Those Bi-Racial People

Okay, so I am a bi-racial person, and people seem to always think that I want to be part of all these multi-ethnic groups and stuff because of this. I don't. Okay? So, I am really mad at them right now, and this poem is sort of like a rant, though it turned out pretty good. Enjoy!

Those Bi-Racial People
They seem to care that I am
Half.
I doubt they care
What halves I am.
They wouldn’t care if I was
Full anything,
Only that I am
Half.
How does being half
Mean anything different than
Being whole?
They care that I am
Half, or Asian.
But what about the
White people?
Just screw them all
They’ve been in power long enough?
What about your race
Makes you, you
When you have no choice.
I wouldn’t be
Half Asian
If I could choose.

Ignorance

This isn't one of my best poems. I think it only took me about half an hour to write. I like this poem, however, because I truly think ignorance is bliss.

Ignorance
Ignorance is bliss.
The pure, simple truth.
Ignorance is the first shield,
That blocks the horrid world from me.
Nothing is more bliss than ignorance.
If you wish it, and you get it
You are no longer ignorant.
If you only wish, you never know.
It is almost better that way.

If you never know, you never care,
Your actions and emotions
Never change or stray.
You know what you feel,
In a predictable way.
Ignorance keeps emotions in order.
Wild emotions ruin the balance
Of everything you worked for.
Ignorance keeps.

If you don’t know,
You can’t be blamed.
Ignorance is the perfect, natural alibi.
It is the easiest thing to pretend,
And the hardest thing to keep.

I envy the genius who said that
Ignorance is bliss.

Die

This is sort of a sad, dark poem, but everyone has had days like this. I don't know why I titled it 'Die', because the poem is more about renewal than death. Oh well.

Die
Sleep
Thoughtless
Mere fragments
The day is over
Or so I hope
Curl up
Let it pass
Sleep
Try again
Fail
Cry
Keep crying
Feel nothing
Closed from the world
Sleep
Only me
All alone
Sigh
Shooting pain
Brain freeze
Failed success
Sleep

A Girl Without A Life

This poem is odd. Part of it is based on things I feel but others are just random thoughts I've had while thinking about other people.

A Girl Without A Life
What would you say
to a girl without a life?
A girl who is smart,
but can't use it.
A girl who just wants to fit in,
but be different all the same.
A girl with a passion,
but nothing behind it.
A girl who composes graceful music,
but has no one to share them with.
A girl with emotions,
stronger than a storm.
What would you say to her?
What would you say to me?

A Painful Love

This is sort of a sad poem I think, but it is more about the meaning. I feel like this a lot. The poem itself is rather bad, but the situation is so true for most people.

A Painful Love
Why is it, that what I love,
makes me cry.
Not tears of joy,
but pain, sorrow, and woe.
My passion, my love,
will never give me what I want.
Not even joy,
not even contentment.
With love, it means that much more,
and the pain is that much worse.
I could never give up my love,
but the pain will kill me.
Why does everyone expect so much?

For Love

This is a short, simple poem. I wrote it about my friend. I am often amazed at how much he gives up for his girlfriend. I guess I am just trying to put love in real perspective.

For Love
How much, would you give
to love?
How much, would you give to feel
pure awe?
What would, you give to have
true love?
What would, it be like to
kiss her?
How much, is too much
for love?

Deep

I don't think that my writing is that deep, it is rather simple. So in a poem about writing deep, I try to write deep.

Deep
Writing deep is simply being deep;
Understanding what you mean,
And meaning what you say.
But deepness comes from the heart,
Not the mind or soul,
So you can not plan what it means.

Writing deep is more than saying what you mean,
It is using metaphors as intricate as
A dazzling spider’s web,
Using bursting similes
And carefully chosen words,
To give a detailed image of thought.

Writing deep is adding to simplicity;
Making the complex simple,
And the simple complex.
Adding those layers,
Of meaning and thought
And experience.

Writing deep
is simply
Being deep.

Expectations

At school, we had a talk about being yourself and not "wearing a mask". You need to respect yourself and others, blah blah blah. So one of the things was about the only expectations you need to follow is your own. I have a ton of friends whose parents wouldn't listen to that kind of stuff. I just feel bad for all of them who aren't doing things for themselves.

