The same routine until I’m eighteen
No timeouts, day in day out
Always stifling a shout
About the injustice
The thought of study disgusts us
Forced to follow hypocritical rules
They don’t realise it’s cruel
To echo the same routine
Everyday ’til I’m eighteen.
I Am Grey
This world has labels, too many labels
you have to fall somewhere on a chart
When it comes to abilities, if you’re not able
You’re not smart.
How do you swing? Which way?
Are you Pan or Bi?
Straight or gay?
Girls or guys?
But maybe I don’t know
Maybe I’m confused
Which labels do I show?
I don’t want one, I refuse!
I won’t fall into line
To the rules, I say
This choice is all mine
I’m not black or white, I’m grey.
Takes us down to reality of frozen, black morning
Boils the kettle
Peck on cheek, moves out swiftly
Start the engine
Bound for the sky and stars
To raise us to the moon
The never ending routine of come go come
Start the engine
Lunch, for the love of God he forgot I don’t like ham
With the crusts lovingly cast away
And the fruit I’m allergic to
Start the engine
Bound for my sofa
Back arched, stumble
Look left and right, again and he’s there
We smile, turn the key
Start the engine.
And travel the same old road over and over again
Nobody at Home
They were always there for him but never when he needed it
They say they loved him but they never put it to practice
Because to him words aren’t good enough
And words are just lies that have yet to come out
And the lies are plays put on by the actors who call him a friend
But he saw through the fog and the smog
The teachers don’t care when he gives his excuse
As to why he didn’t do his homework for the third time this week,
But he got stuck in more ways than one,
Stuck in more ways than his knowledge of how to answer question one
Because he has nobody to ask at home because
Dad is gone and mum is never home
He’s left to fend for himself and the baby his mum didn’t want and doesn’t care about
After a one night stand went
Why is it that we feel alone
Even in a crowd or at home
Surrounded by support
We feel like we’ve fallen short
Our thoughts and feelings pushed away
Through the doorway
Out to deal and cope
We pass our life with milestones
Birthdays, holidays and school plays
Nowadays we are under pressure
To appreciate the world around us
But yet we feel isolated and hold out on conformation
To post our thoughts on Facebook
Hundreds of online friends
Where there’s no revealing the feeling of being alone.
I am fat. I know this for a fact.
With the way some look at me, I think negativity.
But being fat isn’t always bad.
My brain is fat, full of knowledge.
My heart is fat, full of emotion and compassion.
However, I am also extremely skinny.
Skinny when it comes to racism, I am not against Judaism.
Skinny when it comes to homophobia, that’s not my phobia.
Fat may be seen as a negative thing,
But I would rather be fat,
Then a negative rat.
I’m scared of teachers, the pressure of doing well.
I’m scared of long silences, glancing looks,
Disappointing my parents as well.
I’m scared of the future, how will I do?
I’m scared of my thoughts, sometimes my words too.
This is dedicated to my friends,
I’m only here because of you.
Everyone thought that they were Van Gogh,
They drew their family with twistables, that’s how you would’ve known-
I always asked to use them, but I’ll always hear the solemn, “NO”.
But they didn’t know I had colours too.
Everything I saw was more colourful than what they drew,
Grass more brighter than a bottle of mountain dew.
But a rejection of friendliness didn’t bother me.
A plastic bag as a pencil case filled with broken colours didn’t defy talent.
As long as you had something in your heart that would break away the hatred, jealousy and prejudice amongst the present air-
Then something that feared you would now be something mere.
And as the starry night came upon me, as I slept so tight with my little bear-
Somewhere up there, a star wouldn’t really care if it was alone
Because all it has to do, is shine a little light to guide people through,
Something that I will only look up to.
I don’t understand why popularity exists,
For it does not show ability,
For she could do it brilliantly
She played the timpani
And that made her appear differently
But because that makes her herself
It’s not expressed
As she would be distressed
From worries of bereft
Because popularity has her so obsessed.
There is no Cupid
No matter what I do or what I say,
Nothing changes from day to day.
An ever-growing fixation
Adds to daily frustration
Calling herself an “egg”
Yet she doesn’t see me beg
No balls to tell her
Always starting to cower.
In the end she says “we’re just friends”
You’d think then it would come to an end
Making me feel worse
I feel so fucking stupid
I let myself believe in a cupid
Divergent Fan Poem
He was born into uniformity
In grey clothes like everyone else
Taught to be selfless, kind and quiet
Never to express himself
That his moments of rebellion were wrong
He had to hide his emotion when it happened
Hide behind closed curtains
Hide away from the eyes that pitied his loss
Hide from his father’s belt
From the closet upstairs
She was born into the same ”kind” world
Always hiding her true wants
Always thinking of others
But she never fit in like her sibling who belonged
They left their homes in search of a place
Another faction where they would fit in
And they found one.
But they were born into a lie
Factions created by others
Made to fit into one group
Taught that individuality was wrong.
That they must supress other qualities
So they left
Went beyond the wall
Fought for their beliefs, their city, their people
They knew they mattered
They deserved the truth and to live happily
Where everyone can be what they want.
She gave her life for him, her people
For what she thought was right.