Poetry

This is a page that will just feature my poetry and maybe some stories, who knows?

8 May 2014:  Scribbles

Scribbles run across the page

As I sit there, feeling all too much,

Not paying much attention to the scratchy text as

They fled my hand with fear.

The reins are firmly in the hands of the Emotional One,

With the Intelligent One whispering words of advice over the Emotional One’s shoulder.

I just sit there, barely able

To distinguish the letters or words written.

There’s an” i,” an “e,”

And there’s a “go.”

I stare down at the page; it becomes nothing more than a mass or some squiggling lines as

Warm liquid pours from my eyes.  Finally

I am free.

Relief floods my being as I am

No longer burdened with the weight of

Anger and hatred and sadness that

Had plagued my being for all too long.

No more trapped in a cage of no emotions shown

I can now be happy if I wish.

But not just quite yet.

I take my time to grieve and truly feel for

The first time in a long time,

Or so it feels.

This is what I do, what I feel when

I write my emotional poetry.

This is my process, this is my life.

It’s a cycle my life I am speaking of my life it’s a circle

(If you have read some of my works, you will get that reference.)

I go from unfeeling and trapped in a box to an over-emotional mess

And back.

Over and over again.

Thanks for reading about

My little scribbles

And what they mean to me.

 

11 May 2014:  All My Life is School

All of my life is school,

I have nothing else to do.

Work, work, work

They say,

It’ll pay

They say.

But some days one just gets tired of work piled on top of work,

And upperclassmen saying “Just you wait ‘til next year”

Or, “That isn’t that hard!”

But they don’t always know,

Things change,

Stuff is added.

Go away for a Latin competition for one weekend,

Not even, only two days, and

Wow, what do you know?

On Monday, you will be screwed.

AP Biology Test with two chapters she never told you to read until the Friday before,

AP World History quiz you have had no time to study for,

English 2 bibliography due on Monday,

And a lovely 2-chunk response about Catch-22and some recent news article due the next day.

So next time my parents tell me I have no reason to be stressed and ask me why I can’t do my jobs,

I’ll just show them this poem and perhaps tell them

To “Fuck off.”

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