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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
Schizophrenia
Smile.
Laugh.
Run
Faster.
Faster.
Stop.
"What are you doing?"
Trying to escape.
"Nothing."
Look behind you.
Are they there?
Shh.
Shut up.
Don't.
Say.
Anything.
"What's wrong?"
You'll never understand it.
"Never mind."
Scream.
Scream louder.
Rip your hair out.
Cover your ears.
"Calm down."
I can't.
"I'm sorry."
They want you to die.
They're out for you.
Shut the door.
Lock it.
Unlock it.
Lock it again.
Hide.
Shh.
"Are you okay?"
I'm dying.
"I'm fine."
You'll never make it.
Freeze.
Fall to the ground.
Cry.
Cry harder.
Stop.
"What are you doing?"
Dying.
"What are you going through?"
Torture.
"What'
Literature
Well...
Well, you're not anorexic. So you must be fat.
A fat, ugly person.
Well, you fit in with the crowd. You must be a fake.
A fake wannabe.
Well, you're happy. What are you hiding?
You've got to be hiding something.
Well, you're sad. You must be emo.
An emo attention seeker.
Well, you're popular. So you must be a jerk.
Why would anyone like you in the first place?
Well, you're quiet. You must be a nobody.
Nobody at all.
Well, you're you.
What else could go wrong?
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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. ^_^
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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.