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


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

Drip, Drip

Alone she kneels on the ice,

As liquid falls in groups of trice.

The piercing wind consumes her in it’s cold,

But it’s not the reason her emotions are so bold.

Echoes of a sound come from the icy hilltop,

Drip, drip, drop.


Clear and crimson circles in the snow appear,

The perfect blend of vivid and austere.

Her tears aren’t for the pain,

They are for the love she never gained.

She does this for the suffering to stop,

Drip, drip, slop.


A silvery blade in her hand,

Causes the blood to paint the snow that’s so bland.

Everyone tried to help her,

Except the one who could make her as she were.

Now her blood and emotions are in a glop,

Drip, drip, sob.


Her skin turns to the color of the snow,

And her sobbing begins to slow.

Her gray-blue eyes are hidden by her eyelids,

And her breathing is dull like her life is.

Her smile signifies her last yopp,

Drip, drip, plop.



Death Emotional Loneliness My Personal Life Poetry Twisted Meanings


In my brumal world I have everything,

Except for the things that make me zing.

Those things one can’t touch nor see,

Mean everything to me.

I had them once before,

But now they are all like lore.

I hunger for them to be mine again,

So I can remember my zen.

They give me materials to fill the void,

But I want what they’ve destroyed.

Those things that make one feel alive,

The ones that would make me strive.

I hunger for those feelings,

I hunger for the emotions they bring.

Emotions like hope and happiness,

That kept away despair and vileness.

I’d ruin every material I have with a bat,

To once again feel an emotion like that.

Emotional Loneliness My Personal Life Poetry


I was told they watch us all,

Every year from winter to fall.

But I no more believe their lies.

Those angels in the blue skies,

Only watch for the sport,

Laughing as they thwart.

Teasing us with hope,

Then as we need them they elope.

Saving Graces they are claim,

But they won’t even save a dame.

Angels are as cruel as him.

Full of evilness to the brim.



Poetry Supernatural Twisted Meanings