Poems from Hell

“Poems From Hell”

Pen to paper, nothing much to say,

--or to cross my mind--
So I stay up late and to my God I pray.

I hope I can make him proud,

Or will I fail for all to see?

Will this be the end,
Of the person I know as me?

Or am I dreaming again,
Of the world painting life inscrutably?
I wish I could write,

Without being so wordy.
I truly wish I could spell,
But more than all,
I wish I wasn't writing poems in Hell.

alone...

As much as being grammatically correct is part of my writing hopes, I am at the point of not caring. Please enjoy this essay paragraph that should be a zillion different paragraphs…There are a lot of times I feel alone. I feel like no one understands—a normal teenage feeling I have heard. But this is different, this isn’t the average fuck you parents feeling. Instead I feel absolutely vacant feelings. The feeling of emotions that leaves you with nothing, the only partnered emotion is sadness. I want to feel angry, I want to feel frustrated, but those feelings don’t exist in my world. Although my case isn’t extreme or far advanced, it is clear that bi-polar can ruin your world. One minute you are on top of the world—ecstatic, jovial, free—and experiencing the actions synonymous with happiness like laughter and smiles. The next minute, you are in a cave, a dark dark cave. Unlikely to find food, water, or light in any future moment. It’s the feeling of abandonment, when you feel like everyone is gone and doesn’t listen. When you have people you have brought close just so they can tear apart your heart and sanity. When your live depends on theirs, and you see them waste it away and not care. Do they respect me at all? Do they realize how much it hurts me by doing what they do? I have learned it doesn’t matter how much I try, I always fall behind or get frustrated or get lost. How much of this is bi-polar versus just normal thought, I have no idea. What I do know is that there is no getting rid of it. There are some nights I want to cry, so I do. But there are others, that make it harder to cry. Being raised on the idea that crying is weakness, it doesn’t matter how many people tell me different. When you are raised on an ideal that is engraved in your head from infant to near adulthood, it stays. I would never want to force this idea on someone else, morally it shouldn’t be true. I can’t not think of it as weakness. Even when you try so hard to help someone, and all they do in return is walk backwards, soon enough they will be back where they started. What about the future, what will you do then? Everything catches up to you. A family friend just went through surgery. He might not be able to walk ever again. Again, why does it have to take another person for me. They say it’s just a number, but the number grows—150, 200, 250, 3—and shrinks—100, 90, 80, 70—as it pleases. Weight isn’t something to be fucked around with. It can claim a life in a half second, utilizing everything it can. Diabetes, Stroke, heart attack, broken bones, illness…cancer. Life is much more cruel than death. One minute you are normal, the next diabetic and if you aren’t careful you can be in the emergency room having your toes removed. It’s funny how something as small as a toe can change your whole sense in balance. Yet it is true, it does. Who would have guessed when they were seven, that the cartoons weren’t shitting you. It is sad while life is cruel you perceive it as the better option. With life there is loss, there is pain, there is hatred and loneliness. With death, comes serenity, family, friends, peace and light.

Of Course I Would

To top off the hell that high school brings, I start my JC course. Currently taking nine classes I ask myself, "Can I even stomach making my life harder?” Well yesterday I manage that by spraining my left hand and wrist. Not only do I get to continue my classes with a sprained wrist, but I have to endure (from what we think) a month of one handed ASL. GREAT. My right arm getting tired from only using it, I will soon be a double arm cripple. Not to mention my back is giving me hell for sleeping on the couch last night (I fell asleep while icing my hand). At this point I am really just trying to search for the positive, albeit proving difficult. As much as I hate complaining to the internet, I feel like absolute hell right now and really just feel like writing. Huzzah for a short report.

Everyday life...

I didn’t know what to write so this sums up the past 48hrs of life.

Things you hear during the day…make it all worth wild.

When time is spent on the superfluities of social acceptance, how is it one can keep their goals in mind? When you are being thrashed about by society’s line of power how can you stay true to yourself? As children are pushed through a funnel of socially acceptable behavior, they are molded into what the citizens of today should be. …so we should all be Mc. Donald’s chicken nuggets, I see now. Why is blue paint blue? Well class in a simple answer it just is, now sit down shuttttaaup and listen. I am the pimp around these places and you are my bitches.

How is it a woman can have two vaginas and still walk perfectly normal? Yeah answer that. Now, let me say this, I will disrespectfully disagree with you. But, if caterpillars are green then why are butterflies all sorts of colours?  I am a lazy ass…you are a lazy ass…these are reasons we can’t be together. That burning sensation you get on your butt when you sit on a heat pack. Woah man I thought you were gonna say something else. Distance doesn’t change a thing, I love you…

It is odd to hear these phrases said out of context. The first one, though sounding like a high schooler, was said by a 4^th grader in Safeway this morning when his mom asked if he wanted PB and J or a bologna sandwich. In the child’s frustration over the choices, he ranted about conformity and how all the fourth graders bring PB and J and bologna sandwiches to school. His mom tired of the complaining and probably feeling dumb herself, compared this situation to chicken nuggets.

And while discussions about paint, pimps and bitches sound like a young adult audience, the real perpetrators were a group of old people sitting at a table on the green playing cards. Though women with two vaginas can be talked about on the radio, swear words must be bleeped out of songs. And if in AP we can disrespectfully disagree with you and if high math students can question the colours of caterpillars and butterflies—then we know we are on the right track for college.

            If teachers can admit that they are lazy asses and can’t work together, then maybe their butts wouldn’t burn on heating pads. But when someone unexpectantly says I love you, when they are less than a few feet from you, you feel your heart fill up. It isn’t until they walk away does the term love really begin to take its full meaning. How strong two people can be, how strong their bond is, and how much you are willing to fight. To the end of the Earth—or would that be too close for love to be judged?