School

Broken leg

Broken leg

By jfarrell

 

I was 7; hit by a car; leg in plaster;

Alone at home, parents at work;

With 50p left me, to get me dinner,

No food in the house.

 

So, off I go to buy me dinner;

A usually 5 minute walk took ages,

Taking me past my school,

Scared of being told off for being outta school

 

I get me cup of soup from the baker’s

And return home

And passing my school

I had to stop, to rest, so tired

 

Spotted by a teacher, dragged into school

Forgot about the day, in school, as I should be.

Arrived home to the mother of all beatings

I’d left the front door open, all that time.

 

I’m 7, leg in plaster, no food in the house

And no bloody key!

What was I suppose to do?

Lock myself out?

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

yep, brains of britain were my parents

School scraps

School scraps

By jfarrell

 

“My dad’s bigger than your dad!”

…... remember that, from school?

When I got home from school,

With cuts and bruises,

I’d get 7-8 slaps and hits, before

…. “Did you hit back?”

 

Once,

I hit back.

Can’t remember what the fight was about.

Jason was a year younger than me,

A neighbour, a friend, on my estate,

On my block.

 

I beat him up;

His two teenage brothers beat me up.

 

Should’ve ended there.

 

After the customary 7-8 punches,

To get me talking,

to get me to ‘share’…

He stops hitting me…

Squares his shoulders…

And storms out! “No-one gangs up on my kid, like that!”

 

I watched a hero, my hero,

Storm off down the balcony

And start hammering on Jason’s door…

“I WANNA WORD…..

“WHAT YOUR KIDS DID TO MY SON….”

…. the door opened….

 

…..I’d never noticed Jason’s dad before…..

….He was short, nose to chest, with my father…

And my father was not tall…

…..SHOUT, SHOUT, SHOUT….

One punch…

My ‘hero’, my dad, out cold.

 

I saw it all there, don’t know how;

7-8 years old;

Dad gets drunk hits wife and kids….

He’ll only hit… stand up to…

People smaller than him….

Coward… but I still feared him.

 

In 3 days I will be 50….

You know what….

I think I should stop fearing him…

After all…

He died over 25 years ago

And I’d seen him only once since I was 14.

 

3 days before 50 I, finally, realise…

I’m better than you…

And always have been!

I may not be the ‘man’ you think of….

Beating up littler kids to make me feel better….

I am MORE…. greater… then you ever were.

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

my dragon's bigger than your dragon ;-)

New Faces

1. Many people ask one's culture-

2. “I'm Hispanic-”, “I am Caucasian”, “I am Asian”...

3. But I'm not African American or Nicaraguan.

4. I am not American nor Southern;

5. I am Otha Grimsley,

6. I am my father.

7. Role model attitude, stern personality.

8. Systematic living, holds his dignity.

9. Never just says, he always does.

10. “Eat right, talk right, walk right.”

11. That's his slogan.

12. His children are his own,

13. He's proud and knows we've grown

14. but we're always Daddy's Babies

15. Even when we're old.

16. Growing up in society,

17. Between two clashing environments.

18. Constantly breaking through harsh words of my peers,

19. And reciting the lectures about being closed-minded,

20. To the obnoxiousness and ignorance,

21. That heavily surrounded me.

22. Not just with my peers,

23. But now with my mother.

24. New marriage, new personality.

25. That seems to be the case.

26. “You were never this way.”

27. For me, she's now pictured and displayed,

28. Like flowers in a new vase,

29. And on a clean canvas,

30. She paints a herself new face.

31. Arguments and miscommunication,

32. One day, the pinnacle of my patience arose.

33. “Why won't you just talk to me? This is your problem!”

34. No... I refused, this was not the problem.

35. “I can't talk to you, you never listen!”

36. The shadows of those words were my feelings,

37. Bottled up for two years, with my silent tears and anger.

38. I can't trust you, stop trying!

39. My head screams in agony, as I plan to see my father.

40. I've been pushed around too long,

41. I have to get away from you!

42. “If you walk out that door, I will call the cops!”

43. Her desperate attempt to frighten me,

44. Only made me worse.

45. How dare she deny my right to see my father!

46. “Call them! I'm not doing anything wrong!”

47. My feet are pounding on the concrete,

48. My eyes leaked hot tears,

49. Like water boiling over the sides of a pot.

50. More anger drew more tears,

51. “I'm such a horrible mother!”

52. “No, don't say that, you are not...”

