Emo Kids Who Write Poems

INTRODUCTION

This is a book of poems that I think are morbid but beautiful in their own right. I am writing this book with my fellow dark poetry writer Jamie Laney. The poem or quote sections with (Jamie) before the name of the poem or quote section are poems she wrote or quotes she found. I write poems to solidify the darkness and turn it into light, and Jamie writes poems to make others feel her pain. Now, the quotes, we just find them on google and pick out ones we like. All of them add to the components of our insanity. AHAHAHAHAHA! Is this not normal? TRICK QUESTION!!!!! Normal doesn't exist. I am beautifully tragic. I am beautifully insane. I am a Beautiful Dreamer dreaming dreams of destruction and pain.

Dear Reader.

I am lost, lost in my sorrows. Drowning, drowning in a sea of red.

I am my only companion, and I don't want to be

I don't want to be me.

Questions place confusion in my mind. I ask myself answerless questions that I don't understand.

What am I?

Who am I?

Why am I hurting?

What am I?

Who am I?

Why am I here?

What am I?

Who am I?

Why am I breathing?

WHY AM I NOTHING???

Nothing but a voice into the wind. A scream in a chorus of moans. A corpse in a graveyard.

A demon sitting among angels.

I am eternal night, darkness, hatred, and sorrow. I am Maya, and a poet.

Sometime people don't care about the hate and the message that I relay, but I DO. The hatred of others drove me into the ground six feet deep.

Buried.

Unfeeling.

But awake and not asleep I lie, thinking about my future, which would have dissipated if my plan had come to pass.

My vision slowly fading.

My life flashing by.

My heart is slowing down as I cry "I am done!"

NO!

It didn't happen.

But even still I am lost in this haze we have created and the Hell that is my life.

I don't know what to think.

I don't know how to feel.

I don't know where compassion has gone!

I don't care where I'm going, as long as it's away!

Away from the screams.

Away from the pain.

I either die and go to hell or continue to live in it because I guess this is it.

This is the end for me!

I'm sorry, but this is how it has to be.

Now I go to sleep. This way I won't suffer any longer.

Dear reader,

I say

GOODBYE.

When the Bells Ring.

When the bells ring, I'll still be standing here, backed by the wind and faced with my fears. But today, I will stand here no longer. I will feel the rain on my face, mingled with my salty tears. Then you will come along to ease the pain with your gentle words and your laughter. I try to run from the sorrow, but it always catches up with me. When the bells ring, I'll be waiting, waiting for the resolve to fight my fears and face the reality of who I am and what I've done. But tonight, I will run through this darkness to my heart's desire to dissolve into the earth and never resurface. I will end six feet underground, buried alive beneath my heart ache and pain. And you, you won't come to visit me anymore. When the bells ring, it will be signaling my undoing. The bells will be the last thing I ever hear, my tears the last thing I will ever see, and my body shattering on the ground from up high the last thing I will ever feel. But I won't be gone, for you will have memories. You will forget me soon, for you won't see me anymore. You won't have to deal with me anymore. For I was just an annoyance to you, seeing as you would rarely give me more than a few minutes time to speak with you. You didn't care, not truly, because if you did, you would not have left me for dead when you saw how much pain I was in. Well now, you are dead to me, as I am dead to the world. As I sat there and died on the inside, you just stood and watched. Well now, I will rot six feet underground and burn for all eternity in hell for what I've done, and I would not wish my fate upon anyone else. I would not want anyone to feel what I've felt everyday for the past seven years, PURE BITTER HATRED. Well, this is it. Now I jump. Goodbye.

That Little Girl is Gone.

