Poetry Contest Entry
Artist - Pablo Picasso
© Art.com
What Is The Matter?
~By Prettyleia
As the end of the day draws nigh
I sit in my window and I sigh
When it gets dark, I look at the moon
I think to myself, I'll be out of here soon
I'll pack up my stuff in boxes and bag clothes
and my books and all my Mad Mags
I'll take my two fishtanks, I'll take my TV
I'll pack up my radio and my PC
I'll take down my posters, right down off my walls
I'll do it all quickly, there's no need to stall
They'll all be sorry when I am not there
No, they won't miss me, they won't even care
They'll continue on and all that they'll miss
Is picking on me and raising my stress
I say this each night, but the problem here is
I never take action, I never do this
I still live here, this unloving hellhole
Is keeping me prisoner, stealing my soul
I tell myself I'll be leaving someday
That forever I'm not going to stay
But still, I am here, and nothing I do
Can change anything, I am left the fool
And as I sink in a hole of despair
I know there is someone out there that cares
He's unable to help me, believe me, he's tried
But he's always there, on his shoulder I cry
He stands by me constantly, always he's there
He knows they're unjust, he knows they're unfair
If blood is thicker than water or wine,
Why are they always conspiring behind?
If I don't get out of here, I might go mad
Can they not see how they make me so sad?
If you cannot bear to see a life in tatters
Next time don't ask me what is the matter.
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