The lungs of the world
Exploited and burned
The problem’s unfurled
Yet the cogs turned
The airs useless
The waters poison
Our people’s abuses:
Or species is a parasite
We killed mother earth
It’s over. Goodnight
Know your worth
This wasn’t inevitable
It was bought and sold
By men called reputable
Now the Arctic isn’t cold
The water will rise
The forest will fall
We melted the ice
We harvested all
A corrupt president
Owned by one percent
We had the chance
But not control
Left a barren expanse
And a liquid south pole
This is the story
You’ll tell your kids
When you’re old
You’ll be blamed for this
Humans are a disease
The Apocalypse producer
If we stand idle
There is no future
These walls remember being built from the ground,
From a young mind growing into something profound,
These walls remember the memories suppressed,
Uncomfortable facts too difficult to digest,
These walls remember suddenly being thin,
When you said you loved me and my walls caved in,
These walls remember your face, your name,
But now that you’re gone, I’ll build them up the same.
Crotchets, quavers, minims,
Little black dots on a stave
That when combined, soar.
The language of Mozart,
Of Elgar and Ed Sheeran,
Staring at these little dots,
Deciding how they sound,
Because you have that power.
A thousand people staring on,
The feeling of joy, of control.
And singing, with the adrenaline
And the flow within you
And those who listen and wonder
And in music find beauty.
On stage, I see them all,
The lovers, the haters,
Those who have no feeling in their soul,
Who know not what it is to soar
Above the swell of the orchestra
Or sing in union with the choir,
For whom those little black dots
Will never be more than little black dots.
And I pity them for it, for
They know not beauty.
Music is in my soul,
With it I speak,
And with it I am heard.
Take this hurt
Take this blame
Take the fall and
Take the blame.
Take this grief and
Take the pain
Take no joy and
Give no pain
Take the insults
Give no tears
Take our problems
Take our fears
Take this weight and
Take this knife
Give us your soul.
Give us your life.
In a World
He grew up in a system that he didn’t fit in
He was taught that because he found certain things hard he was retarded
They gave his difficulties labels which made them unconquerable
It was as if they wanted him to give up, but he never did
He chugged through schoolwork that he would never use
Slowly he grew tired of how useless it all was
He dreamed of building a world where his actual skills would be developed
He dreamed of tearing down the old system, but he never did
He was held back by the faults he wanted to fix
It was just another time the schools and governments had failed him
The norms of an old system broke down his hopes
He wanted to live in a world that suited everyone, but he never did
Don’t judge a book by its cover.
Life is better than hate
Life is too short to waste opportunities
You have the chance to take
One day you could be alive and the next you could be dead
So keep your head held high with a big smile
Go to Hogwarts they told me
It will be the best years of your life
You’ll love it
And I did, for a while
But now I need to learn
Subjects I will never need when I am over 18
While being hounded by demons from hell
The Plight of How I Write
Roses are red…
You get the gist,
I don’t even know why I’m doing this,
What do I write about? Is there a theme?
Is there a subject, hope or dream?
How do I write this without being sad?
Depressing poems are most likely bad.
Can’t write up something about mental health,
Can’t make a show off about having wealth,
It’s not only because I really just don’t,
It’s just a bit personal, more like I won’t,
Now I realise how the irony is real,
Because I’m giving bits about what I feel,
How should I make something that will stand out?
Not looking for massive fame, or even clout,
I just want something to make myself known,
Not for a kid feeling oh so alone.
I want to be a good writer you see,
But I must conform to this society, so
Roses are Red,
Violets are Blue.
I am conforming.
How about you?
I Don’t Like
I don’t like the system
Or following rules
Rules are for fools, and they’re written by tools
I’ll do my own thing, and no one can stop me
It is my life
And I’m going to live it my way
I want to be knowledgeable from fruitful experiences.
And cultured from travel
But I want to be free
Whatever it be
After a Long Day
After a long day of school,
I love nothing more than going home,
And slumping down onto the couch,
With my feet up on the table and turning on the TV,
It is pure bliss.
I would let myself in and throw my schoolbag on the floor,
Make a sandwich and sit in front of the TV,
I would grasp the TV remote in my hand
As if my life depended on it and that is when
I get the feeling of complete relaxation,
At last I am finally at home.
