Eleven

• Isabella Johnson, Grade 6
• Poetry
• 2013

Feeling annoyed, don’t know why.
They don’t understand, and neither do I .
They try to reason, I don’t want to hear.
My mind is cluttered, I wish it were clear.

Questions.
Answers.
We start to fight.
This goes on, right into the night.

Angry and confused, I want them to hurt.
Or crawl away, deep in the dirt.
Names, smart comments begin to fly,
Screaming and shouting, I start to cry.

Then those thoughts start to fade away.
I’m better than this, don’t have to be that way.
I’ve made things worse, but I don’t know why.
Remorse. Confusion. And still I cry.