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Literature Text
"Why do you cry over such the littlest things?"
They ask.
"Why wear dark clothing all the time?"
They ask.
"Why must you bleed yourself all the time, you pain loving freak!"
They say.
"Wouldn't you too if you were put down,
Had shame thrown upon you over anything you do,
And no one there to lend a hand?"
We answer.
"Why bring color into such a sad, sad world?
Do you not see all the pain people endure,
Are you that blind to the light before you?
What if it is just our style?"
We answer.
"Do you not know the suffering we put up with,
Day after day,
Week after week?
We all need a bit of distraction,
And don't think of it as uncommon either,
For I bet many you know have done it as well."
We answer.
Why, why must we be so put down?
Why must society exclude us,
Only because we are different?
Why do people hate what they call "Emos"?
They ask.
"Why wear dark clothing all the time?"
They ask.
"Why must you bleed yourself all the time, you pain loving freak!"
They say.
"Wouldn't you too if you were put down,
Had shame thrown upon you over anything you do,
And no one there to lend a hand?"
We answer.
"Why bring color into such a sad, sad world?
Do you not see all the pain people endure,
Are you that blind to the light before you?
What if it is just our style?"
We answer.
"Do you not know the suffering we put up with,
Day after day,
Week after week?
We all need a bit of distraction,
And don't think of it as uncommon either,
For I bet many you know have done it as well."
We answer.
Why, why must we be so put down?
Why must society exclude us,
Only because we are different?
Why do people hate what they call "Emos"?
Literature
I tried
I tried to count my scars,
But I couldn't tell
Where one began
And another ended.
So I tried to count the cuts,
But I couldn't, because
Blood smeared across my skin,
Connecting them like a thin,
Red veil of pain.
And so I cried.
I cried a single tear, because
When I need to cry,
I can't.
Finally, I sat down,
And put pen to paper,
Or fingers to keys.
And tried to write my emotions.
But I couldn't, because
I don't know how to tell the world
What I feel like,
When I have no right.
I looked from the blood stained tissues,
Across my torn body,
Into my own eyes, reflected perfectly by the mirror before me.
Another tear was p
Literature
Suicidal
Blood flows from our wrists,
Making our hands turn into fists.
We only feel the pain and sorrow,
Have we given up hope for a better tomorrow?
The rope is hanging from the ceiling,
Helping us end that miserable feeling.
The pills are scattered across the floor,
Maybe we need to swallow just one more?
Others might refuse to see the cruelty of life,
While others try to end it by the knife.
Trying to get out of this cruel dream,
Sometimes all we can do is scream.
There are others like you out there,
You might not yet know where.
But they try to overcome it,
That's something not all will admit.
Every one of us needs a helping hand,
Literature
How did you get those scars?
And I asked her,
"Do you remember
why I counted tiles-
sat in silence for hours,
wishing on the black holes
in my pockets?"
Stuttering against quiet delusions,
She bit a vintage tongue.
"Because,
I tried to bury myself alive that night,
just to engrave the taste of rose thorn monsters
between the cracks of my glass skin."
Licking dry lips,
She asked to taste them.
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Overall Vision
Originality Technique ImpactThis critique obviously has feeling put into it, but not much thought; it seems as if the author is completely oblivious to the fact that this poem is only describing the stereotypes of an emo person.
It is screaming, "I have problems! You must feel sorry for me!" and that is exactly what people think emos DO.
The case is, most people who have problems do not dress a certain way to probe for attention. Attention does not help one solve their problems.
The real problem I have with this poem is that it does not prove emos to be more than what they are known for. This is EXACTLY what they are known for, so this poem does not really change any stereotypes.
The writing style, however, is impressive. I love your usage and rhythm, but it could use a little work anyhow.
Overall, I do not like this poem very much. But that is just my opinion.