DESCRIPTION
I said it was poetry but it isn't really. I don't know what to call it, but it's the feeling you get when everyone knows you should be more than you are and they're right. [373 words]
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
I'm a teenager; I like to write, play music, and read old English manuscripts. [November 2002]
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (14) Everything's Routine (Essays) The frightening realization that people live their entire lives like gerbils running in their wheels, and sometimes come away empty-handed. [662 words] Makes No Difference (Poetry) Not the Sum 41 song. [120 words] Nothing Much (Poetry) - [328 words] Snowing In April (Songs) - [346 words] Sounds Of Silence And What I Can't Say (Poetry) - [358 words] Special (Short Stories) - [1,338 words] The Cool Clique (Short Stories) I actually did some reasearch for this, interviewed a few older friends... they don't understand it anymore than I do. [837 words] The Masochist Boy (Novels) A neglected teenager confronts his addiction and depression with the help of an insecure friend. [35,178 words] [Teenage] The Waves (Songs) - [160 words] Watch Out, Henry! There's A Hole In That There Bucket! (Short Stories) The English Essay I Had Way Too Much Fun Writing. [4,772 words] [Teenage] We Are Connected By A Net Of Faith (Songs) I guess the title doesn't say much, but this is my feeling about the coming war with Iraq. [296 words] White Washed Walls, A Collection (Poetry) Acollection of verse: White Washed Walls: Something that came to me while I was sitting by my window... it was a bitter kind of day. Empty Wind-blown Streets: Pieced together from different hospital... [707 words] Why I Got High, Ran Away, And Just Generally Screwed Myself Up (Poetry) A thought that popped into my head today. I think it might actually explain something. I don't know, I just want it to be out there. [34 words] 'ms. America' (Songs) If Ms. America was a typical American woman... [287 words]
Not Who I'm Supposed To Be Pearl S
I sit outside with the grass between my toes, looking up at the sky.
It’s black and studded with pricks of white like a diamond necklace in its velvet case.
The moon, a hollow eye, looks down at me looking up, and I think it’s frowning.
I imagine its disgust, its disapproval, its downright austerity, and I see it in the haughtiness of the pale white ball’s blank stare.
I fiddle with my guitar, start on some melody,
eventually I drop out of key, and lay the thing back down beside me.
I smooth the grass around me, cool to the touch and quiet with the summer breeze;
it’s full of voices, denunciations and accusals, but none of them are human so I let it all be.
I let it all be.
I came out here to find peace, but when you bear the burden I do there’s no such thing.
I see in every flower, every shining star, the contempt the world holds for me.
I’ve been running and I came out here to hide
but even the summer won’t grant me some piece of mind,
because there’s nowhere left to go and I can’t pretend I still don’t know why.
I sigh. I sigh, and pull my knees up to my chin,
and the moon turns its back and goes from me behind a shadow’s thin
veil of distance, an outright resistance to me.
I close my eyes but I can’t sleep because their voices’ haunting me,
victim to their scrutiny, I come away not even one inch clean
—their eyes are into my heart, rip my thoughts apart,
all the things I’ve started and all the things I ought to have done,
and what I could have become, if only I hadn’t let myself go, I’ve gone and let myself slide away,
out to lunch please excuse me maybe one day
I’ll come back and claim what is mine,
maybe one day I’ll achieve the potential I’ve left behind.
But for now they all turn their noses in the air,
they whisper, their eyes burn like iron when they stare,
because they all now know just as well as me,
that this isn’t who I was supposed to be.
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