a little something i found under my bed :3

     I found this piece of paper underneath my bed in a binder of some old writing; I used to write a lot, like stories, random thoughts, and poems... well, this is one of the random thought type things that I wrote, along with two descriptive paragraphs that I read when I found the paper, my reaction "Damn, I can write good!" anyways, yeah, here it is:

August 28, 2011

     I love writing poems. They are a story all their own. Whether important or not, they are poems; my poems, my stories.

     My poems, yes, they are stupid. But people relate to stupid. For example; my poem about being bored and being so blinded by boredom that the unmentioned character of the poem has even lost their way to the bathroom. See, that's stupid. But people thought it was hilarious. Probably because poems are put off to society as a more refined art. The kind of art that only the 1st-class-china-tea-cup-set, parlor-room kind of people do or read. But in fact - for those of you who think that, no. Poems are an anybody's-cup-of-tea kind of thing. And they can be about anything.

     See, when i was younger I thought that poems were the 1st-class-china-tea-cup-set, parlor-room kind of sport. I thought they had to be serious and had to rhyme or match in syllables, which was too much work than I was interested in. Instead, it's only your thoughts and feelings and such. Just in the shorter version. it's like that saying; "Mathematicians always take short-cuts" well, so do poets (but they know more words than mathematicians I assume...).

     Anyways. Poetry is easy. Just get to the point. Don't drone on and bore your reader with unnecessary details. And be straight up with them right there. Be yourself, on paper and off; That's what makes a great writer. Now I'm gonna go brush my teeth.

~

     "I didn't steal that cookie" she said as innocently as she could. But no matter what she said, her mother wasn't going to believe her. For an evident reason; the chocolate cookie crumbs that still rested on her daughters cheeks that she must have been saving for later.

~

     The chair squeaked under the pressure of all their thoughts. Her leg bounced up and down nervously as she waited with the others. She looked around; yes, they too were looking just as nervous as she felt. Staring off into space as they held the outdated magazines up to their faces as if they were actually reading it. But they were mindless; just as nervous as her, and for that, she felt a little less alone in the big cruel world.