Not included is an image of the contents page and dedication page. PS: It was dedicated to my dead dog. Seriously, I am laughing so hard right now I am about to cry.
Here's the cover. Note the spiffy red ribbon binding.
No clue what this was about. Maybe I had just learned about the Holocaust or something.
Hatred like a virus takes a long
time to develop.
Left untreated it can be dangerous
and hard to cure.
It grows bigger and stronger
infecting other victims.
More time passes, it grows
more serious, more powerful.
The final stage is reached it's
hard to be reversed.
The only cure, is time.
This poem is about the girlfriend of the boy I "loved."
She is a beast.
Ripping slowly at my insides,
yet leaving no trace of injury.
Her effects are everlasting
and untreatable.
It hurts to the point where
I want to die.
Yet there is no prescription for
my sickness, no pill, powder or
liquid.
Only her absence makes my
ailment fade.
Oh dear. I am laughing really hard again.
Love is like logic,
it can leave you lost.
But love can also resemble
life,
and leave you lucky.
No clue what this was about...
The window is the gate-
way to the outside world.
It can let in light when
you're sad
or chase the clouds away
when you're happy.
Such a simple pane of
glass has such a hard job.
To change your mood.
Wow. This is about death...pretty dark, but the fish and sun really lighten things up (or not).
I lay on the beach,
the sun beating down
on me.
The tide is slowly
coming in.
At first my feet get
wet, then my legs and
then before I know it
I'm totally submerged.
It is so peaceful
under the water,
with the fish and
coral reefs.
Down here I have no
need for air.
This is where I
belong.
This is where I want
to be.
Feel free to post amazing and embarrassing (or amazingly embarrassing) poems in the comments section below!
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3 comments:
You have so inspired me! I am going to post my Jr. High/ High School soon. As soon as I can dig 'em all out. (Who am I kidding? I know exactly where they are!)
Okay -here's one I have memorized.
A piece of shattered hope
stuck in my heart
like a splinter
time heals the wound
but leaves a scar
proof of a long, cold winter
yet
deep inside
the piece still lies
sealed alive forever.
I think I was 14 for that one. :)
I really dig on the illustration of the clawed hand ripping apart your pre-pubescent heart. It brings the poem to a whole new level-- luv, sissy
My contribution to the embarrassment:
Dear Brother, Dear Brother,
I fear I must tell
Tiny Gloria is dead
And I don't know how.
Dear Sister, Dear Sister,
Do not cry.
We will bury her today
In the sacred woods.
Now Sister sits on the sacred bench
Staring at the grave,
Wondering if Tiny Gloria is happy.
To be fair, I was only 11, specifically had to write in a ballad form, and had a serious melodramatic streak that included holding a funeral for my recently deceased turtle, about whom this poem was written. LOL.
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