Why Poems Are So Sad

My friend asked me the other day why poems were so sad, saying hers were only short and simple poems that rhymed. I thought about that question for a brief moment, and responded with an answer. The reason why poems are so sad is because you write what you can't say out loud; it's a form of expressing yourself through written words. You take what's on the inside and expose it on a blank sheet, untainted by the burdens that haunt your thoughts. Writing down every tear, every depression, every fear, every heartbreak, every sadness, every moment that made you smile, every moment your heart skipped a beat, and every moment that ever mattered. Those tears you never cried wet the paper with pencil marks. Those words you never told that special person are finally out there. Poems are the regrets we wish we didn't have, the mistakes we wish we didn't make, the knowledge we wished we would have known. Poems are the painful memories we had or heard, and the stories that break our hearts. So you ask why poems are so sad, well I guess that unspoken language colors the white rose crimson, turning something plain into something beautiful, turning pain into relief.

600 Days

It’s funny how the time flies. I have 600 days until I graduate from high school, until I leave and become an adult, until I’m on my own, until I have to know what I’m going to do with life. I know I’m going to read this later, and I will remember writing this and thinking how fast the time has flown by. I remember being a freshman and my bright eyes coming into the unknown world of something called high school. I remember seeing unfamiliar faces that I would soon call "best friends". I remember meeting people who made me mad, angry, sad, and happy. All the memories of two years that went by too fast. It's funny how I never thought the year would end when I was stuck until 2 a.m. doing APUSH homework, or the nights when a process essay was due, waiting till the last minute to complete my assignment. At the same time, there were classes that seemed to last 10 minutes consumed by debates or arguments about which character was at fault, or the most important quote, while learning life lessons and something new everyday. I never thought I would miss any of this, but now all I want is more time.

I only have 600 days. It's funny how we never realize how fast time flies. It's going to be 2014 soon, and I'm still getting over the fact that I don't write _/_/12 every time I get out a piece of paper. I still tell people I'm 15 even though I'm almost 16-and-a-half. In an hour, I will only have 599 days left until I graduate; I'm not ready. I'm not ready to let go. I'm not ready to meet new people, and to start over because it feels like this just began. I have 600 days, but it's a lot less than I think.

Time is frail. I never really grasped the concept of valued time. I have 600 days to make my mark, to show people what I have, to let them know what's coming. It's hard to not remember the past, and all of the great memories that were shared, and all the memories of the tears that were shed. I want to remember, but this nostalgic feeling makes me depressed but reminds me of the happiness that my friends have given me. I have 600 days to be there for the ones that matter, to make new friends and keep the old ones, to support the ones who will support me. Until I throw my cap in the air I have 600 days, 600 days more than most people. I look at all the freshman with bright eyes who remind me of myself, and I wish I could tell them how fast it goes. I want to tell them to take this time and to hold it dear. You never get back your high school years, you never get back any time at all. I want to tell them to make the best with what time they are given because you never know when it will be taken away from you.

If the World Was Blind

I am a teenager, 16 years of age, yet I somehow assume the role of a misconception of who you think I am. I'm not a girl who wakes up an hour early to do her hair or to put make-up on. I don't wear skirts and dresses with a different pair of shoes every week. I simply get up, throw some shorts and a t-shirt on, and brush my hair in the car. I'm surrounded by people who believe putting up a façade is who they are, layering themselves with the words "who I want to be", spending 10 minutes in the girl's bathroom looking at their reflection in the mirror. How come everybody criticizes me because I don't fall under the standard of the stereotypical teenage girl? Hey, I get an extra hour of sleep everyday, I get 10 minutes to talk with my friends or finish uncompleted homework, they don't. I start to wonder, how the world would change, if everyone was blind. Think about it, there would be no need to dress up, worry about your image, or wonder if those jeans make you look fat. People wouldn't judge you and label you for what you look like, and for not wearing the styles that are "in" or mismatching the colors of your top and bottom. The inside would become the prevalent feature, rather than the outside. People would make friends based on the qualities of a person rather than their quantity of clothes. The world would become more colorful, filled with the thoughts and imaginations dreamed by each individual, rather than conforming to the color scheme that society has set. If the world was blind, our skills would be endless, our education superior, our lives happier, and the world a better place.