Young Writers Society

-Some body congratulate me on my longest poem yet!-


How can she sit there laughing, at the TV screen?
While I sit here crying, slowly dying.
Wondering if I’ll ever be alright.
Or if I’ll crash and fall.

Angry tears, I cry myself to sleep.
Wondering how my tears keep falling.
When will they stop?
When will I not cry?

Why do they stare?
What is that look upon their faces?
And where will I be,
In the years to come?

The pain still hurts.
Why won’t it go?
No place to call home.
I have to wander and roam.

So Mum, I think you’ve found you don’t like this song.
Well I’m sorry for the pain I’ve put you through.
But I need you to understand
That there isn’t only physical pain.

The way she treats me stays in my mind.
And if I ever get a bruise. It’s not that, which makes me blue.
It’s more the fact that she did it anyway.
No amount of telling off will make this dear girl stop.

She needs to learn to stop bringing me pain.
Why do you stand up for her?
Sometimes you don’t.
But majority still rules.

Just because I’m not around, why should I receive a frown?
Please remember I’m still a kid.
When I am at home.
I’m pushed to the ground?
I’m feeling alone.

And it’s not better back at school,
With all those rumors I’m treated bad.
When did I become the victim?
Was I ever this bad?

I want you to know,
I never meant to be so.

If you look close, I think you’ll notice.
I look like I, don’t get no sleep.
On the outside you might see.
The scars of my sins.

But what you don’t see is within,
The only place I can be free.
Yes there still is the pain.
That can make my life mundane.

But I’m trying, yes trying to break free.
I need help though.
But not from that lady.
She took my friend she took her far, far away.

And I’ve lost her now.
Yet there is still hope for me.
So please tell me you’ll help.
Or do I have to move on.

congrats!

just a few things i noticed... this is for consistencys sake-

The way she treats me stays in my mind.
And if I ever get a bruise. It’s not that, which makes me blue.
It’s more the fact that she did it anyway.
No amount of telling off will make this dear girl stop.

the two sentances doesn't fit here. were you trying to keep everything at this piont to 4 lines?

But majority still rules

i like this line, but (this is just me) i would say but still majority rules.

I want you to know,
I never meant to be so

good effect, but the word so leaves something to be desired.

But I’m trying, yes trying to break free.

comma between trying and to

And I’ve lost her now.
Yet there is still hope for me.
So please tell me you’ll help.
Or do I have to move on.

in general, i try not to start stanza with and, or end with a question. but that's just me.

overall, good :thumb:

just a quick comment- when i read a poem entitled 'the pain within', it does not entice me to read further... it promises a poem of gothic melodrama where somebody probably slits their wrists.. which may or may not be the case.

i should write a poem like that. it would amuse me. hehehe.

I don't think that is the case for me, the title the pain within would tell me that it's not really about physical pain (cutting) but about mental trauma that people can cause, or at least that was what I was trying to write about. I'm sorry that people are perceiving 'pain within' as a physical problem, which it's not.

Though I don't know what it means, I feel its message. It's beautiful, if a little nonsensical.

Something tells me you wanted to write it, but you were only depressed or upset when you did. I don't know how to say it, but I picked up somehow that it was lacking true motivation. You just sat down and wrote it, no?

Actually cutting hasn't got as much to do with physical pain as it does with turning internal pain into something more real.

EDIT:
As for the poem, it's okay. Could use some details to make it feel like it's about one individual rather than about just any kid in this kind of situation.

I thuoght it was a poem, not a song. Hsss.

Well, sound like poem, but hey. Isn't song tell of a story and ?I think that would be called a poem.