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 suivant level.
It stays, inkling away at me, making me feel plus hopeless every second.
Hopeless, because the plus this white anger burns away at me the plus I want to hurt something.
But the plus I destroy, the plus they seem to mock me.
I beat my face as hard as I can, but I have been numbed par 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 soumettre 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 nuage would release its rain, and I would be rid of it until suivant 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 plus 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 poésie that seems to go hand in hand with experience.
I no longer feel a failure, even though the nuage 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 donné 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 suivant level.
It stays, inkling away at me, making me feel plus hopeless every second.
Hopeless, because the plus this white anger burns away at me the plus I want to hurt something.
But the plus I destroy, the plus they seem to mock me.
I beat my face as hard as I can, but I have been numbed par 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 soumettre 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 nuage would release its rain, and I would be rid of it until suivant 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 plus 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 poésie that seems to go hand in hand with experience.
I no longer feel a failure, even though the nuage 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 donné 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 toi 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 écriture stories, chant like famous people (example: Shakira, Selena Gomez, Demi Lovato and Lady Gaga) I l’amour to act!
When I grow up I want to be singer ou a voice actress.
I am interested in étoile, star Wars, Pokemon, Everybody Hates Chris and George Lopez.
My favori pokemon are: Jirachi, Roserade, Mismagious and Meganium.
I was born in Wilson, North Carolina.
Thank toi 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 écriture stories, chant like famous people (example: Shakira, Selena Gomez, Demi Lovato and Lady Gaga) I l’amour to act!
When I grow up I want to be singer ou a voice actress.
I am interested in étoile, star Wars, Pokemon, Everybody Hates Chris and George Lopez.
My favori pokemon are: Jirachi, Roserade, Mismagious and Meganium.
I was born in Wilson, North Carolina.
Thank toi 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 orange tan
But then one jour 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 suivant jour at school she was no where in sight
which gave her best frined a very big fright
but she was a accueil tucked up in bed
with a sore leg and an acking head
Thats when she remebered what her best friend had a dit
about not going out bikeing alone
along way from home.
What do toi 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 orange tan
But then one jour 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 suivant jour at school she was no where in sight
which gave her best frined a very big fright
but she was a accueil tucked up in bed
with a sore leg and an acking head
Thats when she remebered what her best friend had a dit
about not going out bikeing alone
along way from home.
What do toi think?(I think it is very bad) and sorry of the spelling.