Slam Jam

Waffles

Stack three high. Maple syrup drizzling down the sides. Each square filled to the brim with gooey, oozing, sticky mess.

Waffles

Covered like a cake in Nutella. With a mountain of whipped cream on top. Bread soaked with butter.

Waffles

Mmmm, Waffles. Dreamin of eating waffles when I wake.

I grew up

I was five; running around with toy cars. Hot wheels that I would race through the house. Stuffed animals that I thought really came to life like the toys in Toy Story.

I was eight; playing barbies and princess with my sisters, but always wanting to be the villain. Waiting for my little brother to grow up so we could be dragons and knights.

I was twelve; playing soccer and getting dirty. Looking for friends, and starting to leave the child side of me behind.

Now I’m eighteen; I learn about real animals. I’m learning to drive real cars. Fighting the dragon inside of me from releasing my temper. I’ve found friends, and still looking for the young me.

The Space between us

The hallway is like space, and we are light years apart.

I try to figure how to send a signal to get your attention.

Ground Control to major Tom. This connection is growing thin.

My nervous feelings are draining the oxygen out of me.

I’m drifting from my rocket, and I’m reaching for something to come back.

Astroids of self doubt keep me blocked from getting to you.

Help me get to you. Because Huston, we have a problem.

Say my name

So this is it. The final draft, the final post.

The final attempt to hide behind a name that came from nowhere. So unexpected like snow in the middle of spring in Utah.

A name that took me no time at all to come up with, but a name that helped bring out the writer in me.

A name.

A name that I felt comfortable using, so I could publish my work as someone else. Some imaginary person to hide behind.

A person

A person who dragged the lines of poetry out of me, to the keyboard, to the computer screen, and displayed to the reader. Taking time to read my post.

But now it’s time to get back to reality. I don’t need Tobias Madblood to show people what I write. I can stand for myself, and share the feelings that live in my heart and brain.

So thank you reader, but my name isn’t Tobias Madblood.

I am Mason Watts. A phoenix reborn in the ashes of my writing.

Popularity: Gods or Mortals?

Ever since our years in Junior High School, we all compete in the race for popularity. We put our peers on altars, and give them God-like status. This perception of our fellow students is very much false. The “popular kids” are only human. They feel the same insecurities, and emotions that everyone else feels. If anything, people who are seen as popular, live harder lives. “Popular people” are the most fake people you will ever meet. Because students make them feel like they are Gods. They feel like they have to keep their status up.

The worst part about the “popularity race” in High School, is that these fake Gods bring their perception of popularity from Junior high. Then these circles of students clash to become the most popular in their High School. Thus concluding that they live harder lives.

I implore everyone who views this post, to use my words as a defense from feelings of insecurity. Please. Avoid joining the drama, and the pressure to run the race for popularity. It is not worth it to try be a social God when you are only human.

You did this

Lub dub, lub lub. It’s me Bub.

You did this. You made me race with every kiss.

You looked at how you got crushed. But I was broken, and I was hushed.

Times that you thought you were someone’s lover. As if brother.

Do lie, and try to hide.

Because you did this.

You hurt me bad, and it makes me sad.

But you did this, and I did it back.

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