I Don't Much Care For Criticism
Constructive criticism is better I suppose.
But is it really?
When things that scare me might not scare you
Or my sense of beauty is different than yours
They become opinions.
I Don't Much Care For Opinions
They can be judgmental, scarring, traumatic, and insulting.
'But I'm free to have my own opinion.'
Well of course you are, but must you be so rude?
'You put it on the internet. You deserve to be criticized.'
But do I really?
How is sharing it to someone face to face vs on the internet any different?
I can't punch you in the face for your blatant disrespect.
Because that is all it is.
You are more than free to voice your own opinion.
But what good will it do?
Do you hope to help the “victim” improve?
Or do you just wish they'd cater to you?
If you do not like it. Do not watch, read, or listen to it.
It is merelyIMPOSSIBLE for one to please everyone.
Yet, you have the gall to say discretely
'Listen to me. I'm important and this is what you need to do for me.'
Remember that thing about the internet?
Well, you're a stranger, probably miles and miles away.
I Do Not Need To Please You.
So be on your way
And keep your opinions astray
Unless you have something nice to say
Then please, don't give me your time of day
Sometimes I see her in the corner of my vision
I feel her presence
In the mirrors, in the reflections of the house
Why did she have to insist on living here?
If only we had stayed together. . .
If only she had gotten out in time!
She would be here now
The dark, the evil, in this place
I no longer feel it
I no longer run from it
But something worse has replaced it
I swear I can hear her screaming
Her suffering, it's worse than death
Please tell me you feel her too
She's here, I know it
She HAS to be saved
YOU HAVE TO SAVE HER!
ONLY YOU CAN
. . .
End her suffering. . .
End her life.
Note: The grammar is different from it's first posting.
Nothing rustled when I pressed the doorbell; yet, I feel as if something happened once I rung. What is it? Why do I feel so uneasy?
Evrard tried to calm his nerves which were slowly surfacing. He felt the uncanny urge to leave. There’s something about this place that seems. . . off. Besides the obvious.
Evrard gave the place a once-over, the small wooden house seemed to have it’s own segment. With unappealing trees for neighbors, there wasn’t a single sign of exuberance, in fact, there wasn’t any indication of energy besides the house itself; which gave off an apprehensive touch.
Evrard jolted from his thoughts as the door opened, letting out a sound that made his hairs stand up.
“Evrard?” Said a meek voice that barely left the residence it occupied.
“It’s me, Char.” Evrard had uncertainty in his voice.
Charlotte nearly leaped forward, stopping herself just short, as the door slammed open.
“Evrard. . . I’m glad you came.” Charlotte choked down the words she wanted to say. Her hesitance was clear.
Evrard took a step forward—with no surprise—Charlotte responded with stretching her arms out; trying to block the way, but quickly pulled them back.
“Char- Charlotte, I don’t have to be here. I’ll call Kevan to come instead.”
“No! I—I could really use your help Evrard. I’d rather it be you. . .” Charlotte hesitantly reached her hand out towards Evrard.
Her words and body language are saying two different things. Evrard gently took her hand; Charlotte flinched slightly at the gesture. “You don’t have to force yourself.” Evrard removed his hand. Charlotte reached out and grabbed it, firmly holding on.
“I’m not forcing anything. I wouldn’t have called you if I didn’t want you here.” Charlotte locked eyes with Evrard. Sincerity conveying through hers. “You want to see them, don’t you? They both miss you. And I miss you too,” she said with anticipation in her voice.
“Yea.” Evrard smiled. “I want to see them.”
Charlotte moved to the side. Evrard took it as a sign that he could enter. He poked his
head through the doorway. Instantly, two figures peeking through a doorway to the right
caught his eye. Evrard walked inside, crouched down, and facing the two figures; he stretched out his arms.
“Come here you two,” he said kindheartedly.
The figures dashed forward, jumping into Evrards’ embracing arms. They clung to him closely. Charlottes’ heart wrenched in guilt when she heard the small whimpers. She crouched down in front of Evrard—eyes tenderly fixed on her children.
“Would you like to come here more often?” She whispered. “Everyday, perhaps?”
Evrard gazed in astonishment. “Is it alright?”
“Yes.” Charlotte looked up at Evrard and smiled meekly. “They need their father too.”
Edited by Yamagician, 06 August 2015 - 03:04 PM.