Short Poem About Myself Novels & Stories

I was a failure, a disappointment, unworthy of the love and affection I so desperately craved. I clenched my fists in frustration, the anger boiling within me like a tempest raging in the depths of my being. "I wish I wasn't in this world at all," I muttered bitterly, my voice laced with bitterness and despair. But even as the words left my lips, a small voice whispered in the depths of my mind, a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness. "You are worth more than you know," it said, a faint echo of encouragement in the midst of my self-loathing.

Instead, it was Sheena, who had utterly dropped her innocent act. "What a beautiful dress. Too bad it's ruined. Oh well, it looked better on the hanger than it ever did on you anyway." I was unfazed by her remark, simply saying, "Pathetic." "Who are you calling pathetic?" Sheena shrieked as her face contorted with rage. She looked like a witch from a fairy tale. "You, obviously," I replied calmly. "So insecure you can't stand seeing others shine. Fighting over men, getting jealous over dresses. Were you starved for attention as a child?"

he asked me who am I? what is my identity in this world? and what should I say to him? how can I describe myself as subtle to a man who considers other dreams as nothing? I don't know who am I. maybe I am just a girl and what can the world expect from a young girl? "Jessica, come down right now!" I heard the shivering voice of my mother. her voice was like a volcano to my heart, shivering me from head to toe. now, what I did do wrong?

The woman slammed her walking stick ones on the ground, bringing complete silence. “Pe mito mba’éichapa jaju, oguereko heta versión iñambuéva, ha katu pe añeteguavéva ha’e ñande jajejapo hague ñañorairõ haĝua peteĩ mba’evai ndive, pe mba’evai tuichavéva - añakuéra. Mávapa ñandeapo, ha’e pe ja’éva lobo sy. ha katu añetehápe ha’e pe tekove voi ñanemoheñóiva ñañorairõ haĝua ñemano ndive, ha katu ko’áĝa pe ñemano oguejyta ko yvy ape ári voi oipe’a haĝua opa tekove ha ha’e ñande profecía ñañorairõ haĝua lobo sy ndive peteĩ última vez.” The lady spoke.

"Goodnight Daddy." He did not answer. But I knew this was only the beginning. I went up to my room with his taste still on my tongue and his fingers still burning inside me. The rain kept falling but I was no longer scared of it. I was scared of how much I wanted more. **100 Ways to Damn Yourself**

Here is a poem dedicated to this story by my friend, A piece of memory, a piece of my part, a piece that filled my empty heart. From getting bullied, to building my courage From leaving home to walking through the empty doors. Growing bit by bit, From step to step, Learning to live again by fulfilling my dreams, I say Years left by… Leaving my sight Never doing any wrongs Why the hell am I always wronged? Trusting you again Leaving the pains Why not getting it back in return Why am I always in the fault?

Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there; I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow, I am the sun on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning’s hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there; I did not die." He stared at her, "How about now? Did I say it well?"

Anger boils within me and I lose all control of myself, recollecting all the years of bullying I endured. I couldn't help but yell, "I DO NOT CARE WHAT YOUR INTENTION IS, BUT I HOPE THAT ONE DAY, WHENEVER IT IS, YOU HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO BLAME YOURSELF FOR BEING A PATHETIC BITCH. ALL YOU DO IS TRY TO LURE GUYS BY WEARING SHORT PANTS OR DRESS! YOU SHOULD REALLY LOOK INTO THE MIRROR TO SEE HOW PATHETIC YOU LOOK BECAUSE AT THE END OF THE DAY, YOU ARE JUST GOING TO HURT SOMEONE ELSE AND MAY BE EVEN YOURSELF." With that, I exit the toilet with small whispers that could heard before the door of the toilet is closed and I try to calm myself down before entering the classroom.

I feel this is my mind imitating is voice and I say. "Jayden, you don't know, I like you. I like you so much, and cannot tell you, you're more handsome than this ugly duckling, me. And also, now, I got to know your family status is as this, you're not for Me." My face twitched. "I will pray for so much money next time I come to the world so, you can like me." I say, some small romance imagination starts to feel my heart. How would it be, me and him, in a picnic, and I will feed him with my bare hands.

"No, they're not good. And they're more of quotes anyway, they're short." "Okay, so tell me one. Tell me your favourite one." I bit my lip and look at him, contemplating whether I should or shouldn't. I have one in mind, the most recent one. As I watch him driving, his brown curls not falling over his eyes for once because he gelled them, the poem comes out by itself. "She couldn't understand," I begin, whispering, and gulp, still observing him, "why she found comfort in the dark, when all her life she had a fear of darkness."