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CHRONICLES OF A TEENAGE POET

Novel By: TemplarBard
Other



Story of a teenage poet, not a teenage wonder kid, but a Teen who makes mistakes, and sometimes not understandably, story of my life really.! View table of contents...


Chapters:

1

Submitted:Jan 17, 2007    Reads: 94    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


CHRONICLES OF A TEENAGE POET Chapter OneMy Life Is OVER!

Slam the door, and slam on the bed, head in my hands, silence for a short while, then a cleansing breath and a roll, eyes open then the thoughts flow. You wouldn't believe what happened today! Shouting strongly in my head, while staring at the white swirl ceiling, At school, I'm sitting silently, like a fucking angel for a change, and the teacher has the nerve to come over and take me on, while the others' chatting away get nothing, NOTHING! You just can't win! Finishing the thought with a nod, then more pure silence, the silver television in the corner hums silently in stand-by, and the stereo's red light shines back at my eyes. Always it's the little things that elude me, the little un-important things that really make me feel stressed or annoyed, just waiting for that big thing to spark them all off. Rejoicing in the conversation with myself, I roll over to collect a piece of paper from my desk, I retract a pen from my school blazer, hung on the back of my door. I return to the paper and begin to write.

Will I feel peace
Will I feel love
Will I feel all of the above
I wouldn't think so

Can I laugh
Can I smile
Even for a little while
I wouldn't think so

Could I dance
Could I sing
Or do a happy thing
I wouldn't think so

Time just rolls on by
And I stand true, I cannot cry
Emotion is barred although I try
To say it's true, I mustn't lie

My spirit cannot stay together
This pain will last forever
But with a heavy heart I linger on
Knowing that others want me gone

I scribble down the end of my poem, thinking of a title for it, nothing really fits it I think inside, thinking names like, sadness, or snow, nothing I think makes sense to the poem I've written, flashing back to me, I remembered English earlier, The only thing I can do, English I remembered about oxymoron's, and a name strikes my mind, I put my pen to the top of the page and scribble down Black Tulip.

Happy with the piece I leave it on the desk, and sit back down on the bed, feeling light, I suddenly reach into my pocket and take out my mobile, thinking I felt a vibration, but no, the screen shines back lifelessly, and the messages inbox indicates a black zero, no new messages, Lonely bastard I think to myself, drawing a smile on my lips, without thinking about that at all.





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