53. You're not the victim!

54. My tears suddenly spilled as she wins all the glory.

55. She gets solace, as I get pounded with forsake.

56. As my escape arrives,

57. I gather my thoughts, my tears and my belongings.

58. I hop in and sigh.

59. Finally, my turn for solace.

60. As I spend the weekend laying on relief,

61. And still sipping on reminisce,

62. I believe I made significance in the house.

63. Things aren't the same,

64. Actually quite awkward...

65. And begin to play tug-of-war with,

66. Wow, I feel bad...

67. And no I needed to do this.

68. But overall I decided to stick with my stance.

69. Although I returned, to new a house with stiffness,

70. I thought maybe I can get used to this.

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Abandoned Child

Folder: 
Poetry

My brother died,

And in his place;

I was born,

But I was repelled.

 

My mother threw me from the table,

Abused me, both mind and body.

My father never present,

And if so, he ignored me.

 

They left each other fast,

'cause mother was a lesbian.

But my father needed a woman,

For his children and as a housewife.

 

The second was quite alright,

Even if she made me eat axis.

Only my sister I couldn't see,

That became off limits.

 

After years they had their divorce,

And then came the third, the most terrible.

My wicked stepmother,

The greatest dictator.

 

She tried to strangle my brother,

Then father did interfere.

She put me in the sanitarium,

With false motives, my fear.

 

Firstly in a crisis-centra,

'cause I run away from home.

Then in the sanitarium,

Where I for six months did roam.

 

In the sanitarium,

Provided with medication.

By which I lost my memory,

Crawling in the emptiness of chaos...

 

Regularly I suffered blackouts,

By which I saw nothing.

Not knowing what I did,

Much like sleep-walking;

And strange vistas occurred.

 

I wasn't suffering delirium,

Is what the doctors told.

So all this time,

I was in the asylum for no reason.

 

Then I had to go to boarding-school,

Where I developed something bad: anger.

I wanted to kill another, a female;

And Nyarlathotep, I am sorry;

Maybe I didn't wanted to commit this act,

But I had to from Satan...

 

What happened was unforeseen,

'cause my room was now aflame.

The building completely in axis,

The police came to arrest me.

 

A year and a half in prison,

Locked away in a cell, in Hell.

A year and a half terror,

The bondage of society.

 

When I got out, there was another project,

Named room-training.

I had to work in a factory,

But that didn't end well...

I started to mutilate myself,

Which I learned in the sanitarium.

They send me to the hospital,

To the psychiatric division.

 

Then again to the crisis-centra,

Which I didn't liked at all.

As if I had to start over,

This was too much overall...

 

Through the open door I escaped,

And from my last money;

I bought a train-ticket,

Which brought me to Ramses.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

My biography in poetry-form.

Highschool

 

Here I am again
Walking through these doors again
Just crawled out of the trash can
So pale. Let me tell you a tale

Highschool days
Say I am young so Its natural
But its not cause its cultural
Everyone in my family is cursed

That’s just factual.
In PE. This ball is uncatchable
Cant even catch. Its unfathomable
Got kicked out of Cross country

Cause I was actionable
Wrote a note and became habitable
Fashionable. But not applicable
Every girl that I like thinks I’m Unfashionable

It’s unimaginable how Im treated like GARBAGE
Trash cause I’m Charitable
Giving away money to Africa
They said I was phenomenal

That’s a lie. That money is navigable
Straight to your pockets. Unpalatable
These pastors on the television scamming
They are planning. Their piggy banks are incalculable


Their wife’s sit outside tanning cause you’re lazy
Crazy. You hand money to them because you’re hazy
You think their god will save you
I don’t blame you. I hate you.

My face is blue. Not red cause I have the flu.
That ebola flew over to our states and grew.
Dude. I don’t get it
This computer screen

I just want to put on my leather mits and hit it
I see my reflection. Correction. I see a connection
Ugly and negative cause I don’t get enough affection
If you have looks you get attention.

I need to go to the hammer section
So I can ram this nail in the imperfection
Disconnection. Ear buds in.
Music offering protection

I need a distraction
Before I blow up on this nation
Idiots voting for idiots during election
Put up a projection

We’re heading in the wrong direction
Stupidity is what’s going to get us
Its like an infection spreading

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Hanging Tree

We both thought we were free.
But I was still living under the hanging tree
Negativity would breeze.
Hop into a grand pre

I cannot consider
Negativity inside.
Race around
Emotions Collide.

I tried. I won’t pick a side
You lied and I died inside
But you’re a gold digger.
A forty niner. I tried.  

I won’t pick a side
You lied and I died inside
Say I need help
Got a huge whelp

Wrapped up in kelp
Drowning by the beach
Welp, there I go again
My air has been breached

Wasn’t properly teached.
My brother’s arm started to reach
California? Where I almost drowned
but I cant be downed. Living is what I preach

Just pray my body won’t be found
Knowing how things went down
Like a stone pillar
Looking up in terror

Not at all confusing
Open your mind.
Let me run around inside
Fuck a counselor.

