Well, this week has been long. And it is not even over yet, tomorrow I have to play Badminton, believe it or not! Well, that is me!
Wow...
This week has been exhausting. I thought everything was going to be okay, but I screwed everything up again.

So, if you notice my poems they are angry, bitter, sardonic. Anything negative, they are it.

Love sucks; or the ABSENCE of love sucks.

If love does not exist why does it hurt so much???

That is as existential I will get from now on!

And his eyebrows were raised,
so were his hands,
that were kind of shaking
like an addict's pulse
and well, i just said
'do you like it,'
like a fool because i am
nothing but a fool around
him because i want to
impress him i guess
but i read him my
love poem and my
cheeks were blushing
and i felt naked just
standing there in the
dark, he was silent
until he smiled
softly, like i was
dying and said,
"nice structure,
good job,
a bit..."
kill me
"experimental."

okay. the world has changed a lot. i lost my best friend and made a whole heap of new friends, heaps and heaps of them! (And I love them!) But it is strange...

How do these things change?

Suddenly i'm everybody's friend, but I miss my best friend.

And I'm changing. My poetry is changing, and my tastes are changing.
I am listening to Amy Winehouse, Jeff Buckley...
crazy! and I'm doing more, and I want to do more.

Is this growing up?

The world is absurd!

I'm in year nine, that means English is about as challenging as decoding a text message.

the assignment I have at the moment is "adopting the persona" of Albert Camus and answering questions about him as him.

It made me read Camus again and again and again... and it makes me think.

Is there love? because I thought I was in love. then maybe I wasn't.
i know i'm young, but is there an age limit for feeling??

Too many questions, I might read another book.

Hello everybody,
how come the most pressing thoughts and interesting ideas come when you are busy on something else? I write my best poetry on the sly in class at school. Isn't that strange?
Art class is the best time to write poetry, and my teacher does not mind.
But I have my best, and I guess most troubling, thoughts at lunch time at school and even at home.
You see things and feel things that are odd and well...
I want to direct a movie today, I am working on the script in my head.
If only... you know? If only...