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Vivian Jun 2015
They will not take my gun.
Get me their guns.

I have a right to my property.
They have a duty to obey us.

It is my responsibility to stand for what I believe in.
It is our responsibility to make them submit.

I hate them.
They will love us.

I say, break the law!
Do they dare go against us?

I petition; I riot; I will not go down without a fight!
We beat; We arrest; We will not lose this fight!

Alas, I am the only one left.
One insubordinate citizen remains.

I fire my gun for my freedom.
I fire my gun for our respect.

My only defense clatters to the ground.
I knock the gun out of his traitorous grip.

I fear what they will do to my family and me.
It is much safer to be feared than loved.

I take one last act to retrieve what is rightfully mine.
I take one last act to retrieve what is lawfully ours.

Then we both reach for the gun.**
Then we both reach for the gun.
In no way taking a side; simply expressing different views in the best way I know how. Through the art of poetry.
Vivian Jun 2015
I go to school
I sit in class
I love to write
But I hate math

Behind my desk
I try to add
I draw the shapes
I make the graph

Learn formulas
I get confused
It's much too hard
Too many rules

Daddy can teach
He goes to schools
He shows them math
He knows the rules

I leave the bus
Dad gets the door
"How was your day?"
"I learned some more!"

Dad says, "Good Job,"
And turns to leave
I yell out, "Wait!
Can you help me?"

Dad hesitates
He sits me down
I bring out math
He starts to frown

"How is this hard?
Here's what you do!"
I smile as he
Explains the rules.

"I get it now!
Let's do this one!"
"I have to go
But you have fun."

My daddy leaves
I wear his frown
I try the math
It's harder now

"Daddy come back!"
I start to yelp
"I'm sure at school
That they can help."

I go to school
I sit in class
I love to write
But I hate math

Behind my desk
I just can't see
Can Mrs. teach?
She's not Daddy

I raise my hand
I wait a while
"Can you help me?"
Mrs. just smiles

"It's not all wrong.
Here's what you did.
Let's try it slow
And get it fixed."

That's not so hard
That's kind of cool
I laugh as she
Explains the rules

"Mrs. please stay
For just one more."
"I'm glad to help!
It's not a chore."

Before class ends
We take a test
I'm scared but I
Wish for the best

I turn it in
I start to leave
"I'm proud of you!"
Mrs. tells me

I check my grade
Right by the door
An "A" in math?
What in the world?

I leave the bus
Dad gets the door
"How was your day?"
"I learned some more!"

Dad says, "Good Job,"
But doesn't stay
I yell out, "Wait!
I got an A!"

Dad smiles. "In math?
I'm proud of you!
Maybe one day
You'll teach math too!"

I'm really glad
I learned the rules
But math should still
Be banned from schools

Thank you Mrs.
For teaching me
Since my Daddy
Had to go.
Vivian Jun 2015
Red
In the dullness of the day
There comes a flood of red.
The color showers down
Pumping life into the dead.

Within seconds they embrace the red.
The red drives them quite insane.
So much red all at one time!
But the red will come again.

The red will show no mercy.
The red will be feared.
The raging red will feast on even
The innocent while it's here.

But still, the red will bring them laughter.
Red's brought them joy from the start.
This very red reverberates
In their violent, ****** hearts.

The red will be forgotten.
The red will be ignored.
The ruthless red will ruin some
While others go on as before.

To those who prance around
And join in on the rumble,
Know that when you play with red
You're also playing with the devil.
My poetic response to a scene in Charles Dickens's "A Tale of Two Cities."

If you read the novel, you may remember the scene where a cart of wine tips over and spills onto the street, and people flock over to taste the wine and celebrate it. This poem draws a parallel between the French citizens' thirst for wine and their later thirst for blood when the guillotine is brought about. It's shocking how eager and willing the citizens become to witness the beheading of another. I tried my best to portray the dark nature of the French during the French Revolution,  as depicted in "A Tale of Two Cities," in this poem.

Published by Poetic Power in a young poets anthology.
Vivian Jun 2015
Bonnie squeals as the cart soars past various boxes of cereals and granola bars. She glances at her brother, Clyde, expecting him to share her fright, but is bewildered to see that he is thrashing about in a fit of giggles, enjoying the thrill of the ride. Knuckles white as snow, Bonnie's frail little fingers grasp the side of the red cart with all of their might as her eyes clamp shut. Her heart beats faster than the speed of light, and she questions her motives for agreeing to Clyde's devilish ways.

