Fancy some poetry?

I am not a fan of poetry..sorry did i say not?Okay, so maybe I have room for a little poetry in my heart.This is mostly because of the traumatizing high school English lessons I had to endure reading poems and trying to identify various styles, tones and all other questions the examiner would have wanted to add to the "torture list". However, I have come to appreciate the value of what may seem gruesome, since I now look at poems in a different way therefore enabling me to be part of the world the poet is trying to portray and how the poet feels about the world at that time...............hoooooooooold iiiiiiiiiit...Don't tell me you believed that!Gotcha!
Honestly I don't really care what a poet puts down, who knows where the poet was when he/she wrote the poem or what he was doing.I have often tried to imagine the many weird incidents that may inspire me to write a poem and came up with a few ideas or rather..INSPIRATIONS..

If I was taking a poop and I begin to constipate, I will definitely have to struggle to push it out and in the course of this struggle my eyes might become teary and i might feel some pain but in the end I will succeed in what I want to do...can you guess the theme of the poem I would write?....of course..THE STRUGGLE TO SUCCESS....Now if this poem was taken to my ever so glorious high school and given to the students in an ever so torturous exam and a question on the theme is asked, the majority would talk about how the poet struggled through life and torment and how the poem is metaphorical for success after a long struggle...don't you just pity these students??

I am tempted to give another illustration but I would rather you keep your lunch in your stomach so I will not disgust you further.However, a friend recently sent me a poem. I doubt whether that friend(I am intentionally avoiding the pronouns he/she for security reasons-my security) is the true author as I would have expect something far from this world...Have a go at it and try to decipher it at your own risk.Cheerio!

Something must be wrong with me
with all this hurt inside,
always bursting with anger,
and never any pride.

Something must be wrong with me
if all I do is cry,
I can't stop this pain
all I want to do is die.

Something must be wrong with me
if my emotions run wild,
all this confusion does
is make me feel like a lost child.

Something must be wrong with me
with all these terrible things,
always there and never gone
depression is what it brings.

Something must be wrong with me
if I can't stop these thoughts,
all this pain does
is turn my stomach in knots.

Something is truly wrong with me
when I think there's only one way out,
'Let this pain end,'
is all my heart will shout.

Something Must Be By Oblivious

Had an age fight?

If you are one of the "smart" kids in a family of two,(which basically means you are smarter than your sibling) you must have had many many many talks with your parents. Well, for boys there are the usual soccer game discussions where you and your dad argue about a player who you will typically never see, unless of course you plan on going abroad someday. Most of these discussion often end up with one party rather frustrated as a result of being down-talked or watered down by the other party. Typically,that would be the son, who will lose, not by virtue of ignorance but by virtue of age.

So age rules and I have had one too many instances where age has thoroughly condemned me to eternal(actually temporary) frustration which has resulted in near tears-Big Boys Don't Cry, no pun intended. Today I was heading to work which is actually an internship that has now become an unavoidable ritual, seated on the co-driver's side of my father's Prado-yes we own a big car.Anyway, the other night my dad had said something about a queer smell coming from my room and I had ridiculously looked at him saying there was no smell in my room but after he had insisted I gave up knowing that age would work against me anyway so he won a battle that was more a matter of how efficient our noses were, rather than how old our noses have been around this world.You would think that new brooms sweep clean so a younger noses would pick out a smell better than an old one but noooooooo, age comes in.

So this morning the issue came up again. "Brian,I want to ask you something." my dad said. My mind went "Oh crap!Age is going to win again!" I knew this would be one of those lectures that the smart ones in the family needs to keep them in line since the family's pride lies on their shoulders.Typically the next question was whether I was smoking.Okay, maybe I said that too casually.I was not surprised because being the genius I am, I had figured this out since yesterday so I just sat there and counted how many minutes I had to where I dropped off hoping the traffic would ease up so that I will have served my sentence of "parental advice until you drop off".As any typical teenager I was defensive and like any typical argument AGE again took over and the younger one had to listen to the elder one.I gave a lame reason for 'the smell' saying that maybe my amp had blown but again the more you defend yourself the guiltier you are(another concept I have come up with)

I finally reached my dungeon of toil and I had never been so relieved to arrive at work so early in the morning. I'm not sure I was on the right or wrong but I have learnt to avoid arguments where I will definitely lose eventually due to the age factor. I think I will go find myself a kid who is 13 years and impose my age factor on them too, maybe I can blow off all the steam on them too!