I hate my life. There, I've said it.
Now all of you know my situation, so
I don't have to explain it to you all;
but I suppose I will. Out of self-absorbtion?
Of course not.
My mom stopped giving me money for things--
like skinny jeans and hair dye.
She said "if you want money, go make it yourself."
How am I supposed to do that?
Give in to society and slave away for the government?
Giving in is just another act of being conformist
Which I most certainly am not. Why else would I dress
like everyone else in my clique? Non-conformists
are totally like that. I would know;
I am one.
My heart's been broken. She was the perfect
match for me. Our souls were destined for eachother.
The black abyss that I called my heart
actually became whole. I was almost "happy" with her.
But then...
I guess I'll write a song to express my feelings
for that perfect one; the one who smashed my heart.
Your eyes are like sparkly diamonds
and they pull me in like wires
Your touch makes me feel alive
and sets my soul on fire
But I saw you sitting next to him
and saying untruthful things
I couldn't believe what I was hearing--
'cuz you had given me wings
I saw you kiss him so tenderly
I huddled in a corner and cried
Later, I asked what you had been doing
and you just stood there and lied
You ripped my heart out! It was all for you!
You crushed all my dreams and my love!
I gave you everything and more than I could,
I had thought you were sent from above!
That was my poem expressing my feelings
about her. But after a few days of blasting Fall Out Boy
and draining more than a quart of blood from
my wrists, I felt normal. But she had left a scar.
Deeper than the slashes on my wrists and arms.
My broken heart went from an ashy gray to
a coal black. No--not coal black... blacker than
the night itself. Darker than the dark side of the moon
and colder than a frozen penguin in an Antarctic lake.
That's pretty bad.
The worst part of my life (like it could really get
any worse than it is) is that no one knows my pain.
No one knows my sorrow--they have never known what it
feels like to be me. To be in my shoes. To live my life.
To be...
emo.
Go ahead; rip it to shreds... then it'll match the torn pieces of my broken heart.
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Canary word: Present
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125,008 Literary Works • 672,826 Reviews
Pure awesomeness. It's my favorite line. X3
I think it could use a bit of refining just to make it a bit more interesting/amusing to read. As it was, it dragged a bit near the middle, in particular the intro to the song. Another botched metaphor like the frozen penguin might be a good idea. It would make this poem both more interesting and more hilarious.
I like the poem part, but the rest is a little worrysome. Not everyone will feel the same way you do about what you write and that includes not understanding some of the parts (including the one about the night). Also make sure to go over your grammar it is very important. Good luck!
Hi there!
Great stuff. You seem to know a lot about the emo culture, and your personal experiences are clearly reflected in the speaker, so I can really identify with his "angst" as the title puts it.
However, there are several issues I have with this poem; rectifying them would make it even better!
1. The piece is overlong. There's some really nice stuff, such as this part in the poem-within-a-poem:
"Your eyes are like sparkly diamonds
and they pull me in like wires..."
But it's few and far between. The poem lacks oomph. Concentrating it into a tightly-packed, well-defined structure would remove some of the speaker's endless yakking (dead weight) and make his predicament easier to digest without going overboard.
2. Imagery. This poem is crying out for some decent images. Successful similes and metaphors are key to any worthy poem, and they can't be cliches either. Unfortunately, this piece was full of them - the angry, frustrated teenager trying to break free from social/psychological constraints is a story we've all heard before. So, I propose a solution...
3. Create a narrative. This goes back to the idea of good structure. Every poem should have a beginning, middle and end, preferably with some development/change/evolution in character throughout. It doesn't have to be out-and-out obvious (Incident A leads to Incident B...); start with an arresting image and build the poem around it. You can even reference it, as I frequently do, towards the end to give a sense of unity to the composition. Tell us a story, and a good one. Maybe your speaker discovers some light at the end of the tunnel... what happens next? You decide.
This is a good start, hope this helps!
Gahks
haha.
No, I can't review this. I already completely suck at reviewing so I won't even try.
This is an utterly subjective comment. haha. I love it.
You deserve the Nobel or the Pulitzer at the very least. Epic.
--Knightly
Poppity! Can it be? Have you brought me out of my reviewing rut?
Yes. Thanks for the title making me laugh and for making me stop being lazy. =]
Anyway, moving on.
Now isn't that sad? Of course this represents countless tales of pain and woe and encompasses everything every teenager is feeling. xD But seriously, Pop. It's nice and blunt. Always a good way to open.
By the way, absorbtion is misspelled. Should be absorption.
Gasp! How dare she? However will you go on?
Now, enough of my sarcasm. I like your whole question thing. It turns it back around to the reader and really makes us analyze the piece. I'm totally serious.
Oh my gosh, guess what my playlist decided to play right now? Yup. "Emo Kid".
Anyway, I think there should be an "a" between being and conformist. Mmhmm.
Each other is two words. Just saying. And "black abyss" is totally not cliche. Nuh-uh. Not at all. =P
Awesomesauce.
Now I won't even try to pretend to review this. Poppity, you are amazing.
I love this. I have so many emo friends like that it's crazy! Anyway I can't really review what I like.
Keep Writing
-Flower-
xD
Nice. Like Antigone, I suck at poetry reviews. But I liked this xD
I totally pictured some skinny kid with black hair, a sullen face, and an expressionlless voice reading this.
xD
You are so epic.
--Antigone
Psh, you know I can't review poetry.