why should i have to carry the weight of the world
when i break under the weight
of my own being?

Let's whinge about homework,
Always a fuss, that's what it's worth,
I am sure in the Year 9000 AD,
Teens shall whinge about it to me,
Or even little chicks and dudes,
Who gives them homework after school?
"Only a challenge!" old chalkies say,
I've heard their moans many a day,
Always a fuss, or non-compliance,
Maybe a non-homework alliance,
Yes, I've heard all the whinges today,
Whinging's fun, I always say,
Moan, moan, homework works both ways,
Let's all whinge about homework today!

Book


Filled with the dead trees
From our backyard.
It’s shell hard, yet soft, protective, gentle.
Covered in a picture, words,
And a name
That brands it as theirs.

The insides:
Scratched,
Torn because of anger
Fear
And disgust.
And all it can do,
Is bleed it’s dry
Black ink.

We take for granted,
These small,
Yet large pieces of art
The ones that tell us all about their life
And about the ones who created them.

They sit, quietly,
Solemnly,
Unfortunately,
Across the desk,
Lined up with their brothers
Unopened,
Unread.
Yet,
They have been read.

DedPoet stated that none of his writing made it into paper
To celebrate his life and contribution to life
I propose a proposition
That we should gather his works and try to get it published somewhere.
It would make his legacy permanent
Everybody deserves some time of legacy when they dedicate themselves to something.

As the school year
draws near,
I could already smell my greatest fears.
I could already taste those upcoming
salty tears.

Your arms wrap around my body almost as though they were meant for each other
But listen, listen to the sounds of the stars and the hum of the crickets and the echo when I tell you this isn't something I want to run into
I don't want to feel so empty, but the feeling of nothing in me has become so pleasing
Hence why I've stopped eating
Hence why I've stopped dreaming
Hence why I've stopped believing and
I love the smell of your cologne on the inside of my shirt and
I feel so much pride when you do something right, but
I have a reputation for falling for fuckboys and
I have a reputation for breaking their hearts as much
as they've broken mine

Last night at what seemed very late
I went on a quite grand date
with a boy on the moon who took me fishing
which we ended up ditching
to go see a queen with loads of hate
who wanted our heads served on a plate
then we fell up for what seemed like hours
and landed near a very familiar tower
with hair draped down the side
and a voice hurrying to hide
after all the help we thought we could give,
we ran away just to live and wound up
caught in a witch's lair
who had an apple
and a princess with short, black hair
she seemed to be dead,
though we couldn't quite tell,
until a prince came and kissed her and began to yell
that she was more than alive,
more than alright,
with just a small but of poison left behind
and the book closed at that very late time
for I'd danced with the past
and God only knows, that never lasts