss comes from stealing someone's heart. And if that is what is, I am a thief. A heart thief. No don't call the cops, I don't actually steal hearts, as in reap people's chest open. It is thoroughly ridiculous actually what this world has become. Even poor men need security.
"dude, come on, don't run away..."
"but I have nothing, leave me alone..."
"no, come back here, you have a liver, a kidney..."
Actually, do this call the cops. Who knows probably they will lend me their guns, with the level of corruption and such eroded morals, you will find that for a few bucks, cops could actually give away their guns. And when I have it, I will write them something so noble, so witty, they will see that, it's all about stealing hearts.
Yes, you might even be allergic to coated gold. Nothing short of pure gold. You skin might react in screams and pimples, probably even your pimples are so proud they can't stand a coated gold bangle. But with my words, I will remind this guys that when you have it all, you will understand that the things everyone is in a quest to make big are actually totally and absolutely meaningless if you don't steal someone's heart with them.
The richest woman who is on an island alone has riches but are valueless.
I see you haven't called the cops on me. I guess you know what kind of hearts am trying to steal. Not the actual ones. But even if you did call the cops, I would convince them to go steal the hearts of the people's whose hearts and kidneys are being stolen, by catching the guys that steal hearts and kidneys, and locking them up.
I want to steal your heart ladies and gentlemen. And hearts are not stolen easy. No, they aren't. Am not getting too comfortable, even now that am a little confident. I am not getting comfortable.
They say if you want to be really good at something, you have to be born knowing it, and if you aren't born for it, you must be stubborn enough to see it through. Accept to fail forever if you will never win. Cause when you are not stubborn about getting something you leave it and then you can be sure to never have it. I am Bobby, I write, I am as stubborn as hell. I will steal your heart. Or die trying.
