My Life,My Blood,My Hate,My Love

My life,

Full of dreams and pains,

So much that it rains,

My life.

My blood,

They watch it spill,

But their stares help kill,

My blood.

My hate,

Is only for him,

The man that broke me like a limb,

My hate.

My love,

Has never been shared,

Because they only pointed and stared,

My love.

But,

Your life

So carefree and fun,

You have everything done,

Your life.

Your blood,

Is all so pure,

And you get to have the cure,

Your blood.

Your hate,

Is over things so small,

And you don't have to fall,

Your hate.

Your love,

Is just so fake,

And you've never had to break,

Your love.

Author's Note

It is all so true.

Reviews

[Wild Spirit]

I want to know who the second half was talking to as well

[potato]

Yea...Its t the man that it speaks of.

[The Cuckoo's Nest]

In the second half of your poem, are you talking to the man who broke you mentioned in the third stanza, or are you talking to a generalized "you"?

[potato]

It is to the man mentioned in the third stanza.

[Wild Spirit]

Ok and so how is his blood pure? Just a thought.

[potato]

meaning that he put him self out like he was a saint, when he came home and called me a piece of s**t.

[Wild Spirit]

O well ok and I sent u a message

[The Cuckoo's Nest]

Good, I had hoped so; it reads better that way. Although Wildspirit brings up a good point.

[LaughingBuddha]

Viewing others pains as insignificant can be dangerous, but it is such a real and painful feeling. If I can offer some constructive criticism, maybe focus a little less on the rhyme aspect, and more on expressing your message.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

life is so full of contradictions...and opposite...contentment and resentment, love and hate---heat and cold...
i was quite broken like the speaker in this poem...but there is a resurrection from this state of heart...i was lucky over the years to keep reviving myself and moving on.

intense write.

[potato]

Thank you.