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Aug 19 · 30
Too far beyond
I want to be part of a different world
I want something beyond my reach
I want it so badly
But I cannot reach
I want to be part of something bigger
I want to make a difference
I want people to know my name
I want them to finally be satisfied
Aug 18 · 93
A voice
Never broken a bone
The pain is inside
Worse and worse
It will never subside
Terror is inevitable
Die
Die
interpret this short poem as you will- it was made to be a voice in someone’s head and it was based off the never broken a bone theory
Aug 18 · 42
Photo baby
They are not real
They are acting
They are all pretending
Nobody is looking
But everybody’s watching
You don’t know them
You never will
Your storyline is set
Don’t go in for the ****
Don’t try to find out
It makes them angry
Don’t try and meet the horizon
It isn’t real
Nothing is real
It is for their entertainment
That you were born
It was all planned
It was all staged
I repeat. They are pretending.
You’ll never be free.
The air wasn’t colder
The people weren’t louder
The ride didn’t seem to take longer
The smell of the petrol wasn’t stronger
Everything was normal
Maybe you could say
But I met death on the bus that day
They told me to finish the sprite in my bag
Said “take the enjoyment, it’s all that you’ll have”
I unclipped my seatbelt and said “yea I’m fine”
“I’m not thirsty for sprite, or for love or for life”
They looked so suprised “you wanna leave?”
“No- Ive got family, friends all the people I know”
They then interrupted-“then why should you go? Then fight me and argue and try to say no! « 
«  as time goes on, things go a bit slow - I’m bored of the way that I rock two and fro, i dont give one about school and life and the people that tell me to stop. I’ll roll down that hill or I’ll run in the road or I’ll play on the see saw or cry on my own. »
Then I realised that the black cloaked figure was gone- and the people were loud and my stop was four gone.
This poem is a surreal representation of death, presented in the scenario of a child meeting death on the bus, and death wanting to take this child but realising that the child had to keep living on and therefore deciding to leave
Aug 13 · 30
little boy in uniform
What a waste
Of a dream one night
Of army boy just taking flight
What a waste
Of an innocent soul
Of a life so unkind, so cruel and oh
What a waste
Of a broken baby in a trench
Of an old crib sitting on a bench
What a waste
Of a million tears
Tears ejected in bullets from some long unforgiving gun
What a waste
Of a weapon not meant for little boys
Of a billion good lads and one bad man
What a waste
Of a body in the dirt
Rotting on the ground in all the hurt
What a waste
Of a hopeful child
Of a life that might have changed the world
Of an army dreamer with a body of paper and a heart of diamonds
Of a little boy with So much to give but even more to lose
What a waste of a life
I created this poem to capture the many lives lost in the wars. It especially commemorates the younger recruits that joined the army, often without knowing the severity of what they would have to go through. I used the repeated use of the phrase ‘what a waste’ to highlight the lives that were taken, the childhoods cut short, and the bodies that never made it home. I hope you enjoy reading it and feel free to give constructive criticism in the comments section.

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