"I want to be a poet"she thought she said,
but in her mind for she was numb,
her body was possessed,
her feelings long dead-
"I'll do well in SAT - I'm not dumb" ,
was what she really said,
for her heart was shackl'd
In the devilish world where she wished herself dead!
How dare could she protest,
she was but a puppet;
of members of her aspiring house
where if she failed would be considered worse than a mouse.
Burdened by all the hate,
she took her final rest
the blood adorning the house,
where she had the guts to put a final pause.
The coward ended her life
now no need to bicker;
her poems were her unshed tears,
because her worries who even cares!
No she brought home no Booker,
her nerve ends frayed with knife;
Noone saw that even her essays had flares,
her death was the result of the haters' prayer.
PS:- Sorry, the poem is highly morbid. I would be obliged if someone read it and shared their views with me