She reminisces on their earlier arrival at the Local Target. They had come with their mother, planning to do a little grocery shopping and then be on their way. Of course, Clyde had schemed up a way to stray from his mother's side unnoticed. Bonnie still can't fathom how he managed to drag her down with him.

Cautiously, wind whipping through her hair, Bonnie peaks one eye open and instantly regrets it. She let's out an ear - piercing howl as the cart thrusts into a mountain of PopTart boxes large enough to be deemed the Empire State Building's father. She crawls out of the heap only to be met by an eruption of heartfelt laughter spewing from her brother's mocking lips. "You should have seen your face!" Clyde teases as Bonnie sends daggers through his skull.

The two troublemakers step out of the cart and attempt to retrace the way back to their mother. Devastated, they come to the conclusion that the aisles now resemble a maze. As they confidently take on this new challenge and make their way through the unknown, their spirits quickly take a downward spiral upon realizing that they have ended up back where they began. Tired and desperately longing to go home, the two siblings reach a clearing past the aisles and are overjoyed to spy their mother waiting patiently in line at a register with a new cart in hand.

Bonnie and Clyde casually lazy on over to their mother's side and make light conversation as if they had never left.
Disclaimer: I kind of wrote a short story, but oh well. Here's another piece from high school, freshman year.
Vivian Jun 2015
There she goes, pure as snow,
Just trying to get by in life.
Here you come, mean as a ****,
So eager to dim her bright light.

I see that sneer upon your face,
That devilish little grin.
From afar you look like such a saint,
But something evil dwells within.

She pretends your words don't hurt her,
But I know they tear her apart.
I can tell you're killing her slowly.
You're shredding her fragile heart.

You stab her with your words,
And you call her filthy names.
You tell her that she doesn't matter
And laugh at her terrified face.

She tries to shield off your words.
She tries to keep going her way.
She's lost, both inside and out.
She longs for an escape.

She runs, yet you still follow.
You cackle just like a witch.
Only I know what she's planning
As she heads straight for the bridge!

"Oh no," I whisper. "Please don't." I whisper
As my eyes fill with tears.
I scream, "I think you're beautiful!"
But it falls on broken ears.

Here you come, mean as a ****,
And you pull her last string.
There she goes, pure as snow,
Tumbling down a hundred feet.

She doesn't even scream;
She just soars into the dark.
Your grip is finally off
Of her tired and long bruised heart.

I wish she hadn't done it.
It haunts me every day
To see the sad angel face,
To watch her go that way.

I turn to you as you take in a gasp
And tumble to the floor.
You didn't think she'd do it,
That your words could slam her doors.

Well, I hope you're happy.
You drove her quite insane.
I yell, "I hope you're happy!"
You snatched her life away!

She had so much going for her;
I hope you're happy that it's all gone!
To her, I say, "Hope you liked the free fall
And that in Heaven you're better off."

I wish I could have caught her
And saved her on that day.
You wish you would have stopped her
Because regret now floods your veins.

There she goes, pure as snow,
Just trying to get by in life.
Here you come, mean as a ****,
So eager to dim her bright light.
A little something from my freshman year of high school. Nothing special, just commenting on my surroundings.
Vivian Jun 2015
Don't become too proud of the work that you display.
Overfeeding your ego will cause your merit to decay.
You mustn't starve your modesty or **** self criticism.
It's only when you're humble that your work is worth the listen.
True beauty comes from the sharing of feelings, not the seeking of praise. We're all struggling together; none of us are perfect. A big head will keep you from embedding grace in your work and appreciating it in others.
Vivian Jun 2015
Hold me when you're breaking, and I'll help you stay together.
Tell me when you're hurting, and I'll grab my tickling feather.
Grab me when you're angry, and I'll whisper away the pain.
Stop me when you're jealous, and my eyes will never stray.
Call me when you're proud, and my smile will keep you humble.
Taunt me when you're hungry, and I'll come right back with doubles.
Kiss me when you're cold, and my breath will warm your heart.
Love me when you're lonely, and our souls will never part.

You've got me under your spell with no intentions to leave.
I'm all yours for the taking, just show me what you need.
The idea of sharing this to the person I love as part of my vows on my wedding day warms my heart and makes me want to cry.
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