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Literature Text
She's hurting,
She's breaking,
She's crying inside.
She's yelling,
She's screaming,
And hiding her eyes.
Yeah you wont,
hear a thing,
It's a-ll inside.
The hurting,
the screaming,
Her smile's a lie.
She stares out,
The window,
And wishes to die.
Or maybe,
When she'll jump,
She'll finally fly.
You cannot,
See her face,
She's hiding it all,
So you wont,
Yeah you wont,
See her fall...
Calm on the Oustside, written by Emma Thrussell, 27/11/12
Literature
Dear Poetry,
I am trying to cover my sadness with words.
Tape them against my scars
& wear them like worthy paper cuts.
My tears are alcohol swabs, burning & cleansing
wounds of my own making. Sometimes,
I wish I could hide behind them forever.
But not even this journeyed flesh can stand
castle strong against speechless ink stains.
I know the code. This body does not deserve
a warriors death. & poetry, you're a monster
a creative monster, but evil nonetheless.
I wish to string you into knots, force feed you
down the throats of others. De-format you
& leave you empty; freeversed-
to hang loosely along the heartstrings
of strangers
Literature
Sick of society
I may live inside my own, twisted universe
I may change, sometimes for the worst.
What's normal to me is not normal for you.
Sometimes I just do what I need to do.
Behind a brick wall, I hoped someone would break it
I threw out my heart hoping someone would take it.
But I got tired of hiding and tired of hating
And instead of throwing myself at every guy, I'm waiting.
I'm sick of the person I tried to be
So basically, here I am, I will be me
I'm sick of the hatred, would you not agree?
.. Basically I'm sick of society.
Literature
Depression...
No, depression is not just getting sad.
It's a constant sadness that melts into your bones,
An indescribably heavy weight upon your shoulders,
Never mind your heart and soul.
It's believing so many lies (maybe because you've learned to accept them)
And no longer appreciating your self-worth.
Wishing you no longer existed, wishing yourself gone.
Depression holds you back from your dreams
And pulls you into a nightmare.
It takes full control of your existence.
It makes you never want to get out of bed,
And when you finally do,
You just want to get back in it.
But you know the hardest part?
Ignorant people.
Just.
Like.
You.
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This poem talks about the internal screaming many people suffering from depression, and other illnesses, go through most every day. While they seem at peace and perfectly calm on the outside, there is the pain, suffering, and noise inside the person's head. However, not all people have the internal noise, many people have complete silence. This is a second form of depression, and not one I know much about. I suffer from 'angry depression' which is what the poem follows, and I often find myself cursing, in my mind, to not only fellow students, but also teachers and friends and other innocent people that did nothing to anger me except exist.
I wrote this poem in Home Economics today, looking out the window and wishing my teacher would let us do something productive. I'm not having a very good week so far. Might just be the holiday mode starting up early. Who knows.
Critiques are welcome, and a nice little comment telling me you've read it would be much appreciated. ^_^
I wrote this poem in Home Economics today, looking out the window and wishing my teacher would let us do something productive. I'm not having a very good week so far. Might just be the holiday mode starting up early. Who knows.
Critiques are welcome, and a nice little comment telling me you've read it would be much appreciated. ^_^
© 2012 - 2024 StarSpinner678
Comments73
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Now that's tragically beautiful.
I don't even know how to say this without sounding sarcastic, but it really is.
I don't even know how to say this without sounding sarcastic, but it really is.