Inspired by Langston Hughes, by D Subscribe to rss feed for D

The instructor said,

	Go home and write
	a page tonight.
	And let that page come out of you---
	and then it will be true.

Am I over-thinking?
I am 15. Born in Georgia,
a perfect family with two loving parents.
Raised in California,
a family torn apart by the devil himself.
I bust through those lobby doors,
Into the elevator---no looking back.
The ride up to that 4th floor,
It makes me anxious. I go,
down the hall into that warm, comforting apartment that I
call home.
I’m safe.
Into my bedroom I go, shutting the door behind me. 
Oh, how I wish this were the only place I called home. I
of having to go back---go back to that dreadful place.
That dreadful place full of hate and evil.
This other place is not a home,
but a house, not worth the explanation.
In that place, I run and hide,
I cry,
and write this page.

It should be simple, easy,
for you to love me. Why don’t you love me?
You love her dearly, I’m just as good, I know I am.
I understand why,
why you love her more—she is your body,
along with his.
But, I am his body. I deserve,
respect if not love. All I ever get is hate, 
I don’t know you. Do you even know me?
Do you want to? Do you care to know?
You tell me I’m worthless, make fun of my body.
I cry, and cry, and cry. Do you care?
You tell me I cannot do the things I want to do,
My dreams are too complex. 
You shut out all the things I love,
Volleyball, fashion, friends, daily routines---ham and eggs
for breakfast on the daily.
That’s American.
 I love,
To love. I love,
To be loved. You win. I do not feel loved a day in my life.
You win.
You tell me I will never succeed in life,
I believe you,
I cry, and cry, and cry.
But then, 
I stop. I see right through your childish torment.
They say to be successful one must sincerely,
Want others to succeed. My dear,
Jealousy, is the very reason you
Are not successful yourself.
You never will be. You spend your days
Trying so hard to tear me down. A bully,
Hates to be ignored. You,
Are a bully. You hate that he loves me more
Than he could ever love you. 
Maybe if you were kind, even just a tad.
But, you’re full of nothing but evil.
Maybe then, he could try,
I could try. I don’t love you,
I could never love you and,
I cannot wait for the day when, from you,
I can be free.

This is the page for English III. 
Posted: 2014-05-06 01:47:29 UTC

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2014-05-08 20:00:40Peter
Great, but what makes her hate, probaly the same torment, experienced many times over but never expressed....but never never an excuse

2015-07-20 19:01:12D
It is always easy to shame others for their "excuses" until we are in the same position.