AN: I know I haven't updated recently (by this story's standards), but here I am! And I have with me… FIVE ALL NEW POEMS! Enjoy, everyone, enjoy
Wednesday, August 30th.
Hey Journal. I don't really have a lot to say about school today, outside the fact that it sucked. But that's normal. So if you don't mind, I'm just going to write a few poems on how I feel about middle school in general. Kinda like a rant, in a poetic form. And here I go!
Every single movie cliché
Out there says
That the jocks bully the nerds.
That the nerds are innocent.
This is somewhat true.
The jocks bully the nerds.
But the nerds shun the outcasts.
And the outcasts mock the jocks.
For five days a week, 7 hours a day,
Until at the end of the day, the final bell rings.
Then we all go home
And come back the next day
We arrive, and the jocks bully the nerds
And the nerds shun the outcasts
And the outcasts mock the jocks
To school we arrive
And the vicious cycle returns.
That poem was just kinda what I've learned from watching. I observe my classmates because I really don't have anything better to do. And I've found that while the jocks bullying the nerds is the stereotypical form of mean, there are other forms. And each form is just as damaging. We outcasts don't like being ignored all the time. Sure we like it a lot of the time, but no one wants to live in complete solitude, including me.
I know I am guilty of mocking the jocks from time to time, but usually I do it when they aren't around. Not the same can be said for some of the other "unaccepted" kids at my school. (Why don't I hang out with them, if none of us are accepted by society, you ask? Simple answer: they are creeps. Enough said.) And don't let them fool you, the jocks actually don't like their reputation as arrogant jerks. In all actuality, half of the jocks are just athletic kids who want to play sports. The other half are the ones that bully the nerds and act all cool. But the first half isn't too bad (even if they are pretty clique-y) and they don't like it how they get the same bad rep as the other half.
So, yeah. That poem was basically about things I've observed. Here's another poem- a slightly more angry one.
Their laughter mocks me
Their happiness makes me bitter
What did they do to deserve joy
When I wallow in eternal misery
They laugh at a joke
How can they make a joke right now?
How can they act so normal
while my world is upside down
Then again, they never cared about me
Or my hopes and dreams
And here I sit embittered
While once again they laugh.
This is pretty much what happens when everyone is laughing at a stupid joke while I'm having a terrible day. Okay, so I might've exaggerated a little, but you get the point. And why was my day so bad, you ask? Truth is, I don't know. I think my teenage hormones are coming in early, cuz any slightly annoying thing REALLY irritated me today. Topped with the fact that I had a headache today, let's just say I was not in the best mood. The only reason I actually survived was that I kept writing poems on small slips of papers during my classes. Here's one I wrote in English.
I rarely get dreams during the night.
However I daydream constantly
I dream of a world unseen
I world unknown even to me
I admit some of my dreams are conceited
If some saw them they'd think I were arrogant
But I can't stop dreaming about something better
Than this pitiful existence I live in now
The existence in which I live
Yet I don't live, not really.
I just make it through the day
Thinking about reality as little as possible
While my mind is far away
While I'm dreaming my dream.
I honestly have no idea where that one came from, but it sure fits me. I guess. Anyways, here's a poem I wrote in History class. It's really short, but I honestly think it is one of the best poems I've ever written. Even though I've only written 7 poems thus far- including the one I'm about to share.
You all live such perfect lives
And even my best lies
That tell me mine will be okay
Aren't quite convincing me today.
Simple but deep, in my opinion. But then again who cares about that? I might just be being conceited, might just like the poem because I wrote it. But I still think the poem is good. Does that make me conceited or proud of my work or do I just like the poem as a poem? I don't know! I never know, and I probably never will. And, in all honesty, not knowing is what bugs me most in life.
But enough about my internal crisis. I've got to push it to the back of my mind or else it will consume my thoughts and eat me from the inside out. I know this from experience. So change of topic!
The best part (and only good part) of my day waking up early enough to see the sunrise. I wrote a poem about that too .
As I look out the window
I see the green ground below.
I watch the sky dance
With the soft colors of a sunrise
The pinks, yellows, and blues,
fly over the beautiful green.
And create a view like no other
A view of the early morning.
And that, dear Journal, was my day. In poem form. And now to turn this relatively bad day around, I'm going to go visit my greenhouse. See ya later, Journal!
Till next time,
Sam Manson.
AN: Hope you enjoyed. Remember to review- they are greatly appreciated!