I spit my opinions out on the floor.
They sit there and burn a hole in the wood,
Because they are made of fire and sharp glass
and hardened spite.
They are everything that's swallowed and suppressed by society,
They are everything that my parents say
my few short years should not have judgement
about.
So at first I made myself small,
and sanded my rough edges, so my thoughts
Became weak and drowned in their raucous voices.
But i could feel my skull crack with the voices inside that just wanted to be let out so i finally broke and let all my opinions spill out like blood on marble,
I learned to accept that i am strong willed and opinionated
And that people will judge me the way i judge them,
But i also learned that some things are better off not said
So instead of spitting on the floor or swallowing my words, i pulled them out of my throat and scratched them on the paper, strung together with metaphors and cryptic words,
Where they rest beside all the other poems by misunderstood and depressed poets

- a poem on poetry