Choosing a major is hard, especially when there are so many options and you want to explore and experience everything.
How can you hate poetry?
Its just like music but spoken through words that pour from your tongue.
Emotion that never runs dry.
“Rhymes are cliche and dumb” sprays from your lips,
and I concede... to an extent.
Yes, rhymes can be cages, chains sculpted not from steel
but from writers block and torn thesauruses.
Scrambling to find something to rhyme with drought...
in order to make your poem flow like a river.
But rhymes are not stupid.
They can make a poem more clean and polished.
But poems do not need to rhyme.
This was actually the first lesson I learned in my high school creative writing class.
When my teacher told us that I was thrilled.
The chains had been broken... temporarily.
Because poetry is not a simple lullaby,
nor can lullabies be classified as simple.
Art is not simple.
But people like to mock our written art because
“it’s easy” and
“anyone can write a poem”,
which is true.
But how many people can write a poem so painstakingly beautiful that the mere words bring you to tears?
Make you weep like you are again an infant in your mother's arms? Poetry is not easy. But anyone can do it.
As long as they know how to rhyme.
If I am your moon, then you are the stars in the sky.
Collect my tears as they fall like rain,
mix them with cranberry juice and feed them to the fairies.
They will soar so high, their wings fluttering
like the call of flowers in the spring.
Take my hand,
lead me to a place where the sun is forever,
where winter is short and by the time May arrives
it is but a fleeting memory-
lost somewhere between hope and heartache.
Because I hoped
your words were true and that you really did love me.
But my heart aches
for the months we spent roaming in Neverland
I feel less like Wendy and more like Alice,
running in circles to escape this horrific daydream.
Why can’t things be the way they were before?
*Why can’t we just stay in Neverland?
Growing up is hard to do that's why when I was 12 years old I said I would never do it because it is full of heartache and hatred, trouble and lies, what is the point of leading such an unfulfilled life? Now at only 17, I am being catapulted into a world full of life long choices, where one wrong move- one stupid mistake- can ruin my existence. Yet I have so much resistance because I cling to this notion that i will never grow old. Responsibility is for grownups I would shout then...and even now... but the difference is, today I am going to take 5 standardized tests in 2 weeks and visiting a big brick building that will feed my mind and prepare me for "life"... as if I am not already alive. What is "the real world"? Is it not what I have been going through since birth? Why does reality only hit when you're 18 and starving for attention? Silly me, I was under the impression that I am a human being, going through experiences and learning lessons that will fill my soul. but that’s not true after all; I will only be useful when I have a successful career and child at my hip. **** these rules of society. I am a human, a person, an adult. But not because I chose to be one, I was forced into this role that has deteriorated my mind and thrown me into raging fits of anxiety and depression. Yes, high school has been the greatest years of my life... if by "great" you mean emotionally damaging.
They throw hatred at me like daggers.
Leaving me breathless and gasping for salvation.
Even though I'm wounded -a hole in my heart-
my courage shines through because
I am a warrior of misery.
With every loathing stare, every derogatory slur, my injuries grow more. But the healing scars are stronger than stars. I will not forget,
I will carry these nightmares.
Together until death do us part.
Memories are stronger than moments.
When I lie in bed at night they are what I dream of,
they are the lullabies that drag me to sleep.
I am a warrior.
They can continue to throw knives of pain my way
and I will carry on.
But the memories are what **** me.
Some days I feel grey.
These are the days I struggle to get out of bed in the morning,
the days I trudge along like there is a weight on each of my ankles.
The days I feel like I don’t want to have anymore days in my life.
But then there are days where I am ultraviolet. These are the best days,
when I feel powerful. When I feel like the world is at my fingertips.
But these days are more like moments.
But these short bursts of ultraviolet rays are enough to keep me going through a lifetime of grey.