This is just something I wrote in a few minutes. I'm not very please with the ending.
-------------------------
Sitting at a desk,
The room is empty.
You are the only soul,
The paper your only friend.
But you don’t like the paper,
It’s not spilling the blood.
Instead it’s spilling the words,
The words you want to keep hidden.
If people find out they will think you crazy,
They’ll lock you up and make you stop.
The people don’t understand your ways,
They think it’s a bad habit.
They don’t want you to hurt yourself,
They tell you it’s stupid.
You’ve been to their places before,
All blunt and white.
But you escaped,
You ran far, far away.
You’ll never go back,
They can’t make you.
If they come for you, you can run,
Just like you did before.
Nobody understands,
That you are an emo.
-------------------------
I'm not an emo, but I don't get what's so bad about emo poetry. That's what most of my poetry is, anyway.