Whose footballer is that? I think I know.
Its owner is quite happy though.
Full of joy like a vivid rainbow,
I watch him laugh. I cry hello.
He gives his footballer a shake,
And laughs until her belly aches.
The only other sound is the break,
Of distant waves and birds awake.
The footballer is fast, skilful and deep,
But he has promises to keep,
After cake and lots of sleep.
Sweet dreams come to him cheap.
He rises from his gentle bed,
With thoughts of kittens in his head,
He eats his jam with lots of bread.
Ready for the day ahead.
CROUCH, you hear all the players panting,
TOUCH, you hear all the players panting and grunting,
SET, you hear all the players panting, grunting
And you hear the full force and the thud of contact,
ENGAGE, the armies in their colours and crests push,
All you can hear is the cheers of the audience.
Roses are red, violets are blue
I don’t like the school system,
But I like school
People think others are cool
But the food isn’t great
To be fair, sometimes I hate…
Some teachers annoy me
But there’s two sides to every story
Run little boy,
May your legs save your soul,
Before the darkness closes in,
And the anger takes control,
Hide little boy,
Don’t let them see you weak,
Keep it steady,
Don’t lose control,
They’ll see you as a freak.
Escape little boy,
This is looking like the end,
Don’t be afraid,
I’m here for you,
I won’t let go, my friend.
Sleep little boy,
As the light leaves your eyes,
I hope and pray,
I hope someday,
We see the morning sunrise.
What is a life
But a fleeting vision
Of an eternal struggle
With infinite decisions?
What is a soul
But a piece of heart
That takes a host
But still falls apart?
What is a friend?
But a saddening comfort
For your final days
When we are all gone?
And what am I
But a horrid creature?
I’m an unorthodox enigma,
A puzzle never solved,
A crazy coded character
That has little resolve,
Yet tries his best to joke and jest
And make the people laugh,
Because being the idiot
Has always been my craft,
The one that you can make fun of
When life has got you down,
Old Stevie boy, the public’s toy!
Your own personal clown,
The sad clown act has got me cracked
I’m starting to wear out,
I can’t keep joking, being stupid,
I’m drowning in this doubt,
If I have to keep up this act
I think that I’ll just break,
I’m trying to weigh up the pros
But what’s really at stake?
I’m trapped inside a space filled to the brim with this insanity,
And underneath the funny jokes and casual profanity
Is me trying to run away while floors are crumbling under me
Until I fall into the void, my world now torn asunder
See I try to hide the pain with smiles and being quite a quirky guy
Because who wants to be a friend to someone who just wants to die?
I make sure that they never see but sometimes I just break
and I don’t really know what else to, I just do my best not to cry.
It’ just a poem
Nobody is going to think about your past
When you write about a heart that broke man
I mean in that moment
When they read your poem
All they gonna notice
Is what you wrote
– your notes
If there is one class I have always hated it would be English.
The reason for this is that I have always been bad at writing
About things I have little or no interest in.
When I am given something to write about that I care about
I can write for hours on end
But the if I am given something to write about that I don’t care about
I would have trouble writing about it
And then I would get in trouble for not writing enough
When I actually can’t write any more.
I just find this unfair when I am expected to write the same amount.
I’ve been to the dentist a few times’
So I knew the drill.
I was perplexed because I didn’t feel ill
He sat me down on a hard leather seat at told me “open wide”
As he inspected my teeth
He told me “you might feel a prick”
As a needle went in my mouth.
Ironic I need a filling but it’s a hole that needs drilling.
I won’t stop brushing my teeth any more.
Fitness I lack because I enjoy a snack for I find that an aphrodisiac
Hot dog eating contest, can I get a witness for this competition is better than any physical fitness
I don’t run from sports but don’t get picked because I forgot my shorts
Eating is comfort and I’m all about that, until I put on weight and somebody calls me fat
He can’t fit through the door I hear from the hallway of my school
Definitely think that I am quiet cool, drinking and smoking I am not about that
But cover my potatoes in goose fat, how about that
I have a bicycle,
It is black,
It has big wheels,
And I go fast,
Cycling under the sun,
Quicker than the wind,
Fast over the finish line for a big fat cheque.