Was a horrible time,

Talk about a messed up child,

Tried the happy pills,

As I hid them in the trash,

I said they didn't help,

To get out her anger,

Well look there goes the wall,

Next the door,

Ouch and the window,

Punching her dad,

Helped the anger,

They never got her the punching bag,

Damn they should have done that,

But well that was childhood,

It comes back ever now and then,

But she as learn to lower the anger,

She normally holds it in now,

Not a good idea on her part,

Oh well,

She will learn one of these days,


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Amberlee Carter's picture

First I want to congratulate you for not being afraid of your voice..however I feel as though I should guide your poetic direction with a few words of wisdom.
there isn't much need of "bad" language when you are only a mere teen..Meaning, it makes you sound like you are something you're not and aspiring to be, but can't quite pull it off yet.

This poem struck me as some what odd because really, you ARE still a child...don't get me wrong, I'm sure you are a growing up and feel very grown up, but the bottom line is, you're really not, so write about stuff you know not what you think you know or like to pretend you know..
Don't take this as being rude, because I'm not being anything of the sort...I think with a little age and a little practice you could become a " poet"
and that is giving you more credit than I do some who are twice your age.


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