sovereignly screwed and royally fucked

My bad week has just gotten worse. I already feel so fucked up and screwed, that I didn't know that it was possible to feel any worse. Even guilt of murder couldn't make me feel any more retarded than I feel now. There are exceptions, of course...

I don't know wether to be insulted or flattered. I just got back my English assignment. The one I spent 16 hours on and only got back 15 pages of original work. It was unmarked. A grade rubric was placed inside the pages. The comment read: "These poems are very good - so good in fact I have a hard time accepting that a young man wrote them. Before evaluating them, I'd like to see the poems you wrote in class, or have you sit with me and write a couple up more."

Damn. There is such a thing as being too good. I don't know what to think. Should I feel proud that she found it so unbelievable that she couldn't grade it until she saw one written before her unbelieving eyes? Or am I to be so fucking pissed that she should think I would plagiarise my work? Seriously. The only one I could ever steal it from is me. And that would make so much sense. I might as well ask myself permission to save myself the agony of having to prosecute myself. Meh. Anyways, if she did a web search and e-mailed the author, I would be the one to get it anyways.

The dilemma now is what to do. I don't feel very kindly right now towards her. Ask any of my previous English teachers (save Lakshmi, who was a royal bitch and retarded slut if you ask me) and they will tell you of my outstanding language skills. I hope. Anyways, is it so hard to believe that a young person would lack the maturity to write something so indepth? What's up with the age factor anyways? There's such things as an old soul in a young body. And in any case, mine is a fractured soul that's finding it hard to hold together.

To be fair, even my mom finds it hard to believe I can write poetry. In real life I always appear so cheerful, slightly sadistic, very arrogant and quite stupid at times that it's hard to think that I'm the sort of person to sit and write anything meaningful. But, when you know the real me more or less than you can see where it comes from. Plus, excellent language skills help alot.

To let you be the judge, I will post some of my poems that I wrote in the assignment here. You be the judge. Is it that improbable that a depressed, lovesick and suicidal young man would write words like these? The other poems I wrote but have already posted earlier (methinks around January) are My Mirror, For a Friend, A Grimace and Duplicity. I think. Too lazy to check, meh. I still want to buy that really large spear, if anyone's selling...

Teardrops

Teardrops
Falling down
In dripping thoughts
Silent cries spot your eyes
Sobbing quietly
Pain withheld within
Away from prying
With no one hearing
Alone
Breaking of heart
Within the face of stone

Teardrops
Running down
In falling spirits
Painful thoughts haunt your mind
Yearning wistfully
Pain withheld within
Clutching tightly
With no one knowing
Alone
Breaking of heart
Within the face of stone

Teardrops
Flowing down
In sundered emotions
Joyless laughter fill your lips
Whispering soundlessly
Pain withheld within
Caged from touch
With no one feeling
Alone
Breaking of heart
Within the face of stone

Waiting by the Side

day in day out
night in night out
work in work out
play in play out
nothing stops to watch the Waiter by the Side

hopes and dreams
fears and tears
plans and expectations
unknown and unexplained
nothing stops to watch the Waiter by the Side

gold and silver
rags and ruin
fame and popularity
obscurity and mediocrity
nothing stops to watch the Waiter by the Side

man and woman
girl and boy
infant and adult
parent and child
one of these is Waiting by the Side

Peace

Peace
Silence of the dark
With nothing stirring black
Silk smooth as thick as night

Tranquility
Stillness of stone
Lying without motion
Betraying no life

Deepness
Fathomless pools
Unending depths of glass
Held in eternal cold

Peace
Silence of the dark
With nothing stirring black
Silk smooth as thick as night

Calm
Unshaking solitude
Gentle breeze of quiet
Unwinding mosaic piece

Agelessness
Everlasting presence
Always beholding
Timeless passage

Peace
Silence of the dark
With nothing stirring black
Silk smooth as thick as night