She sits there in her bathroom staring at the razor on the bathroom sink imaging it had little red ink
Her life was always messed up just because she was afraid to step up
She was always at home never going school what's the difference she would only get treated like a dirty little mule.
Every day she heard the front door shut she knew it was her dad from dropping off a slut.

She used her razor to cut out the pain but she knew it was nothing but the gain.

People knew her life was out of line
But she would just say its fine.
Did I mention she was nine and committed suicide?

Wow! That is one powerful poem. The reader can really feel the pain running through it. I'm impressed!

Okay! & thanks(: Yeah I fixed it now! My dad got so mad when I wrote it but not in a bad way he was just mad because he said that a nine year old shouldn't be writing that sort of stuff

Thanks for fixing it up.

I'm sorry to say your dad is wrong. Kids should be able to express themselves. In fact, if parents actually read some of the stuff, they might have a good clue about things that are bothering their kids. The kids who came to me for counseling loved to draw pictures and write stories that were often stories about themselves and their lives. And even if they weren't, the drawings and stories allowed the kids to get other feelings out on paper instead of holding them in.

Yeah that's basically what my mommie told him so he changed his mind about it since I was 9 but now since I'm 15 he think's it means I'm going goth or something

I wish we had a course for prospective parents to clue them in on the stages of their children's lives. If the prospective parents passed with good grades, they would get a license to actually have children.

And even if a child becomes goth for a while, from what I've read that's not necessarily a bad thing. As long as they don't hurt anyone or themselves or get into trouble. Aren't goths supposed to be gentle people?

When I was your age, rock and roll music was becoming part of popular culture with D I c k Clark and American Bandstand. My parents thought rock music was from the devil himself. So I know what you mean.

Well most Goth kid's I know are gentle and quiet yea, but "Stereotype" Goths usually are supposed to be rebels that do freaky spells and intend to hurt themselves & other people and think about killing etc, But I've never met one like that. & I've always been into Rock/Metal & a little bit of R&B. Right now I'm really into Marilyn Manson but my dad says I shouldn't listen to him because his music is a bad influence.

I guess parents will always be a little freaky and overly worried about things they shouldn't worry about. All kids and teens go through stages. My brother refused to get his hair cut; he wanted long hair. When he was 13 and got confirmed in our church, my parents wanted him to get a haircut so the pictures they were planning to take would look good. My brother refused, so he has long hair in all his pictures at that age. Now he laughs and shrugs his shoulders. The family laughs too. We all went through phases like that. What was good about my brother's experience is that he was able hold his own against our parents, and that taught him how to negotiate with people in a good way. He didn't get upset and have a tantrum, but worked it out with my parents in a mature way which they respected.

I like the reference to "red ink" in your poem. I also like how you said she said she was fine when others knew she wasn't. And then what happened to her because no one did anything about it to help her.

Thanks! Honestly, I don't like it much :/ I really don't know why but I think it was stupid

It reminds of a famous poem called "Richard Corey" --

Richard Corey
By
Edwin Arlington Robinson

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich—yes, richer than a king,
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.

Oh! I like that one!

The more you read -- short stories and poetry and novels, especially classic novels -- the better your writing will get. I had a high school teacher for English for three years. He was the one who introduced us to many famous poems, how to figure out their meter, how to write poetry, how to explicate it. He told us to explicate a poem called "Daffodils" by William Wordsworth. We poked around and picked on it and tore it apart. Finally Mr. Burnett said, "Don't tear it apart. Just read it and enjoy it -- the imagery and the beauty of the flowers."

"Daffodils" (1804)

I wander'd lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
Then all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:

I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

By William Wordsworth (1770-1850)

I think I read that one before, on quizilla or something! I like it though! A lot!

Here's one my mom used to read to me when I was a little girl. It's always been one of my favorites. (You're, I hope, noticing how poetry expresses the writer's honest emotions, just like your poems do. And please post another one! Start a new thread in Writing.)

The Swing
By
Robert Louis Stevenson

How do you like to go up in a swing,
Up in the air so blue?
Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing
Ever a child can do!

Up in the air and over the wall,
Till I can see so wide,
River and trees and cattle and all
Over the countryside--

Till I look down on the garden green,
Down on the roof so brown--
Up in the air I go flying again,
Up in the air and down!

Yeah I do, I think my dad's finally starting to also. & Okay do I post it on here? Or in a whole new thingy?

Start a new thread for a new poem.

Okay, I added it.