(A/N): Never posted a HP fic on this account, did I? Well, first time for everything! Some angst, some shitty poetry, and some of Harry in a RAGE! THIS IS THE MADDEST HE'S EVER BEEN! Ahaha, same warning goes out as last time. If you have actually talked to all of my sexiness, I'm not writing it to you. You're open to read, just don't get pissed at me for it this time! *Lesser-Than Three*

Anywhore, this is set in the 4th Year, after the Goblet spit out Harry's name, and Ron is being a total arse!

Stupid Journal Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon Got Me,

I don't know what to do. The Goblet 'chose' me. Why am I always the Chosen One? I don't want to be chosen, and I ought not to be if that's so. But does anyone actually care what I want or what I even feel? No. They only care what I do. They care if I'm good in school, if I save the Wizarding World, or if I live up to my amazing parents. And, even if I do all of that, I've only done what's expected.

Really, if I want to even slightly impress these people, I'm assuming that I'll have to learn to juggle (toss colorful balls {stop laughing, you twat} in the air and catch them), rap (fast talk to a beat like a dumb American), complete a Rubik's Cube (a pointless show of over intelligence. Ask Hermione for more details), and ride a sea lion… at the same time! And then, Ron will only be more bloody pissed off at me. Honestly, he thinks I want to die? Does he take me for a fool?

Honestly, I wish it could all just be simple. Easy. But where would the fun in that be? Because whoever is making the decisions in my life (who certainly isn't me) had better be having a laugh, because I certainly am not.

So, though I don't want to be a total wuss, I'm thinking that I might want to try some poetry. Sure, I know what you're thinking. And you're completely right; I suck at poetry. But why not give it a try? I'm not trying to impress anyone here. I'm trying to express myself, so you can stop judging me, you bloody journal!

Dear Rowling, I've gone insane. Well, here goes it!

I call this one:

"Ron, Mate, You Can Shove it Up Your Arse, or You Can Read My Crappy Poetry. This One's For You, Prick"

Let me feel

And let it show.

Let's be real

Or let's let go.

~#~

Because you're mad

It doesn't mean

I can't be sad

Or can't be seen.

~#~

I still feel

And it still hurts.

Your soul like steel

Hurts worse than words.

~#~

See my heartbreak,

See my pain?

It's not fake;

Please, don't be vain.

~#~

Feed my anger

Or be my friend

We're in danger

Friendships end.

~#~

I loved you

And you loved me. (No homo, mate)

Now that's not true?

Then set me free.

~#~

I'm alone

And you are not

My feelings shone

And yet we fought

~#~

Please be careful;

Don't you know,

I'm oh so fearful.

Don't let go.

Well, Ron, if you ever read that, I apologize for how hellishly terrible that was. Now time to go all 'horrible motivational speaker' on you, journal.

This one's for you, you crazy wanker! (Why yes, I'm talking to myself. And yes, we do get in several fights every day… no we don't! Shut up, you! Ah, you twat!) I call it:

"Well, Now I'm Writing Poetry To Myself. That's Just Awkard, Mate. Ah, Have At It"

It's true, you know,

The things they say

When you're in pain

You drift away.

~#~

You float so high,

And yet you fall.

And at that time,

You hear fate's call.

~#~

Feel your sorrow,

Search for joy.

Fail your search,

The devil's ploy.

~#~

Let your heartbreak

Flow straight through

Through your fingers

Right on through you.

~#~

Words on paper,

Never right.

They're bland and sad,

Don't show your fright.

~#~

Fright of ends,

Of days to come,

Of confrontations,

Being numb.

~#~

You try to fix it,

To make things good,

To cure the bad

The way you should.

~#~

You know you've hurt,

Done something mean.

You've been a jerk,

You've been a fiend.

~#~

You're not the victim,

But not to blame,

You're just yourself

And there's the shame.

~#~

You've done it wrong,

You want it right,

You'll try so hard

With all your might.

~#~

It might not work,

The world might end.

You still must try

You must not bend.

~#~

You must stand strong

And cure the bad.

To heal what's hurt

And help the sad.

~#~

You must keep trying;

Never cease.

Make things right,

And find your peace.

~#~

Do your best,

And love your friends

Just don't give up

Not 'til the end.

Well, that was bloody horrific. There goes the last of my sanity (which barely existed in the first place). I'd better sign off before I end up cuddling with this poofter book as I sleep.

Your Chosen One,

HP

(A/N): Am I as horrible at poetry as I kinda think I am? Not fishing for compliments, just not sure if I like it. I actually quite think I do, but on the other hand... eh, whatevs! Hope you liked it! And, if you did, follow me, favorite me, chuck some reviews in my general direction! Love ya ALL! =D

*Lesser-Than Three*