Twinks The Moo Queen

She's quick with a joke and makes us all smile,
Yet she's always watching her subjects in style.
Everyone's happy when she is around,
Art chat room 1's favorite clown.
The hub of our circle, the heart of our grope, er group,
Our resident leader whom to we all stoop.
The one who we all truly do look up to,
And wish we could be even half the moo.
So cute and so funny, she’s to good to be true,
She makes the whole room jump up and moo!
She's our good will ambassador and our sounding board.
She's always there to pick us up off the floor.
So I raise a toast to our resident dean.
To our wonderful "Twinks the moo queen"!

The Outsider ©

I’m on the outside, just trying to fit,
Just hoping to be viewed as adequate.
I don’t ask for much, just a smile or a hi,
Just to know that I’m not an invisible guy.
I only wish to be wanted by someone, somehow,
To know that somewhere, somebody cares now.
Someone to show me that I’m appreciated,
Someone who will think of me as a friend.
That I make a difference, that I matter somehow,
That my meager existence isn’t lost in the crowd.
Acceptance is all I do truly long for,
To know that I am alone no more.
But the backstabbers and liars are bringing me down,
Making me want to not be around.
The two faced people are the reason I’ll leave.
To find someplace where the people aren’t sleaze.
And don’t need to hurt others to fill their empty lives,
Or to make them feel like they’re better inside.
No more childish games and high school mentalities,
But people who know the true means of reality.
No more whispering and gossip of things they don’t know.
And an end to the pitiful, shallow, dark show.

Ode to a Sad Little Clown ©

Pay no attention to the sad little clown,
Who’s pathetic life is to put others down.
He’s just a hurt and confused little boy,
Who sits in his chair and plays with his toy.
He has not friends, just more sad little clowns,
Who lie to each other to keep them all down.
He acts so brave from his safe little domain,
But he’s truly a coward hiding in his own shame.
He’s scared and feeble, hiding all along,
Bullying other just to make him feel strong.
Frightening others make him feel superior,
But it only enforces his shallow exterior.
I feel no pity for his pathetic strife,
He’s probably just bitter from his dismal life.
So let him go on with his disagreeable tasks,
We know it’s cowards who hides behind masks.

This was written in response to a personal attack to me ,

and was written in anger.

The person who I wrote this about I now know was innocent of the attack,

so I do appologise to him.

Lil’ Weng ©

She’s sweet and caring every time,
Totally charming, completely sublime.
Converses like a mystic sage,
Her wisdom’s far beyond her age.
she has a great smile
and a beautiful face.
Statuesque and composed
she’s the epitome of grace.

Fly high lil’ Weng, Fly high.
Soar proudly, Reach for the sky!

She’s never content in her everyday life.
No time to make a lucky man’s wife.
Unrelenting, She’s driven to succeed,
Hard on herself to amass her dream.
Take time to smell the roses,
enjoy life while you’re young
For the years go by so fast,
Don’t let it be unsung.

Fly high lil’ Weng, Fly high.
Soar proudly, Reach for the sky.

Today I Met an Angel ©

Today I met an Angel,
An angel on the internet
As sweet as golden honey,
And as sexy as a Greek goddess.
She’s so kind and charming,
That I believe she’s heaven sent.
I look forward to that smiley face,
And cherish every moment spent.
She never ceases to amaze,
Always pleasant and happy.
And she makes me laugh so hard,
That I think I gonna pee.
She likes to flirt and drive me wild,
And tries to keep control,
But I know I can still get to her
With a few words from my scroll.
To chat with her forever,
Is all I really crave.
But she a busy angel,
And has other souls to save.
Who’d have thought I’d find salvation,
In a chat room on the net.
But I know that I’m am grateful
For the true angel I’ve met.

Cycles of Sorrow ©

The troubles of life, the woes and the jeers,
The trails and tribulations are the cause of our fears.
From the scars of past battles and reopened old wounds.
Then the cycle begins as the problems balloon.
Like a forest fire burning out of control,
And you have only your spit to defeat the fires roll.
Other times like a grave at the bottom you’ll groan,
“Are you done burying me?” Then they’ll throw on a stone.
And trap you in the maze with no end in site.
So you run blindly on in hope of seeing the light.
To end these troubled times that rake havoc on the brain.
And hope in the end all this was not in vain.