Andrew

Ignorance and stubbornness is everything of you,

Treating her like a slave is true.

Her time, energy and love is what you consume,

Leaving me with nothing, but her gloom.

Blame is what you give to her for all she helps you with,

Saying all your problems she made forthwith.

All she does is not good enough in her eyes,

Still, she will do anything to please you until her demise.

I’ll never understand what she sees in you whom is so cruel,

Someone who cheats and lies; you’re some tool.

One day soon she’ll leave you,

Then all you will feel is rue.

Finally she’ll be free and abloom,

And leave you alone to suffer your doom.

Once again we’ll be happy as goldsmiths,

Our memories of you will be only myths.

I hope your tears for her never dries,

Feel all the pain we felt from your lies.

This fantasy of mine is my fuel,

To get me through my life that you made into a whirlpool.

Emotional Loneliness My Personal Life Pain Poetry

Mayella Ewell- Court Scene

I sat next to my father in the courtroom, 

Then they call me to stand, making me feel gloom. 

 Everyone’s eyes were me as I sit down in the wooden chair, 

Looking at Atticus I feel as if I’m in the lion’s lair. 

He smiled at me and called me Ms. Ewell, 

Then proceeds to ask me questions just to be cruel. 

He asks me many questions, but none I didn’t expect. 

Making me repeat myself about how I was inflict. 

I said the answers my father made me rehearse, 

Because if I didn’t my injuries would be much worse. 

Again, he called me Ms. Ewell making me mad,

Oh, how I hated to be mocked so bad. 

I finally snapped and called him out for his rudeness, 

But the Judge stopped me and ignored his lewdness. 

Then he asked me questions about all the bruises, 

I told him the lie, but thought about Father’s abuses.

Atticus kept asking for every detail he could think of, 

But, Father had a year to think of more details than just the behove.

That despicable man supporting that black was getting too close, 

He’s dancing around the truth he and I both know. 

I prayed he wouldn’t say it or else father will be irate, 

And a horrible beating for me would await. 

But my fears came to life and he asked me this, 

“Did your father beat you”, making everything dehiscence. 

It rattled me when he said that, more then I wanted it to, 

For a second I thought of committing a coup. 

I could ruin my father and be free of his drunk wrath, 

But that could backfire on me so I took that idea back. 

Atticus asked me the question again making me scared, 

I started yelling at him denying what he has declared.

Out of all the people starting at me in my fit, 

Father’s eyes boar into me, daring me to admit. 

So when Atticus asked me again how caused me pain, 

I told him, “Tom Robinson”, once again. 

Deep inside me I knew it was wrong to do so, 

But he’s a black man and they are all below. 

And I’d rather it be him being doomed, 

Then all of the beatings from Father be resumed. 

Poetry To kill a Mockingbird

Melancholy

Alone I am, again, I’m left in bane.

So many days have gone by,

Since a person to said to me “hi”.

All I can do is watch others from the blinds,

Only able to have conversations in my mind.

I don’t live alone, but she is never there,

To see her there is something quite rare.

To busy to even call to make sure I’m not dead,

I wonder, what if I made myself bled.

Though the idea always in my thoughts,

The loved I’d gain would be ersatz.

Instead I listen to my music and TV,

Drowning all the thoughts of she.

I’ve become so accustom to solitary,

That being with others makes me wary.

She wants me to be more involved in her life,

But doing so now gives me so much strife.

I embrace my solitude and all of it’s melancholy,

I now reject everything that make me folly.

 

Loneliness My Personal Life Poetry

A Good Way To Die

I’ll never understand why people think death is bad,

When I die it’ll be the best day I’ve ever had.

Finally being able to end my melancholic life,

It excites me thinking of the end of the strife.

I know there are some who think it’s wrong,

But I think suicide is as nice as a bird’s song.

Being able to choose the way you die,

Is something everyone should get, girl or guy.

For doing so they say I’ll rot in hell,

But The Devil is someone I can easily quell.

After all the misery that she put me through,

So say what you want until your face turns blue.

I’m my own person and I can do as I please,

To kill myself is as easy as a breeze.

Death My Personal Life Poetry Supernatural

Tiresome Tears

In my youth I always cried easily,

I’d cry until I was puffy and wheezily.

I’d cry over toys to over my sister,

The tears in my eyes always seemed to glister.

So many tears I’ve cried in my youth,

No one ever thought it was worth to sleuth.

 

Now as I’m a newly-born adult,

My conscious reveals to me it’s occult.

With the help of my mother and her neglect,

I have now firgured out why I’m always a wreck.

Always alone and always put last,

All of these emotional flaws have amassed.

Now the littlest things can make me cry,

From a homeless man to not having pie.

 

The saddest part is that she doesn’t know,

All the mental anguish she always bestows.

She keeps on living happily and fully,

Not knowing that in my mind she’s a bully.

So I cry more everytime she denies me love,

Until a day when my blood covers my hand like a glove.

Emotional Graphic Loneliness My Personal Life Pain Poetry

Sleep

My mind is always going,

Wether I’m depressed or glowing.

It’s overanalizing everything I hear,

Making me wish I’d just disappear.

It’s second-guessing all my decisions,

And wariness of all in my visions.

It never stops, never ever.

It drives me into insanity,

But, there’s one thing that saves my humanity.

A thing that everyone does everyday,

A simple thing called sleep keeps my mind a bay.

God, how I love sleep,

It make me not feel like a sheep.

I can forget every problem without a care,

In my dreams my true colors can flare.

Those good night sleeps are the only time,

That I am sincerely happy for a quicktime.

 

 

 

 

 

My Personal Life Poetry