wake up, shake up

Oh, why won’t you talk?” stormed Maria. “It’s been over a week. It took Furball only one day to forgive me after the dog-catcher got him.”
Matt wasn’t trying to upset her. He couldn’t talk. When he tried to make the words, he was overcome with terror. To speak was to open a door into his carefully built fortress, and anything might rush inside.
“Matt was locked up a lot longer than your dog,” said Celia as she entered the room. She knelt down and stroked Matt’s face. “Furball was gone only two days. Matt was trapped for six months. It takes time to recover.”
“Is that how it works?” the little girl asked. “The longer you’re sick, the longer it takes to get better?”
Celia nodded. She kept stroking Matt’s face, his hair, his arms. It was as though she was trying to bring feeling back into his body.

—The House of the Scorpion, Nancy Farmer

Let me tell you, it’s horrible working here,” she stormed. “The other servants laugh at me. ‘She takes care of the beast,’ they say. ‘She’s no better than a beast herself.’ They treat me like scum.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“No, I’m not!” she cried. “Please, take me with you, Wilum. Please! I love you. I’ll do anything for you!”
The doctor pried her arms away. “You’re hysterical. I’ll leave you some pills and see you in a month.

—The House of the Scorpion, Nancy Farmer

If we’re the reason you get scared
consider that we’ve never fared
better than the fights in which we gave our all.

And if I’m the reason you get cross
consider that we never lost
the wish to make things right when it
mattered most of all.

—Reasons, Bombadil

Perhaps not to be is to be without your being,
without your going, that cuts noon light
like a blue flower, without your passing
later through fog and stones,
without the torch you lift in your hand
that others may not see as golden,
that perhaps no one believed blossomed
the glowing origin of the rose,
without, in the end, your being, your coming
suddenly, inspiringly, to know my life,
blaze of the rose-tree, wheat of the breeze:
and it follows that I am, because you are:
it follows from ‘you are’, that I am, and we:
and, because of love, you will, I will,
We will, come to be.

—Pablo Neruda

This is how I show my love.
I made it in my mind because
I blame it on my A.D.D. baby.

This is how an angel cries.
I blame it on my own sick pride.
Blame it on my A.D.D. baby.

Maybe I should cry for help.
Maybe I should kill myself.
Blame it on my A.D.D. baby.

Maybe I’m a different breed.
Maybe I’m not listening
so blame it on my A.D.D. baby.

—Sail, AWOLNATION

Alors tu vois, comme tout se mêle
Et du cœur à tes lèvres, je deviens un casse-tête
Ton rire me crie, de te lâcher
Avant de perdre prise, et d’abandonner
Car je ne t’en demanderai jamais autant
Déjà que tu me traites, comme un grand enfant
Nous n’avons plus rien à risquer
À part nos vies qu’on laisse de coté
Et il m’aime encore, et moi je t’aime un peu plus fort
Mais il m’aime encore, et moi je t’aime un peu plus fort

C’en est assez de ces dédoublements
C’est plus dure à faire, qu’autrement
Car sans rire c’est plus facile de rêver
À ce qu’on ne pourra, jamais plus toucher
On se prend la main, comme des enfants
Le bonheur aux lèvres, un peu naïvement
Et on marche ensemble, d’un pas décidé
Alors que nos têtes nous crient de tout arrêter

~

So you see as everything gets mixed up
from your heart to your lips, I become a problem.
Your laugh defies me to let you go
before losing hold and abandoning
because I would never ask you for that much.
You already treat me like a big child
and we have nothing left to lose
except our lives, which we have set aside.
And he still loves me, and me, I love you a little more.
But he still loves me, and me, I love you a little more.

That’s enough of this splitting in halves.
It’s harder to do, otherwise,
because without laughter it’s easier to dream
of what we can never again touch.
We take each others hands, like children,
the happiness on our lips, a bit naively,
and we walk together with a determined step
while our heads yell at us to stop everything.

—Comme Des Enfants, Coeur De Pirate

Past all the signs of the slow decline,
live like your love wasn’t meant for mine.
Now you’ve gone, now you’ve gone to a different life,
to a lonelier side.

Wake up to the sound of your fleeting heart.
Wake up to the sound of your fleeting heart.
When you go, what you leave is a work of art
on my chest, on my heart.

And my love is yours but your love’s not mine
so I’ll go, but we know I’ll see you down the line.
And we’ll hate what we’ve lost but we’ll love what we find.
And oh, I’m feeling fine, we’ve made it to the coastline.

—Featherstone, The Paper Kites

I am not a poet.
Show me the easy way and I’ll do it.
No one could ever say
that I’ve been trying way too hard.

—Permanent, The Milk Carton Kids

I don’t mean to scare you with the things I say.
I take it back, yes it’s a beautiful day.

—Tales of Coming News, The Avett Brothers