 |
Poems On Site: 198,500+ Comments On Poems: 427,000+ Forum Posts: 105,000+ |
Custom Search
|
|
|
||||
| Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 18:00:22 AEST | ||
|
|
||||
|
|
||||
|
|
||||
|
Array
(
[sid] => 18387
[catid] => 1
[aid] => Mick
[title] => A Lennon and Cobain
[time] => 2003-06-01 20:35:00
[hometext] => All he had was a Lennon, Cobain... and himself. But those other kids... they did not understand. This is my personal favorite... it says a lot. [bodytext] => He wakes up every morning, just another face in the crowd. He doesn't recognize the guy starring back at him, mocking his every move. The things he used to enjoy, are there no more. What he has now, is nothing more than a ripped up lyrical notebook and a Lennon and Cobain. His mom is worried, worried that he will take the wrong path, but there is no wrong path... when he does not want to live. He sings loudly, blocking out the yelling of his parents upstairs. They used to listen, they used to care... but that was before his dad walked out, leaving his mom with the hassel and working two jobs, just to feed him. He came running back, after tapping his nurse. His mom opened her arms, lying awake long into the night. He walks alone to school, with a lunch his mom packed. His hair is dyed, and his clothes a mess, but he does not care. Who does he have to impress? The kids at school laugh and point, he never noticed, and doesn't really care. They can laugh and they can point all they want, they are the ones that are going to get hurt in the end. School seems to drag on, but the bell finally rings. He pushed past the names and runs away from the hate... hurrying back to the basement. His mom is in the kitchen, waiting with a snack. She wonders why he always comes home alone? She tried to talk to him once, but he only got angry and started to cry. "Hi honey, how was your day?" she asked kindly, her words dripping with love. He shrugs past her... not wanting to talk. He won't forgive her, for taking back that man, the man that ruined their lives so long ago. He stumbles down the stairs, whiping the crinsome blood from his nose, spitting it to the floor. He glances up at the stairs, where his mom is watching. He avoids her gaze and slams the door in her face, sheilding himself from the world; from the pain, anger, denial, and suffering. He hides away from it all. He blares his stereo, feeling the walls shake. Its time to get down to business. He has his guitar, and he has his stereo, who needs love in a time like this? He wishes he could just escape this... but the life style he lives in, it is very contagious. In a city like this, there is not much that happens. You are either a high power or you are nothing... in his case, he is the dirt that grows on the walls. He knows one day that he will be famous. He does not go to bed that night, plays long hours into the night. He doesn't want to live... he has nothing to live for, then he thinks of his little sister, who cries herself to sleep every night. And he thinks of his mom, who tried to beat the man who ruined their lives but failed. The tears form in his eyes, but he wipes them away with the back of his hand. He will not cry, he is a man. As hard as he tries, he fails once again. He glances in the mirror, starring back at the faceless man, and broken life that he has lived in for 15 years now. He punches the mirror with all his might, watching the glass shatter to the floor. No more lost boy, no more sad stories... its time to grow up. He hears the yelling from upstairs, the angry voices... something shatters to the floor, and knows things will get better tomorrow. They always do. He lifts his guitar high above his head, and watches it fall to the floor, with one swift drop. He kicks his stereo, sending it into a million pieces. He ripes Cobain off from his wall and tares Lennon down the center. When he goes to school tomorrow... he will be a different boy. That night he cries himself to sleep. He used to be somebody, not just a someone. He was tired of the name calling, he was tired of the taunting. He just wants someone to call a friend. The boy is not in school the next day, or even the next. No one notices and noone cares. He was just that boy, he rocked away on his guitar. No one even knew his name... not even his teachers. They all laughed and no one said anything. They pointed and teased, like it was going out of style. They are going to be sorry... when they find out he left. They really are. He needed to get away, escape the pain, and the hassle. That sad lost boy... became lost in the crowd that night... the night he went mad and threw away his Lennon and Cobain. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 265 [topic] => 21 [informant] => stargazer [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )
|
Menu
· 
Poetry
Community
Members
Areas
Reference
Search
Top
Others
Poetry is much like a great photo, a single "moment in time" capturing many feelings and emotions. Yet, they are very alive; creating stirrings within the readers who form visual "pictures" of the expressed emotions within the Poem. ©
Opinions expressed in the poetry, comments, forums etc. on this site are not necessarily those of this site, its owners and/or operators; but of the individuals who post items to this site.
Frequently Asked Questions | | | Privacy Policy | | | Contact Webmaster
All submitted items are Copyright © to their submitter. All the rest Copyright © 2002-2050 by Your Poetry Dot Com
All logos and trademarks in this site are property of their respective owners.
Script Generation Time: 0.052 Seconds. - View our Site Map | .© your-poetry.com