in A place so far from were I want to be...
July 2nd, 2008
Sorry, but peeps at my school have been nosing into this. I don't like it. Stop it, guys. Because of that... I am now only writing stories. Look WHAT YOU HAVE DONE, YOU FOOLS!!!!! ok... but yeah. I hate it too.
See more stories by Benjamin
Hey... That not fair. You'd
Hey... That not fair. You'd deprive us of your poetry? Fie for shame my lord.
But none the less, your stories are also good, I'll enjoy reading them. But that doesn't mean I won't miss your poems. Oh yeay, if any of Benjamins friend are reading this..... Why? Can't you leave the poor guy alone? Don't give me any of that, "It's a free country" crapeither.
There are three rules for writing a wonderful novel. Unfortunally, no one knows what they are.
Poetry is when your heart bleeds ink on paper.
I know! I coded it, so u can
I know! I coded it, so u can read... but the peeps at school can't. THE FOOLS!!! They are just too mean to me :( I wish they would go away.
Love.
A profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person.
I still don't get it...
what peeps? If i see them,
what peeps? If i see them, i''l give them a peice of my mind.....
hey, i'm english
I love your poetry, and if
I love your poetry, and if you stop writing, I will be soo mad!! lol jk. But don't stop doing something you love because other people don't think it's cool or they think it's girly! You're a great poet!!
----------------------------------------------------------------------------- When life gives you gators, make gatorade!
But they use it against me!
But they use it against me! they take the words from the poems, and use them when talking to me. Then they laugh. If I write for someone, they tall them... and show them the poem. It is my head, and they are getting in it. You kidpubbers, I let in. The peeps this is about... I try to lock out. I don't want them in. I wrote a poem about it... But it is rubbish:
You are messing with my head.
All of you.
This is a place for me…
And you invade.
I know,
I know…
It’s the internet…
What can I do?
But you don’t see.
I want to share with people that understand…
Not you.
Not you, who invade.
Not the people who push,
And push…
To control my life.
WHY?!?!
Just go.
Leave this place.
It is not for you.
It is for me.
I have stopped.
I will not pour my heart to you.
The stopper has been placed,
But when will it break?
You drive me insane.
HOW CAN I DO THIS?!?!
It is so hard.
Not to write.
I know what you think.
It’s stupid,
Wussy,
Dull.
It is my way.
Your way could be anything.
I can tall you all don’t understand.
You people of simple minds.
You may write,
Read,
Play music,
Or do sport.
It is your way,
The thing you have to do.
I only have Poetry, Art and Judaism.
I need poetry.
Don’t take it away from me.
I have to stop.
It’s all you.
So, just think.
If you see me at school,
Looking away from you,
With a tear down my face…
Just think.
It’s because of you.
You take away one of the most important things I have.
I have 5 important things to me.
Now, I can’t write…
This isn’t a poem.
It’s a stream of words.
This isn’t art…
It’s words.
This isn’t words…
I can’t tell you how much I hate this.
This writing.
This is not poetry…
This is a letter.
You hurt me.
You all stopped the words.
All who read the poem…
You know what poem it was.
The poem was for her,
But not for her to read.
The poem was by me,
But not for me to write.
I didn’t write that.
It wrote itself.
True poetry does.
This is not a poem.
Thanks to you all…
I can’t go on.
I want to cry…
But I can’t.
The tears come from my heart…
That you have stopped from beating.
It does try…
But It can’t move
It is you.
You all stopped it from beating.
I want to run…
Run from you all
There. That is how much it hurts.
Love.
A profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person.
I still don't get it...
Oh, the poem it refers to is
Oh, the poem it refers to is you wisper in my ear. That is gone, so they can't use it. :( I really LOVE that poem.
Love.
A profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person.
I still don't get it...