Matt... get up

Not in an angry tone, but in that slightly disappointed tone that your mum uses. The tone I use to myself at times like this.

Get up.

But how shall I "get up"?
Do I simply climb off this sofa and clean up that Lego my kids left?
Seems so... basic...
Or is this something else?
Does "get up" mean I need to "get" something that's missing from me? And what is this "up" anyw...

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He said to type into Google "why does school make me"

Search results - 
Why does school make me...
Sad 
Tired
Depressed 
Cry
Wanna die 

Educating the mind without the heart is no education at all. Aristotle

The function of education is to teach one to think intensively and to think critically. Intelligence plus character - that is the goal of true education. Martin Luther King, Jr.

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Here's a pin.
I know this pin is tiny,
Much smaller than me,
Inanimate,
Not capable of moving without my help.

I'm aware of all those things.
I'm realistic.
When I talk about the pin;
When I hold the pin;
When I show others the pin;
When others hold the pin;
I show my awareness,
Outer calm,
Rationality.

This is just a pin.

I show this because I'm afraid.

Not just of the pin...

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This repetitious revery is fluffy and flowery but LOVE is REAL... 

It's formed by us and fitted to our forms. By us. But its form is defined and real.

It may have started off as fluffy as the air we breathe, filled with light and butterflies. But now it's mostly solid. It fits to me and fits to you and it doesn't float away when you blow it. It has weight and substance.
I think real love is...

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Not a poem, more of a short story/random meandering thought

We're stood on a blacked out highway going to who knows where. A floodlight shines on a group of workmen in road, slow. A passive aggressive sign says "Slow, My Daddy works in here". Gaz, Frank and Jim are gathered under the floodlight.

"That bloody lads dad never worked ere! That's bosses lad!"

"Mmmm..."

"Anyway, what's this ...

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First poem in ages, playing about with a vowel trick

I

I'm trying t' find my ID.
I think I'm missing it.
This thing,
This bright, shining light,
It's hiding in my blindsight.
I'm swimming in mist,
Trying t' find ... "I"

First I'm living
In my crib;
Clinging wrists.

Flitting my crib, 
I'm Shy
Crying, whiny twit, missing bitty,
With stinky kids, kicking kitty.

I'm missing m...

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