So I've decided to show the Hive some of my poetry work. It's slightly philosophical (I think that's the word), and most of it doesn't rhyme, but of course that isn't the point of poetry. I believe it's mostly unique and if it gets enough good feedback, I'll put up a couple more.
If I told you a story,
would you listen?
If it's beginning was great,
the middle was perfect,
would you listen?
What if I told you the end?
Her arms were covered in blood.
Would you listen?
Is that a good enough ending for you?
Would you judge?
You focus your attention on the end.
But what really matters,
is the start.
You don't know her story.
So how can you judge?
Here's the middle, her family is dead.
Here's the start, her boyfriend got sick of her.
Here's the end, her arms were covered in blood.
Would you listen?
Would you judge?
Who cares about the characters.
Who cares about the words.
It's not what you read,
it's what you take in.
It's what you believe.
Get over your problems.
No one cares if you have a cold.
There's people who are worse. Much worse.
And they get laughed at everyday.
So what if she covers her arms?
She's only protecting herself.
Think about what you say.
You call her depresso.
You call her names.
You laugh.
You judge.
What about the full story?
Would you listen?
[Note that this was written for an unnameable friend of mine who went through depression at school.]
If I told you a story,
would you listen?
If it's beginning was great,
the middle was perfect,
would you listen?
What if I told you the end?
Her arms were covered in blood.
Would you listen?
Is that a good enough ending for you?
Would you judge?
You focus your attention on the end.
But what really matters,
is the start.
You don't know her story.
So how can you judge?
Here's the middle, her family is dead.
Here's the start, her boyfriend got sick of her.
Here's the end, her arms were covered in blood.
Would you listen?
Would you judge?
Who cares about the characters.
Who cares about the words.
It's not what you read,
it's what you take in.
It's what you believe.
Get over your problems.
No one cares if you have a cold.
There's people who are worse. Much worse.
And they get laughed at everyday.
So what if she covers her arms?
She's only protecting herself.
Think about what you say.
You call her depresso.
You call her names.
You laugh.
You judge.
What about the full story?
Would you listen?
[Note that this was written for an unnameable friend of mine who went through depression at school.]