Let me pick you up from the ground
I won’t sit you down
Cut the crap. You’ve been misused
Kid you’ve been abused.

She thought it would help
but it didn’t. Did it?
Take that rage in and spit it
Take the hit but don’t ever forget it

It just made me remember.
My sophomore year
Early November
My mom claimed she was the master


What is freedom? Such a disaster
I need a pastor. Or do I need to go faster
Breathing down my neck.
Like I’m a wall made of plaster

I need to bypass her.
Threatening me that he would beat me
if I didn’t have all A’s and B’s.
What if I don’t want to succeed?

Even more though
I wanted to believe
I wanted some food so I could feed
I was sixteen and I couldn’t play assassins creed

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Kenopsia

Folder: 
To Be Illustrated

"Almost tiring,

the bump of the shoulders passing by,

the hallways so full of students, mean, 

their intentions unknown to what they vie. 

 

But the Janitor, 

mop handle twisting in wrists, 

cleans the bustling halls, murder

of the sparkling floors committed with fervor.

 

Moreover, the students don't care!

But no matter, the Janitor smiles as he cleans,

leaning on his swab bucket, no flair

for how unfair redoing the swab job is.

 

But now it is after five,

the older gentleman is working his way up and down,

the passageways now empty, 

all the students long gone home. 

 

Quite the opposite scene,

from when the school was full,

a loud and swarming event, specifcally

during the lunch periods. 

 

And during those times? While constantly 

going back and forth, picking up spills

and keeping the floor clean,

he even feels grumpy.

 

But only now at this momement,

a longing, a forlorn feeling wraps itself

over the un-bumped shoulders of the man,

alone, doing his job.

 

The sudden wish the students were there,

to fill the empty space he cleans, 

the abandoned place to fill up soon,

but not a moment too late, he steams.

 

All the moments that he's spent,

breaking up a fight between two boys,

frankly taking both collars in each hand

and talking to them sharply, they listened.

 

The time he talked to the crying girl,

leaning on the mop handle, wise counsel

spewed at a comforting rate to the young one

who had her first broken heart. 

 

Or the time he tutored the troubled youth,

not in math or english but in life,

the boy sticking around while he cleaned. 

alone, his only brother having been knifed. 

 

Every smile he evoked,

with silly, word-play jokes,

every time he snapped at young students passing by, 

keeping the rowdy in line. 

 

The old man now smiled himself,

finishing up the entire school,

looking forward to the bustle to come,

the lockers that will slam, voices, loud.

 

The end of this feeling, eerie,

sudden, and no more farther then

when he will grumble, with a slight smile,

of the busy hallways where he will be bumped again."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A imagined scene of an old man janitor that we may or may not all remember or think back to.

Buccaneer

Sea of black, what is it you hide? 
Please tell me your secrets in me, please confide. 
  
On deck of the ship, blue moon in the sky, 
Into your heavy dark waves I peer and I pry. 
  
You conceal many things,  so pardon the brusque , 
I have some questions I  would like to discuss 
...thus...

I ask of you this mighty watery force,  
reveal to me please these things in due course : 
  
Tell me about how they were saved from the deluge, 
In the Ark a family protected in refuge. 
  
Or where lay the Isle of Greek titan Atlas. 
A land consumed by your eternal cold blackness. 
  
Share with me jewels and cursed pirate gold. 
Spoils in your clutches you so preciously hold. 
  
Of sunken ships and scattered bones. 
Failed quests to glory forgotten kings thrones. 
  
What monsters you hide in the dark of your deep? 
Things of nightmare that make grown men wake from their sleep? 
  
Reveal these things, so that I return a wealthier man,

Gold in pocket shilling in hand. 

With magical tales of faraway places. 
Lost secrets that lurk in your fathomless spaces. 

At night  these things to my children I'll tell, 
And a love of adventure will be cast,

Like a spell. 

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School

I’m sitting here in class

Don’t really know how much time has passed

Watching some crap on TV

Economics class. . . Please, someone kill me

Only 2nd block

No point looking at the clock

There talking about liberty

Been in high school for 4 years. . . What the fuck is liberty?

20 more minutes till the bell rings and I gotta stand up

Same thing every day. . . This is so fucked up

Oh look its Thomas Edison, he discovered electricity

In this moment, he’s the cause of my misery

School makes me live in my own little box of hate

I’d much rather stay at home and masturbate

Oh shit, teacher saw what I just wrote

Looks like she isn’t gonna take it as just a joke

She’s says that’s real funny Andrew, but the fun and games are over,

And now you got yourself some extra homework

-sigh- only 12 minutes left

 

3rd block won’t be any better I bet

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Just messing around in class 2010

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