- When writing past has come to haunt you again . . .
- February 26th, 2009
My mother has been cleaning her apartment and over time she has sent to me my stuff that she's kept over the years. I just got some angsty teen poetry from my and my very first story in middle school.
Reading it makes my teeth itch.
Than again she had a point my middle school story would be a good entry in the worst story ever contest. Thoughts to ponder. Its nice to know that twenty years later I can write better and most the time I get more words spelled right instead of wrong. *cheers*.
I wonder if any one ever reads the "greatest" poetry of their youth and cringe. Oh hey here's a gem of a poem. And for your reading pleasure I will make sure I spell this correctly promise.
My soul bleeds these empty tears
Oh my Lord save me from my blade.
Shame me not for I have only one thing.
How am I to answer these sorry questions of my past hell.
Find me, guide me, make me understand.
Love me, rock me, make me listen.
Please bring me back from sadness, loneliness nights and the dark that smothers me so.
Love lies, a time of peace.
Sing me a sad song.
I cry a sad cry.
Say love, say true, bring me home, bring me home, bring me home to you.
I was so freakin emo. Its a sad sad world really.