Scattered Through The Pages

Standard

Looking through my own journals I’m overcome with waves of emotion from the last few years. Hate, love, sorrow, hope and exhaustion plagued the workings of my mind so forcefully and so thoroughly. I feel so much in such a little slice of time that I find myself nearing the self destruct button over and over and over again.

Let’s be honest, some of the entries here, let alone my personal journal frustrate me in their lack of or over absorption of depth. That’s okay though. It’s personal growth. Inner evolution, if you will. I can accept my useless blabber because I understand it differently.

I remember feeling so incredibly down for such a long period of time that I just could not take it. I suffered horribly and mostly silently. It was only through half suppressed tears and scribbles on paper that it showed. If my journals could talk they would probably tell you that my words simply screamed ‘help me’ across each and every page.

Like i said though, it wasn’t all bad. I had moments of hype, moments of absolute bliss. They inevitably came crashing down harshly around me, but they were there.

I’m not sure why I’m saying any of this, or if any of you care, but I just felt like I needed to. I needed to get a few thoughts out there.

 

Angelina Rosa, writing diligently for you, Writingdilegently

Advertisements

To That Shady Girl

Standard

There we stood: Face to face on that date

Ready to launch attack in this debate.

I had my pros while you felt your cons.

We both tied poems to the facts we lit,

And to catch fire to the words you spit,

You pulled from quotes with power but no relevance,

And so I looked poorly towards your deliverance.

You see, from my mouth flows words not stolen from another

And from that alone you should call me mother-

Goose.

For, when its needed, I can catch a rhyme

And call my quote all mine every time.

 

– Angelina Rosa

Diligently Writing for you, WritingDilegently

School is for learning

Standard

School is for learning
Or at least that’s what I’ve been taught
You go there to Learn about math
And history
And science
And people
And yourself.
So why when I have look for colleges
And further my schooling
Do I have to search
With a career base in mind?
We’ve forgotten that school
Is a place to excite our minds
And not just get that degree
That gives us a possibility
Of a good paying job.
I want to go to college.
But not just because I’m more likely to be hired
If I have a high flyer degree.
I want to go to school to learn.
That’s what its for right?

– Writingdilegently

Turn back

Standard

Why would you turn back
To someone who only brought you pain
When with them you had your darkest days?
What is the point when you know its better
To stand alone
Than to have someone stab you
Both in the heart
And with a shining blade
You think you need one thing
But you know you cannot fit a standard.
I’m lost about that.
Lost about your choices.

– Writingdilegently

Love is love

Standard

Love is love
Even when its not.
When its burning past your
Depth of perception
Or past your limit of right and wrong.
Love makes the whole of everything.
Even if it makes your blood boil
And your skin hot.
Especially when it makes you bold
And relentless.
Even if the eyes of those around you
Mark it as forbidden.

Author’s note: this came from the beginning of a line I wrote today in English class, that poem is original, but the thought that it comes from showed up a lot in our reading.

– Writingdilegently

Standard

Love is love
Even when its not.
When its burning past your
Depth of perception
Or past your limit of right and wrong.
Love makes the whole of everything.
Even if it makes your blood boil
And your skin hot.
Especially when it makes you bold
And relentless.
Even if the eyes of those around you
Mark it as forbidden.

Author’s note: this came from the beginning of a line I wrote today in English class, that poem is original, but the thought that it comes from showed up a lot in our reading.

– Writingdilegently

You can’t have

Standard

You seem to want so much
A listening ear
A hand to hold
A heart to beat
But what you fail to see
Is that you can’t get it
From me
I could try to give it
But our frequencies won’t allow for it
You’ll keep pushing it back to me
Twice as hard as I try to offer it
So fine I’ll stop trying
Because there is no use in giving
If it isn’t actually wanted

– Writingdilegently