A distant memory tugs at my consciousness. A little girl, six years old, is sitting in a tree. She wears a bright smile on her face, though upon closer inspection you can see something is wrong. Her face looks weary and tired, and appears much older than six. Her eyes look shattered and guarded, afraid to show too much emotion. This is because for the past two years of her life, this child has been abused, raped, and beaten every day. Every single day for two years. Can you only imagine her fear? Her anger? Her pain? Her hatred of her parents and of her abuser kept her going, as all hopes of escape have long since disappeared. She hated her father for leaving her. She hated her mother for not believing her. She hated the world for being so messed up. She hated God for ignoring her. She hated her cousin most, for abusing her. Fast forward one year. The little girl is now seven years old. The abuse has continued and has become ten times worse. She has lost control of her life, and in an attempt to regain control, she begins to abuse her four year old younger sister while her abuser continues relentlessly. Four years pass, and the cycle has become routine. The older sister is now eleven. Every time she is abused, she in turn abuses her younger sister, who is now eight. One day, the older sister is separated from her younger sister and abuser. That little girl will forever remember the day she was told that abuse was wrong and how she responded. She thought "why me! I thought this happened to everyone!" Four more years pass, and the older sister is now living in her father's care. Now fifteen, she sits at a table with an open notebook, her arms covered in all of the scars and cuts she has made because of the need to feel the pain and see the blood on her skin. She sits there, vainly trying to write away the pain that she knows will never fully go away, only lessen as the years pass by. That little girl will forever remember the day she was told that abuse was wrong and how she responded. She thought "why me! I thought this happened to everyone! "One more thing, I was that little girl. Now that I am fifteen I have attempted suicide twenty five times in the past four and a half years. I have little confidence as a result of my childhood abuse. I've never truly written my entire story before today. I am Maya Ariana Shelton, and I am a survivor, but still everyday I struggle. Still everyday I am mocked and laughed at for being different. But if you had been through half of the bullshit that I've been through, you'd be lucky if you were still sane, let alone normal. So, you need to think before you mess with someone. You have no idea what goes on in their lives outside of how you see them.

They say they understand…

They say they understand what it's like. But do you know how it feels to die? Do you know how it feels to give up on your desires and your future? They all say they understand, but no... Do you know what it's like to be raped every day and when your abuser tires of you, he leaves you to die?

They say they understand... But do they know what it feels like to drown, to die, to go to Hell and come back only for your family and your friends but not for yourself?

NO!!!!!

They don't understand!!!! And I'm pissed that you say that you do. I died last year...On today...At the turning of the days. They do not know what it's like to drown in your own lungs... your own body... to be weightless... then to be yanked back to life only to painfully re-fuse to your physical body and be weighed down by flesh and bone and blood running through your veins yet again.

On that night, the liquid was drained from my lungs and my heart was given a jumpstart, kickstart, go. Oh, didn't you know that I died? I thought you said that you understood all and knew all Well, I committed suicide and was given another life. Why? I don't know.......

This is why I am a necromancer. Because I overcame death itself and I went to hell because of how I died. I stayed there for three days in the fiery pit of despair that Hell is, where you relive your worst memories every single day. And they wouldn't let me go...But I fought...And I won. That is how come I've got some wolf's blood running through my veins... With the blood of a warrior and the status of a princess I stand up after throwing it all away a year ago...

The memory of my death causing ripples in the river of time. The princess' death... causing an everlasting... ever growing... ever disturbing ripple in the fabric of time. I'm a paradox... Don't you see? My death caused a paradox, a rip in the fabric of time, a disturbance in the way the universe works.

It should not be possible that I am living and breathing, but I am. I don't know how or why. I don't care about how or why. All I know is that I was given a second chance, and I'm going to take it and run with it.

But even now that I know this I still cut into my skin, trying to forget old pain by creating new and leaving scars. I cut-cut my flesh away until there isn't anything that I feel but the pain and the blood running out of my veins down my arms only to drip into the river of tears at my feet.

I run run run, jump the gun, go insane because of the rumors and the lies spreading like a poison through the people I despise. Their whispers and their words only turns to my silent prayer and a gun held up to my head as a shot in the night rings out loud and clear.

A gunshot ringing in your ears for forever and a day, a reminder of a young life gone, a sweet and kind princess destroyed by her own hand. The angels remember their beautiful child and weep as they watch one of their own, trapped in the Hell of living, take her own life. And as that beautiful child's shattered psyche and ruined soul descend into the depths of Hell to be claimed yet again by the demons who had her soul in chains in the past, I wake yet again from the nightmare that has become my darkest desire and my saddest truth.

I go day by day without a single tear in the presence of others that live to see the liquid pain on my face. I won't ever let them see my weakness ever again. Not after they brought me to my knees and I delivered the finishing blow to my own skull.

As I cut-cut-cut into my flesh and dip the pen into the red ink that comes to the surface of my skin, I write myself a better future on the paper as my imagination goes insane. The reason I am alive is so that I can lead the pack behind me. As they follow the silver elk with the wolf's blood running through her veins. As they follow... Me... The princess Eh Deh Moe Sonseh, meaning life without feeling in a tongue long forgotten. I must be strong for my pack... My family... My subjects... MYSELF.