The Sharing Folders

Hey paper!
Peel back
Soft hands
Cold cracks
I sought you
Middle of attacks
For passion with words
Wrote safe inside your womb

Forced thoughts
Evoked laughter
And love,

Woven into every chapter

Just ink in pen

The smoke comes after
Like an unborn child:
The potential to be a master

Hurt and soul
Papyrus to paper
Love of a mother
Power of creator
It's just you and me
The healing comes later
Like feeding from the milk of life
We read from each other's paper

'Cuz life has you and me in mind
We wrote, and everything was fine
Solace, we find it between the lines
Heaven's always here
The coast is clear
Ideas and dreams:
Like word documents
Inside the sharing folders

Written by: Niloo Farahzadeh
This poem was kind of inspired by one of my best friends Alex. He's so amazing at writing! We always share poems so this was written for him. :)

Just The Thoughts In My Pocket

Maybe this lie was a bit too deep

Forming words in our mouths, like cattle and sheep

I saw the end from the beginning
I could tell it to you in my sleep
The only promises we make are the ones we can't keep

But tongues wagged; ears flopped
Ran like the sand under my feet
We mirrored the image of what we said we'd never be
And although life changes us all too easily
This pain is of the kind of which I would never want to repeat

So understand the harm that I don't mean

When I whipe these tall tales and our dirty slate clean

Dusting you off of all my hopes and dreams
For we've become monsters, not in our minds, but in our deeds

Because we're just tumbling through fabricated realities

So unless we want to lose our precious sleep

Read my lips and cut them deep

We should learn this friendship's defeat

Written by: Niloofar Farahzadeh

This was written a while ago.

This is BAD. Very bad.

Kay, so here's my shpeal: Lately all of my best and most vivid dreams are about weed. When this happens, I wake up covered in sweat and wishing I could go back to sleep where I probably have a big bag of weed waiting for me in my dream. Like for instance last night I dreamt that I was in some random house all alone and I found a bag of weed just sitting on this counter. And I said to myself in this dream: Niloo, you need to smoke this shit! So I go on a search for a pipe or bong or some paper or something to smoke it out of. But I found nothing of the sort. So in this dream I resort to smoking weed out of a playstation controller!!! How the fuck does that work? What's wrong with me? I don't smoke weed that much! Like maybe if I'm lucky twice a month! This is just.... terrible. Marijuana is slowly taking over my mind. JUUUUST PEACHY.

Photo by Me

Hudson's Hope

The pictures I'm in obviously aren't taken by me. But the rest I took :)

All photos by me.

F************CK!

It has come to my attention that in one of my previous posts I have a typo. (It's "Well Thought Out Twinkles" not "Well Thought Out Wrinkles", God im useless)
And normally I'd take five seconds out of my friggin day to go and change it and proceed to live my life without care.
BUT NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Blogger decides to go all FUCKING CUNTY on my ass and won't let me edit my previous posts
Now it's gonna bug me forever
I'm not OCD, I just don't listen to a song called "well thought out wrinkles"! I mean like WTF is that right??
So I'm gonna be pissed off at blogger until they make it so that I can edit previous posts once again

And that is my Monday afternoon grievance.

Anthony, believe me

You ask me what I think
When I think of you
I lay on my back
The sky my field of view
In the face of saint
A sinner, I stare
Draw a blank in my mind
Let it flow through my hair
Find a nook in my brain

Where memories collide

Draw paper and pen

And let ideas slide

All you get is a poster

With images unclear
Metaphors for a life
As shaky as a year
But you are the paint
A meer artist I feel
Slapping on rich coats of colour
To make ideas real
But you ARE real
The truth 'till you die
No one listens to words anymore
Pens and paper and canvas can lie
So don't ask for my answers
The feelings I describe you can't collect
But the sky is bright and we're all smiles
And I think that you are perfect

Written by: Niloo Farahzadeh

Where Soul Meets Body