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Array
(
[sid] => 140865
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Poetry Is My Suicide
[time] => 2008-03-08 13:12:27
[hometext] => Because I have to hurt in order to feel...
[bodytext] => Why cut wrists when I can dissect tear open my chest and view the pain that I digest? Keep your weapons of mass enlightenment I'd reather speak death, my death, for as much as anyone would notice, I'm dead. For all they see is a self-inflicted mockery of me: a powerful speaker, a great leader for peace but my poetry is not a bomb of high speech it's a mirror of what I am and how I think my own selfish thing and if you don't care what I say unless I'm lauding Dr. King beacause I'm only seventeen then you don't care about me. If that's the cold reality, then thanks to you, I sink in this frozen sea of sayings and happenings that mean absolutely nothing to me. And you say the waste of such a bright mind is a tragedy but if all you see in me is a bright mind then love truly is a travesty. How could you not see the pain and rage that engulf me? The hopelessness I battle and the affection that I seek? Why can't you tell that I wish to remove all traces of my humanity just so I'll be okay with being me? 'Cause if love doesn't exist then it's not my fault that I'm loveless, just my fault that I'm lovesick how convenient! If I'm too smart to be loved then it means I'm not too ugly, too tubby and everything else can just be... I could go to school 'cause that's what I'm supposed to do and make lots of money to give nice things to my Pulitzer wife and 2.5 Einstein abies Forget happy, I'd rather be crazy! Forget logical, I'd rather be ugly Because as long as the pain doesn't go away I'm unique As long as I don't fit in society I'm still me that's why in my own words, my poetry eviscerates my heart to say I'm lonely, and slices my wrists to say I'm weak I blow open my head and splatter my brains on the wall to say I'm confused Confused as to how I always feel by myself in a full room! When is my full bloom? Where is my stupid teen movie where someone looks beyond my faltering smile and finds it necessary to just hug me? See each time I ask these questions aloud I strike myself and bleed so that being laughed at or ignored won't so terribly wound me and it's these wounds that drive me to be me smiling and funny, warm and cuddly even when inwardly I'm cold and muddy My fear and depression/suppression are what shape my identity so that's why instead of saving the world I'd rather just kill me. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 202 [topic] => 75 [informant] => lost_chadow [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => anguished )
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