Anger
I’m Furious
But words can’t describe what I’m feeling now.
The sheer frustration cuts through me like a blunt knife, too cowardly to take it’s annoyance to the seguinte level.
It stays, inkling away at me, making me feel mais hopeless every second.
Hopeless, because the mais this white anger burns away at me the mais I want to hurt something.
But the mais I destroy, the mais they seem to mock me.
I beat my face as hard as I can, but I have been numbed por my rage.
I run outside and scream as loud as I can. I curse. Words have failed me. I am at the mercy of filth.
I look for things to ruin. I grab at things, and tear whatever will enviar under my desperate claws.
Everything has gone wrong. It always does.
I’m a failure.
Every bad memory comes flooding back to me, bringing me dry sadness.
I wait for tears to come, but even they fail me.
At least if I cried this toxic nuvem would release its rain, and I would be rid of it until seguinte time.
I wield strength and power from this beast they call anger, but I can’t control it.
It throbs from underneath my skin.
I try to release it but nothing helps, bring me to a level of hopelessness I never though possible.
I scream at my friends, I want them to hate me. Then I can hate myself.
But their comforting words and smile just makes them seem further away. Make me lonelier.
I try to release to anger once mais and fail miserably.
Just as I begin to drown into a sea of uselessness, I realize something.
Beautiful, poetic words suddenly come to me.
The poesia that seems to go hand in hand with experience.
I no longer feel a failure, even though the nuvem of anger stays.
The ocean of white fury still remains, but at least I have surfaced.
I still hate the world. But the world had seemed to take pity and had given something back. Something I never thought I had.
We all succumb to the beast of anger. And I knew he would always follow me, waiting for the right moment to sever me with its frustrating dagger.
So what do I do about it?
I write.
I’m Furious
But words can’t describe what I’m feeling now.
The sheer frustration cuts through me like a blunt knife, too cowardly to take it’s annoyance to the seguinte level.
It stays, inkling away at me, making me feel mais hopeless every second.
Hopeless, because the mais this white anger burns away at me the mais I want to hurt something.
But the mais I destroy, the mais they seem to mock me.
I beat my face as hard as I can, but I have been numbed por my rage.
I run outside and scream as loud as I can. I curse. Words have failed me. I am at the mercy of filth.
I look for things to ruin. I grab at things, and tear whatever will enviar under my desperate claws.
Everything has gone wrong. It always does.
I’m a failure.
Every bad memory comes flooding back to me, bringing me dry sadness.
I wait for tears to come, but even they fail me.
At least if I cried this toxic nuvem would release its rain, and I would be rid of it until seguinte time.
I wield strength and power from this beast they call anger, but I can’t control it.
It throbs from underneath my skin.
I try to release it but nothing helps, bring me to a level of hopelessness I never though possible.
I scream at my friends, I want them to hate me. Then I can hate myself.
But their comforting words and smile just makes them seem further away. Make me lonelier.
I try to release to anger once mais and fail miserably.
Just as I begin to drown into a sea of uselessness, I realize something.
Beautiful, poetic words suddenly come to me.
The poesia that seems to go hand in hand with experience.
I no longer feel a failure, even though the nuvem of anger stays.
The ocean of white fury still remains, but at least I have surfaced.
I still hate the world. But the world had seemed to take pity and had given something back. Something I never thought I had.
We all succumb to the beast of anger. And I knew he would always follow me, waiting for the right moment to sever me with its frustrating dagger.
So what do I do about it?
I write.
Author's Note: "Look, now I am going to tell you a story of the life of Rosemary Vega a.k.a me."
I am 11 years old.
My birthday is on March 25.
I am very talented at composição literária stories, cantar like famous people (example: Shakira, Selena Gomez, Demi Lovato and Lady Gaga) I amor to act!
When I grow up I want to be singer or a voice actress.
I am interested in estrela Wars, Pokemon, Everybody Hates Chris and George Lopez.
My favorito pokemon are: Jirachi, Roserade, Mismagious and Meganium.
I was born in Wilson, North Carolina.
Thank you for giving me your time to read this article! :D
I am 11 years old.
My birthday is on March 25.
I am very talented at composição literária stories, cantar like famous people (example: Shakira, Selena Gomez, Demi Lovato and Lady Gaga) I amor to act!
When I grow up I want to be singer or a voice actress.
I am interested in estrela Wars, Pokemon, Everybody Hates Chris and George Lopez.
My favorito pokemon are: Jirachi, Roserade, Mismagious and Meganium.
I was born in Wilson, North Carolina.
Thank you for giving me your time to read this article! :D
Alone!
There once was a girl who biked and ran
with her best friend who had a bright laranja tan
But then one dia she when biking alone
and thats when she fell along way from home.
She lay still on the ground
not makeing a sound,and thats when she found
that she could not talk
let alone walk
As she slowly made her way home
she wished that she had a phone
so she could call for help
insted of put up with the pain that made her yelp.
She pushed her bike down the dusty track
with a sore haed and an acking back
Then she came to the place where her and her best friend met
just as the sun was begining to set
The seguinte dia at school she was no where in sight
which gave her best frined a very big fright
but she was a início tucked up in bed
with a sore leg and an acking head
Thats when she remebered what her best friend had said
about not going out bikeing alone
along way from home.
What do you think?(I think it is very bad) and sorry of the spelling.
There once was a girl who biked and ran
with her best friend who had a bright laranja tan
But then one dia she when biking alone
and thats when she fell along way from home.
She lay still on the ground
not makeing a sound,and thats when she found
that she could not talk
let alone walk
As she slowly made her way home
she wished that she had a phone
so she could call for help
insted of put up with the pain that made her yelp.
She pushed her bike down the dusty track
with a sore haed and an acking back
Then she came to the place where her and her best friend met
just as the sun was begining to set
The seguinte dia at school she was no where in sight
which gave her best frined a very big fright
but she was a início tucked up in bed
with a sore leg and an acking head
Thats when she remebered what her best friend had said
about not going out bikeing alone
along way from home.
What do you think?(I think it is very bad) and sorry of the spelling.