I'm not too great at writing, but some days I feel consumed with the will to write some angry poetry...and some sad things with it. These are written in a very immature style because at the time I couldn't stop my temper. It all kinda just...uh, flew from my fingers I guess you could say. The rhythms are also a little unusual, and I'm sorry for that.



Dedicated to the one(s) I hate... (none of you though, don't worry)

How could you dare
Give a thought, worry, or care
You Barbie Doll
The cause of my fall

Kiss my @$$
Lick off the grass
From my heel

Meaningless being
All the while seeing
You are "worthy"
You are "pretty"

In a few years time
You're nothing but grime
No more a value
Only prized in your youth

The world will overlook your flaws
And pray you sit for their cause
A statue for the camera lense
But all good things have their ends

My Dear

~FIN~
++++++++++

What can you possibly gain?
You who are vain

You say you want change
Then bring on this so-called "change"
Go on and imitate your age-old fallacies
Your "wit", your "fashion", and all such legacies

The generations are one and the same
You're all so lame
Blankly gaze at the 2-D screen
Have fun, and play that game

Lean on your rock of ages
Those, your ~heroes~, right on TV
Too bad you can't see

Deaf, dumb, AND blind
Yes, that is YOUR kind
You're not a god
Nothing but a statistic in the news
But go on, pay $300 for that pair of shoes

~FIN~
++++++++++++++++

Here are a few others I wrote sort of about myself, 'cause I can be selfish sometimes.

I may be ugly
But what the hell are you?
Another nameless face
A mere walking pace
For all who come in view?
++++++++

What culture?
You are culture
I am culture
The wind doesn't change
++++++++

A poem for you
Kind of fell from my head
There was no use
For a needle and thread
+++++++++++

Untitled Whining

My pallid expression
Is distraught with wrinkles
And you'll never even try
To understand

You'd rather cackle
Like a snooty school girl (that you are)
Than ever begin
To feel the clamminess
Of my outstretched hand

You don't see me shiver
Everytime I sit in my chair
My jaws hurt from biting my lip
And from clenching them
Just to take a sip
Of warm orange juice

I feel dry and withered
Like the split ends
Of a grey strand of hair
Or maybe a winter tree
That never blossoms

~FIN~

~ S.A.