Archive for the ‘TannerA’ Category

Just Another Post

Posted: June 2, 2011 by lhsadkins in TannerA

I sit here

Slowly, ignorantly thinking of pathetic things to jot down on this keyboard.

Things pass through

But nothing seems significant enough to explain.

Nothing seems satisfying to me.

Trying to get rid of the obvious fact that I hate many things.

Things continue to float through

Like a leaf, that has just fell in the fall.

When does it land?

Where does it land?

Why does it land?

Does it even land?

Its unexplainable.

Is this even a poem?

or am I just simply typing things on a keyboard.

Still, unexplainable.

Are you sure you do things the “right” way?

Or is it “your” way.

Still, unexplainable.

To be yourself

Posted: June 2, 2011 by lhsadkins in TannerA

To be yourself, means to ignore the insignificant opinions

of the pathetic student body.

To be yourself, means to stand firm for what you believe

and refuse to let anyone else control you.

To be yourself, means to say whats on your mind

and to be completely content with it.

To be yourself, means to set goals

and achieve them on a daily basis, as if it were a routine.

To be yourself, believe it or not, is a difficult thing to do.

To be someone your not, just to get the attention of the crowd

happens with ease.

Be yourself.


Posted: June 2, 2011 by lhsadkins in TannerA

I remember..We painted seashells

All different colors, all different shells.

The disturbing smell of your addiction,

Rushing up my nose with no hesitation.

Combined with the arousing smell of your air fresheners.

Obviously so people couldnt smell the cigarettes.

Same smell every visit.

I promised myself I wouldnt miss that smell

Now, I wish I could smell that same, terrible scent.

I never see the sight of your complexion,

I never get to “beat” you at monoply anymore,

Where did it all go?

You call me from time to time, checking up on me.

Asking if im ok, as you sip on a fourth.

My intentions are to explain how i really feel,

How the sorrow swiftly travels through every single inch of my pathetic body.

As if it were blood, moving through my veins.

But i fear your reply

Your explanation for everything.

I blame myself.


Posted: June 1, 2011 by lhsadkins in TannerA

The action of causing insanity

which occurs on a daily basis.

The art of making ones life hell, and causing misery.

Its addictive

Like a drug-heads own personal bag of heroine.

The harsh, exact opposite of making things better.

The minds marijuana

in which it “needs” everyday.

Its better to know nothing.

But they spread, like a common staph infection that cant be treated.

Its as if were a bunch of pathetic bees

Looking for our daily serving of honey.

Is forgiveness possible?

Does it ever stop?



Posted: June 1, 2011 by lhsadkins in TannerA

Keep your head held high

For the desperate cries

Across the sky.

They seem alive

But their dead inside.

The foolish lies

They try to hide

But to my surprise

Their very wise.

They hide the sight

as people continue to despise.

What is the price

For living a life?

Even if

Its in the shadows of the night.

When all you have to do

Is find the light.

Too Late

Posted: March 15, 2011 by lhsadkins in TannerA

Is this how its supposed to be?

Folding myself in half, for Nothing ?

Knowing your not going to be content?

Seems as if I give but dont receive.

You dont care though, do you?

Thinking of something, someway, to make things better.

Telling myself im not giving up

I wish I was lieing.

I wish it was that easy.

I look over it, and forgive on a regular basis.

You dont care though, do you?




Posted: March 15, 2011 by lhsadkins in TannerA

I sit here, and think about something to write about.

Things cross my mind, like an intersection, and in the road.

Nothing seems to work, or be “strong” enough.

It goes from music, to every day life.

Nothing keeps me content, or occupied for that matter.

It seems so much easier to forget about things, so care-free.

The solution to everything is screaming, and throwing things.

No sorrow or anger shows, which lurks inside me on a daily basis.

Which makes things ten times worse.

I chew on these nails, as my mind wonders off to another planet.

As things seem to get better, it gets worse as the clock ticks.

I dont write poems, I dont write at all, and I hate it.

Which makes me more angry, and the teacher, who doesnt care too much for me, doesnt help.

I get a good idea, then as it gets better, its as if it walks out of my mind.

Just blunt, honest words and whatever seems to jet across my mind.

Not well-thought poetry, that ive put a lot of thought into.

So dont call it anything of the such, or good writing for that matter.

Im me.