Through Jr. High and High-School I wrote several poems in a small journal I used to keep beside my bed. I have a ton in it, and I thought it'd be interesting to share a few. Stressed. I am stressed. I keep feeling pressed. By society and it's people. To be it's steeple. I'm tired of it all. I feel like I'm about to fall. I just want to be the best. But it's becoming hard to rest. I close my eyes. As my mind cries. Opinions lay me waste. But I feel nothing but distaste. I want to be heard. I'm completely blurred. Why must I feel this? And not extreme bliss? I scream for life! Hearing nothing but a strife! It was something I had to get off my chest. Sorry for being an ungrateful pest.
