Chabadtzke Aug 2018
There is a class
Across the sea
That's small in size
With students, three

The students' names
And average grades
Are A, B, C
The roll-book states

Of the trio
A's the one
Who aces tests
And frowns on fun

The apple of
His teacher's eye
A has nary
Cause to cry

Kid C exults
In being bad
He signs his name
"Rebellious Lad"

His afternoons
He's proud to mention
He spends with teacher
In detention

A classic class
Don't you agree?
What's that you say?
Oh, pardon me!

There's also B!
I quite forgot
An oversight-
Thanks a lot!
A tribute to all the B students out there, I acknowledge your existence! I myself was never a B student (instead I swing violently between A and C) but I try to sympathize with them.
Chabadtzke Jul 2018
In the snow and the slush
I'm walking in a rush
Walking fast, coming last
And my toes are losing touch

Snow be upon me, and render me helpless

It's raining cats and mice
And the window don't entice
Water wet, mix with sweat
Under awnings and street lights

Rain be upon me, and render me helpless

Waiting for the train
There's one in the other lane
And I wait, always late
Wait an hour till it came

Traffic be upon me, and render me helpless

I get on and and there's a crowd
And the ruckus really loud
Hold my breath, choke to death
And my feet don't reach the ground

Claustropho-bia pon me, and render me helpless

And when I'm helpless, I can feel
What's a phony and whats real
Cause I got earphones in my ears
And I live beyond my cares
I immensely enjoy situations like waiting for the bus, in which I'm not expected to do anything. I can guiltlessly relax with the music I love.
Chabadtzke Jul 2018
I've been taking some time off
From writing down my thoughts
From writing all the things I used to think when I felt lost

It's doing me some good
Shut my brain down like I should
Committing mental suicide, I need not hide behind my hood

See, here it's not like home
I don't spend time on my own
And the battles in my head take place in bed when I'm alone

But when the thoughts come they will find
The eye I turn to them is blind
Because sometimes, to stay alive, you've got to **** your mind
"Sometimes to stay alive you gotta **** your mind" -migraine by twenty one pilots

I've been in summer camp for the past month. Privacy is hard to come by, but thank G'd I have no time to think!
Chabadtzke Jun 2018
People say I'm obsessive, and I wholeheartedly agree. I'd die for a favorite artist, and I reread stories I like until I hate them. I force myself to love every song performed by "my band" (which, incidentally, is Twenty One Pilots), to a point where I'm not entirely sure which of their tunes actually earned their place in my heart.
It brings to mind a modern-Hebrew term, "protektzia". It can be translated as social leverage, or "pull". Protektzia is when you are related to the administrator of an elite high school, or when you're friendly with the secretary of a sought-after doctor. It's as if songs walk up to me and say, "hey, I know I'm not that great, but I was written by so-and-so!"
All that changes when old Depression drops by. Suddenly, things I cared so much for are meaningless. It's like quarreling with a close friend. Although, I don't hate my former faves so much as scorn them, for being silly enough to exist.
Why does depression do this to me? Because depression is the drainage of passion. As a cow needs to be milked and a dripping air-conditioner needs a bucket, what are obsessions if not an outlet for the passion contained in the heart?
But neither are necessary when the cow is dead and the AC off.
Thankfully, depression to me is a mood rather than a condition, and so I host frequent reunions with my beloved idols.
You are all invited!
I'd like to take this moment to thank my heroes, among them Twenty One Pilots! Stay alive, frens! |-/
Chabadtzke Jun 2018
Some of you sense this is a letter of defense
And in light of recent events,
I won’t bother with attempts to cover it up, to hide it
To put up a pretense
I ain’t tryin’ to act all misunderstood
I know I could and I should see the good in the love and the care people bear for their son or their friend or their brother so dear

I. But when people them say I don’t try hard enough
That I do what I want, that my hardships are bluff
I scream on the inside, or outside, sometimes
(and I promise, inside I ain’t screamin’ in rhymes)
You may have been in my situations at times
But were you ever me? And will you ever be?
Did you ever see
How I sit in my seat at school every day?
And the torture it is? Do you think that’s okay?
And if you did, (think while you’re reading this poem)
Have you ever seen the way I am at home?
Have you ever seen what I think in my head?
What I dream in my sleep?
How I feel in my bed?
Did you ever hear the things I have said
When no-one’s around?
What I love? What I dread?

II. Some people sincerely do try to relate
“How are you doing?” they ask. I’m just great.
They say I’m in pain. What does that even mean?
Being me isn’t hard, it’s quite simple and clean.
I’m lazy and selfish. I hate doing work.
I see responsibility as something to shirk.
Overall, I’m a ****, with a lot of strange quirks
I’m a horrible person with demons that lurk.
I’m in love with my demons. I like them. I do.
They make things exciting, and help with poems too.
So don’t pick a fight with ‘em, please stop inciting
I don’t need no help with a war I ain’t fighting

III. Lastly, please, pretty please, stop with the sighing
The crying, the prying, I feel like I’m dying
Or already dead, by the grief on your faces
Like I’m haunting your places, just filling up spaces
Please, when we talk about prices of tea
Don’t bring up my “issues”, don’t talk about me
I feel like whenever you’re looking at me
My hardships and failures are all that you see
I can’t handle all this disappointment around me
I didn’t choose my problems, I swear it — they found me

In short, my request is, please don’t judge and blame
But don’t pretend to understand, that’s almost the same
Thirdly, my issues are not what I’m made of
So please don’t bring up something that I’m afraid of

Thank you for helping, for being sincere,
Signed Yø-c, who loves you and knows that you care
A request to my family and friends: please don't judge me or try to understand me, just pretend I have no issues...
Chabadtzke Jun 2018
It's been some time, a lengthy while
Since I've written poems freestyle
Rhymes, you see, are pretty things
But they're like birds with broken wings

But when freestyle starts feeling fake
And no longer relieves my ache
I take refuge in dear old rhyme
Till my music can truly chime
Chabadtzke Jun 2018
I. When death smells like sunshine
and graveyards like candy
I feel like a dagger
might just come in handy

II. This Dagger I have
It's made out of spite
It's silvery white
but now it looks red

This Dagger and I
We got into a fight
It killed me last night
and now I am dead

III. As life starts to fade
and dusk turns to night
As we end our charade
and we give up the fight
We say our goodbyes
and we gulp down a shot
We laugh at our lives
we untangle the knot
Then, as the string we are tied to does break
we fall to our death and we never awake

IV. Dark and alone in the cold and dry earth
Worms eat my flesh and devour my girth
Can it be that the dead in the grave get no rest?
Can it be that I died, and I still am depressed?

V. The ocean is rippling, the sun's shining brightly
Birds sing and chirp and the breeze whistles lightly
What a beautiful day to have breakfast in bed
What a beautiful day. It's just too bad I'm dead.
When I feel depressed, I find that writing dark sarcastic verses somehow lifts my spirits... I pieced some of these verses together, to ruin your day:)
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