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I was searching in my closet for something unrelated and I stumbled upon some of my old poems that I had written. Some aren’t very good, but there was one or two gems that I love. Well, some are available to read under my “writings” section up at the top of the page. Please enjoy!


An empty slate, a single drop of grey;
the emptiness is here to stay.
Swirled together, the colored pain, it flows gingerly down the drain.
And with it, the happiness and the day.

In place of the color, grey turns to black.
The slate is overtaken, never to go back.
And what you’ve said, cause drops of red
to stop and fill up the cracks.

It doesn’t matter why we feel.
The slate is made entirely of steel.
Why do you insist on smashing your fist
until the pain, someday, you steal.

But facing odds, persistent,
You lift up your head, and hit it.
The pain was intense, and suddenly innocent
was the slate, shattered, and by the darkness, bit.

This poem will be posted right about the same time I will be reading it in my 3rd period A.P. English 4 class. We were supposed to write a three stanza, “ABAB” rhyme scheme poem in one day. This is what I got.

Dim, empty, the room sits still,

the soft cushion is pleasing to the touch.

Silent, the television pries to change my will.

Turn off. Within the room, it finds out it’s too much.

The flashing colors, absorbed by my face.

My mind is not empty, it’s focused on movements.

Focused on the movies, controller, the poison in which it’s laced.

You have no way to possibly prove it.

But alas, I’m content; happy to be alive.

The days move like birds, scraping over the sea.

But the days in this room in which I’m confined,

it, is the best place to be.

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April 2019
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