Expectations
What would drive you to suicide
Or craze you to success?
Where is the line between
Too much and not enough?
Why is the line so fine,
And why is it all so important?
What is it about culture
That makes it so hard?
Expectations.

What do you see in me,
What do you expect?
Why do you care so much,
What do you want?
Why is it me,
Not you?
Expectations.

Not enough,
Leads to suicide.
Too much,
Leads to suicide.
Help me find the balance,
And I’ll help you.
Expectations.
So hard
Expectations.

I Can Try

This is me, sort of being angsty. I get easily frustrated because I am such a perfectionist.

I Can Try
I can try
To climb a mountain.
I can try
To rule the world.
I can try
To do my work.
I can try
To be happy with myself.
I can try
To work hard.
I can try
To break my habits.
I can try
To become a leader.
I can try
But I can’t succeed.

Hate

I just re-watched the movie 10 Things I Hate About You. If you haven't seen the movie, you should, it is really good. It is based off of Taming of the Shrew (Shakespeare). At the end of the movie, Kat reads her poem. It goes like this:
"I hate the way you talk to me
And the way you cut your hair.
I hate the way you drive my car.
I hate it when you stare.
I hate your big dumb combat boots.
And the way you read my mind.
I hate you so much it makes me sick.
It even makes me rhyme.
I hate the way you're always right.
I hate it when you lie.
I hate it when you make me laugh;
Even worse when you make me cry.
I hate it when you're not around
And the fact that you didn't call,
But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you;
Not even close;
Not even a little bit;
Not even at all."

I wrote a poem like this for my friend. It is a bit more repetitive and it doesn't really rhyme. I'm not trying to say that if you hate someone a lot, you actually like them, it just sometimes happens. So here is Hate:

Hate
I hate the way you smirk at me
when you know you messed it up.
I hate the way you think you're funny,
when you know you're really not.
I hate the way you think you're cool,
when all you are is crude.

I hate the way you laugh at jokes,

when they are only rude.

I hate the way you act so high
when you know you'll get your way.
I hate the way you flick your head,
when hair is in your face.

I hate the way you think you're good,

when in truth you really are.

I hate the way you chew your gum,

even from afar.

I hate the way you act so bad,

when I know you could be nice.

I hate the way you never listen,

when people give you advice.

I hate the way you don't hate me

the way that I hate you.

'Cause in my hatred there might be

a little love too.

If Ever There Was...

This is one of the few poems where I wrote about myself. I had just read Sonnet 54, hence the canker blooms. I used this to express sort of a jumble of things from finding myself, to finding a home, to finding love.

If Ever There Was...
If ever there was a way to live
Where seeing the canker blooms
Meant smelling them too
I would want to live there.
If I could live in a world
Where you knew what you had to do
And when you had to do it
Then I would be there.

If ever there was a way to truly be
Someone you are not
And fool not only others but also yourself
I would be using it.
If I could change everything about me
Even my passion and my nature
For something, anything else
I wouldn’t be who I am now.

If ever there was a way to be sure
That I actually like you
And it wouldn’t question who I was
Then maybe I could let myself fall in love.
If I could fall in love
With you or someone like you
And I knew I was ready for it
Then maybe I wouldn’t stop myself.

For sale: baby shoes, never worn.

At school we talked about Hemingway's six word story: "For sale: baby shoes, never worn". Some people think this profound, others find it simplistic, I find it inspirational. It seems easy to write a story in six words, but to write something decent is really hard. Here are a few I wrote:


Truly, Happily, Unused, Unworn, Thoughtfully, Silent.
Who would have thought that he
She wasn’t taking care of herself.
What about revenge, can’t you remember?
I always sit at lunch alone.
We hate each other: always, forever.
Hate him, because you loved him.
You only need to be perfect.

The Listener

This is the first poem I wrote. Not actually the first poem I wrote, you know I wrote the haiku in third grade, wrote the free form in fifth grade, wrote the shape poem in sixth grade, but this was my first real poem. This was the first poem I wrote that actually meant anything to me. I wrote it on January 17, 2008 in the dining hall at my school.

The Listener
Subtle and silent,
Not a word.
More learned from
Mere observation.
Speaking is nothing more,
Than a waste of time.
A mind full of memories,
That aren’t mine.
A way of life,
Better than yours.