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So, I was busy in math--I mean, study hall, writing poems today. 3nodding I really liked them, and they got my feelings down more or less how I wanted them to. Critiquing is welcome, as long as it's constructive, and constructive does not mean "OMG N00BITRY!!!!1!!1" Hm. I like that word. N00betry: really sucky poems.

[no title... stare ]
Karate, my outlet for when life is too hard.
Fierce, intense, concentrate my anger toward
imaginary targets, and feel the crash of bones
echoing like ghosts in my ears,
yell and strike and thrown, feel blood
rushing through me like adrenaline,
enjoying my power, letting it take over me.
But I am a pascifist; I hate the
thought of war, violence, hate, fear.
I was silent to remember those who have been silenced.
Then I went and watched them spar, fight with so much intensity,
yelling, screaming, savage, then
at a call they stop, bow, shake hands, hug, joke.
I watched from the sidelines as friends turned into aggressive animals,
forgot all compassion, let their own hatred and anger and frustration
leak out on those they love, show their true colors.
Then I realized that they are like me,
we all are like this, no matter how silent we are.
I let the shower do the crying for me.


^I really like the last line. And yes, this is a true story.^