Tag Archives: cry for help

19 February 2015

It reaches far beyond intolerance, to something that I’m not even quite sure how to describe. I don’t know if it’s the state of complete and utter self absorption of which the majority of people exist, or that because of it, they aren’t able to see beyond themselves to do anything to help themselves. Does that make sense? Because in my mind it does.

Case in point – grown man whining and moaning via social media about unhappiness, how miserable he is, when will it be his turn for happiness and then days later posts a picture of a freshly dug grave with some offhanded remark about being better off there.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a heartless bitch; in fact, I’ll go out of my way to help someone, if I feel they genuinely need or want it, and I understand those who reach out to others in times of need and struggle. I’m not saying this man isn’t crying out for help, the comments alone, reassuring him what a wonderful person he is and so forth must have kept him going for days on end, and if that’s all he wanted was reassurance, then I get that.

What I don’t get, is people pissing and moaning about how fucking miserable they are and how their life sucks, while they sit on their ass giving the middle finger to the world to use for their profile picture and then sit back and expect something to happen, to change. Nothing is going to change unless you make it change, and that doesn’t mean overnight; that simply means making a conscious effort to do something productive on a daily basis that’s going to move you in the direction of your goal, your dream, and help you reach a different reality outside your miserable self.

I repeat – NOTHING IS GOING TO CHANGE UNTIL YOU MAKE IT CHANGE

Rant over.
Carry on.

©2015 jillterry│jillterry.com

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Wasted youth

The parking lot was full
Spilling over onto the boulevard
Hearse at the ready
To lead the procession

102 in the shade
Suffocating humidity
No breeze to speak of
All those gathered
Dressed in black

Mourning the loss
Young life wasted
Blood and tears pouring
Tragically taken

Listening through the wall
Razors trembling fingers
As her mother fucked
Yet another unknown stranger

The warning signs
Flashing neon
Young voice hoarse
Screaming out for help

But she had no interest
In playing mother
Too busy living
Her own lost youth

The belle of the ball
Life’s ongoing party
Of superficial friends
Hookups and hangovers

Standing at the graveside
Pounding in her head
Fist full of dirt
Her only child dead

© jillterry


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