As we progress into the people we are, we often become sleepwalkers.
Only to have our freedom of thought controlled by popular media.
What we should be, what to wear, what to eat, how to act.
We become the shell of a person, a hollow thing.
Each person was created to be unique, so be you.
Take it from someone who has just woken up from years of sleepwalking.
I did not like the person I was, nor the person I was becoming.
People will always have something to say, so let them talk.
Sleepwalkers have nothing better to do.
So, let them talk, and just be you!
About the Creator
Adaline Archer
Just a girl writing about the world.
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Pictures
Why do I hate pictures? I never used to hate them. Before all of this social media and these mobile phones. They have created a world that is insidiously invasive, painfully pervading, and utterly ubiquitous. Everyone is now living their lives through and for pictures. Everyone is showing their 'best life' which really isn't their best life at all. I never wished for a luxurious life or flawless skin, for popularity or a happy ending. All I wished for is to be able to close my eyes and fall asleep within moments, but that has been replaced with pictures of other peoples lives.
By Adaline Archer3 years ago in Poets
Red Shelves
Death is a black hole. Think about it. A black hole is the corpse of a star, something once warm and bright, now come to the end of its life cycle. But some will argue that the cycle of life does not end with death. That death is merely another path we must walk once our bodies expire and our souls ascend. In that moment, when the fuel in the star’s chemical tank hits empty and the shiny matte coat explodes into supernova, the mass left behind – the corpse – becomes a black hole. We understand that, around such a vast cadaver, dimensions work a little differently in death to the way we’re used to in life. For example, light cannot escape the pull of a black hole when it hits the point of no return. That’s where it gets its colour. Space itself is contorted by a black hole. That’s where it gets its funny shape. Even time. Time slows right down the closer you get to it. The closer you get to a black hole. The closer you get to death.
By Matthew Curtis4 days ago in Humans
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