The Truth of the Lie

The crushing of each other, making us into one

Identity slips between the gaps of our imperfect hands
They are compressing us into the web that they have spun

Speak up, dont make your thoughts voiced to none

But dont you dare let everyone know where your opinion stands
The crushing of each other, making us into one

Do what you want, dont limit yourself, live the life you want to run
But dont do anything strange or youll be excluded from the plans
They are compressing us into the web that they have spun

Dont lose yourself in the mess of life, encourage uniqueness

But only enough so people dont start gathering in bands
The crushing of each other, making us into one

Stay true to yourself, dont listen to others, go out and have some fun
But remember if you do that, youll lose important fans
They are compressing us into the web that they have spun

They tell us to stay us but then shame us when we thought we won

Why then do we speak when we all that we are saying are scams?
The crushing of each other, making us into one
They are compressing us into the web that they have spun

The Tyranny of You

You were the best of times - Turned to the worst of times
Even as we grew older, wiser, foolishness crept in.
Believing we would be different, we are now stuck in incredulity.
Laughter and light was in every corner,
But now all that remains is your haunting darkness.
We all started so strong, but by winter next, you and I were gone
The years we had ahead were gone, the plans were gone, the roads severed,
And running away from each other forever.

I tried my hardest to hold on to fix the cracks growing in our walk,

But you, never seemed to care.
Took all I had to give, and threw me into the gallows, without a second look
back.
Silenced my cries of desperation with the nonchalant laughs,
Dismissed my name to the piles of those before me.

When I was finished you moved to her.

Made her think that you were wronged, cuffed her and chained her to
yourself.
Trying to make her throw me out too.
Trying to convince her I was the one tying you to misfortune
But you failed to realize you were becoming Bastille.
The day came where she stormed out. Fed up with your maltreatment.

Your bars around her soul.

Your tyranny fallen, understanding hit you not.

You made me out to be the King and Queen, but it was you all along.
Forever, it was always you. But her and I were not the citizens either.
We never feared you, never wanted you to go. Cherished and loved you
were.
You became your own citizen under your own rule.
Lost in the history that repeats.
We were no different, her and I know that now. But you lost your head in this
fight,
Ran from her and I both like you did me in the Square.

You are gone now, fled from your country, but your reign has placed its mark
on history.
Memories, are not as easy to forget, as the property is given back.
Still after all this time, her and I have not healed.
The treatment so harsh, the punishment so brutal.
But even so I have two wishes for you,
Acknowledge that history repeats itself, a record on a turn table, singing the
same tune,
And happy birthday, may wisdom finally come to you at last.

Grow Up

Walls fresh with grey-white paint, the smell of construction in the air
Into lungs it gets breathed in.
Desks are written on, the floor scratched from years of wear.
Old gum lurks under tables, begging to be touched.
Dust accumulates on the surfaces.
Into this room he walked.
Shuffling, shambling, slowly.
Quiet falls around as he makes his way to the board,
To tell of the time in World War Two.
His skin has seen the rage of hate, it is there, written into the folds and
cracks.
Hiding behind the age spots, but ever blatant in his mouth.
Falling, fleeing, fulminant away from his lips.
Rushing over us we stare back startled.
Those damn Japs. You think theyre innocent?!
Not a single one. The women and children? Innocent?
No! They were working in the factories. They were making weapons for their
soldiers.
Every single one of them! Those damn Japs.
The venom spewing, basking us all, stuck, within the walls,
Unable to escape.
Continuing, with stories, with memories,
Speaking of love, of friends, of lost brothers,
Of the hate for Those damn Japs.
Visible in his aged eyes is the loathing.
The loathing that ferments deep inside him still making him who he is.

No sympathy, no regret, only execrate stirring inside.

And clear is it when he says Those damn Japs that he says These damn
Japs.

Madyson Middleton
Thrown away, to the bin
But a piece of trash you not.
Lured by friend
Lured by promise
Lured, to your death.
Smiling and happy
Go bound and raped
Mouth strapped tight
Words cannot escape.
Flowers and candles
Decorate the walk
Shock and mourning settle in.
Here on Sunday, gone on Monday
Your light shines no more.
Your mother lost her child
His mother lost her child.
Hindsight - the clearest of all.
Your mother embraces,
Closes arms around your killers mother.

Forgives her, for its not her fault.

Loves you enough, to stay strong
To stay hopeful, to stay kind.
We shall forgive, but not forget.

Process Memo
To be quite honest, I dont remember what was going through my head when I wrote the first
poem. Before writing it I was reading other examples of villanelles. Many of the examples I was
reading were about nature and I suppose that that got me thinking about human nature. I am not
into conformity, and society seems to preach about how everyone needs to be himself or herself
and not listen to others opinions. However, when someone does start to be himself or herself and
throws peoples negative opinions to the wind, that person gets ridiculed and shamed for doing
so. I do not understand why we as society tell people to unique, when we turn around and bash
them for it.
For the second poem I wrote about the breakup of a five year friendship with one of my then best
friends, Karla. My best friend, Elizabeth, and I got along amazingly well with Karla until the end
of tenth grade (the year we read A Tale of Two Cities in English class). After I moved away and
went to a different school Karla completely turned on me and we drifted apart but her and
Elizabeth were still real good friends. Karla was constantly trying to tear Elizabeth away from
me. Just a few weeks ago Karla turned on Elizabeth as well and they have since stopped being
friends but Karla doesnt seem to understand why they fell apart. Even though Karla is no longer
in our day to day lives, she has left a deep mark on both Elizabeth and I, especially Elizabeth
because they were friends longer than I was friends with Karla. It was Karlas birthday on the 3rd

of August and Elizabeth was giving Karla back all the things she had left over Elizabeths house
and Elizabeth was telling me how hard it was for her. So with all the talk of Karla, writing about
how she has affected Elizabeth and I came really easily. Karla was really great, the best of
times and then really turned to the worst of times. Karla has made and dropped many friends,
before Elizabeth and I, so even though it was surprising that we were dropped too, we should
have been expecting it.
The third poem is about a man who fought in World War Two. His name is Mr. Prada (I never
learned his first name) and he would come to my American History class in 11th grade and talk to
us about his experience in the war. He would express several times his hate for the Japanese
because what they did in the war. He felt no remorse for the bombings of Japan or for the people
who were killed there. I was going to write about a racist event against a black person, but I
could not think of any events that had happened close to me. Anytime Mr. Prada would speak to
my class, several of my friends and I would get incredibly uncomfortable by how much hatred he
had for the Japanese. Im sure that if there were an Asian in our class Mr. Prada would not have
said everything that he did.
The fourth poem seems a lot like a eulogy, but I did not mean to make it so. I was talking to my
mom about having to write these poems and at the time I thought they all had to be about race.
She suggested that I Google the shootings currently going on in Baltimore so I could maybe find
something to write about. On one of the articles I clicked on I found a link for the rape and
murder of eight year old Madyson Middleton that occurred on Sunday (August 2, 2015) evening.
I read the article on Middleton, reread the prompt for Paper 3, realized that not all the poems had
to be on race, and so I did my poem on her. I wrote about what happened to Middleton, that her

body was found in a garbage bin, and that her mother does not blame her daughters killers
mother for her sons actions.