AN: Today I have something special for you guys! While most of my previous poems have been written by me recently, ALL of todays are some of the first poems I've ever written (although the first one is slightly tweaked)… in the sixth grade. Will they be kinda stupid? Probably. Will they provide better insight as to what a fifth or sixth grader might actually write? Probably. So, enjoy!
Friday September 15th
Hey Journal. Sorry I haven't written in you in a while; I've been busy. Lately it feels like everything is changing. Literally! And what, you might ask, is changing?
Grandpa Manson died. Next to my uncle Jem and Aunt Julia, he and Grandma Manson were my favorite relatives. Now Aunt Julia is dead and Grandpa Manson is with her. Course Uncle Jem is my mom's brother and Grandpa Manson was my dad's dad, but still. And it's hitting Grandma Manson hard.
So hard that she moved in with us. Don't get me wrong, I love having my grandma living with us. I just wish it wasn't because her husband died and she doesn't want to be lonely. Not to mention, she's not exactly the same as she was before. I feel myself becoming more dark just by being with her. Guess all I can do is to be there and hope she reverts back to her old self eventually.
So yeah, it seems like it's the end of the world as I know it. Yet I feel fine. (Kudos to you Journal, if you got that reference.) Anyways, on to poetry.
I'm proud to be me
But should I be?
I'm not close to normal, and I'm okay with that
But parts of me could be classified as bad
A lot of times I'm not so nice
And you shouldn't really take my advice
I hold grudges long
And I thing I'm strong
I'm okay being Sam
But what if being Sam is being bad?
Does that mean I'm proud of my imperfections?
Do I even want to fix them?
Should I accept my flaws?
Or should I try to be a better person?
Should I be myself or be more like you?
I'm so confused.
That poem describes my latest internal conflict. It all started when I realized that I was proud of being me- faults and all. But should I be proud of my faults? Am I being cocky, or happy with who I am?
She thinks I'm boring.
He thinks I'm annoying.
They think I read too much
And that I should just shut up.
But out of it, all I can see
Is all that it will ever be:
A difference of opinions.
See? There is that cockiness again. Grrrrr….
I think I'm going to go do some music therapy now.
Headphones, here I come!
Signing off,
Sam.
PS: Not Samantha, not anymore. Everything is changing, so my name might as well too. Anyone who calls me Samantha after this, watch out!
PPS: Wow, I really am getting better at this Goth stuff. Just kinda sucks that part of the reason I am becoming more Gothic is because my grandma is depressed.
oOoOoOo
Wednesday, September 20th
I am more complicated than you could ever know.
There are more parts to me than those that I show.
So don't try to write me a synopsis,
When of me, a lot is
Hidden from your view.
I may seem weak, but I am strong,
I may see strange, but I belong.
I may seem dumb, but I am smart,
I may seem rude, but I have a heart.
So before you think bad of me, search me entirely through.
Ok, so you might've guessed, but I'm in a good mood today. And good moods mean happy poems. Which are pretty rare, and I'm fairly sure that Goths are supposed to write happy poems, but the internet also says that Goths are supposed to defy the stereotypes, so I will. And I bring you a happy poem… written by a Goth in training.
If I start to sing a song
And no one dares to dares to sing along
I will sing just as strong
All by myself
If I do a random dance
And they give me a funny glance
I guess I'll have to take that chance
And applaud myself
If I say a bad rhyme
And they think I have lost my mind
I'll find a new one for next time
All by myself!
If I act plain silly
And they see me disapprovingly
All the sillier I will be
All by myself!
If they think I'm doing not so well
And offer me some help
I'll say I can do it just as swell
All by myself!
One sec, Journal, my parents need me. Be right back!
oOoOoOo
Okay, I'm back. And I think I might be able to deliver that stereotypical Goth poem now. My grandma was sad, my parents are mad, and now I'm both. But anyways, here's my poem.
Forget I ever said anything, cause if it was important you'd listen.
Forget I ever said anything, cause if it was important, you'd remember.
Forget I ever said anything, cause if it was important, you'd care; you'd care.
So just forget I said I wanted you to stay. Just go way; go away.
Cause it's obvious you don't care for me. Now I see; now I see.
But don't expect me not to make a comeback.
You didn't hurt me all that bad.
Maybe I'm still in pain.
But it can go as fast as it came.
So just forget about me, I couldn't care less.
If you moved on, it's for the best.
So that isn't exactly how I feel about my parents or grandma, but when I get angry/sad I can make my poems as depressing as I want, no limits. And I do.
Signing off,
SAM!
AN: I hope you enjoyed that! I can honestly say I'm glad I'm no longer in the sixth grade. Remember to review- more reviews means faster updates!
Signing off,
INSANITYISCLARITY!