Anger Poem by Teens

This poem was written when I was in a very dark time in my life and I still am. I've over all confused on life and poetry helps me think. The other person I talk about in this poem is my step brother. I hope you enjoy and make more sense of my own life then I can.

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The New Fake Me

©

Published: September 2011

The blade is cold
But not old

I didn't go deep
I didn't even weep

Just one cut is all I need
And my mind goes calm, while my cut bleeds

It was harmless but helped so much
I stopped being mad and such

No more angry thoughts went through my mind
Just fascination, everything else left behind

Is the start or the end?
All I know is I don't want to disappoint my friend

Is it too late for me?
I thought I was getting better but I only pretended to be

The cut now stains my arm
Nothing big or deep, nothing to cause much harm

A cat scratch is what I'll say
But I doubt people will see any day

They won't see the real me and who I am
They won't see my body is disconnected from my brain stem

I don't want attention, I don't deserve it
I play along with the world, but my candle is not lit

I'm a lost soul on this land
My minds drifting, my body sinking in sand

I've given up on people
It's now me alone in my own steeple

I get so mad so quick
Like a switch on the wall, tense with every click

Maybe I'm only meant to be there for others
Don't the daughters learn from the mothers?

Only my mother does not know me
She only sees who she wants to see

There's no way her sweet child
Cut her arm to keep her mind from going wild

Do they realize their actions affect me so?
That sometimes they cause me to hit my low?

No they don't, all they see is him
They can't even see the pattern; my cups reached its brim.

He angers then he lies
To get people to take him back. I bet he even denies

The wrongs that he's done
All because he thinks life is fun

But when will he see
That he's just another wanna be

It's possible I just don't belong
There are parts of me I've discovered are gone

Like my patience to wait
I'm done waiting there's nothing to debate

Once I'm of age you'll barely see me
Once I get a car I'll never be here to be

I witness to the yells or shouts
A witness to the pattern of oh okay and get out

A witness to tears and uproars
A witness to hurtful words and slamming doors

A witness to a father who's confused
Because my mother is either okay or blowing a fuse

I'll stop being the victim of being on the edge
Because I'll stop being around, I won't be on the ledge

I won't be the victim of feeling guilty anymore
I won't be the victim or witness anytime I walk out that door

Am I lost? That's easy to say
Is there hope? We'll see with each coming day.

My name does not matter all that matters is the story my friend
The one with a strong beginning, unclear middle, but no end.

It's a screwed up world even a blind man could see
That to fake happiness you have to be who others expect you to be.

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