My hands shake.
I get red in the face.
Anger.
Anger drives me in to a psycho.
I laugh angrily.
So much suffer from the world.
Hate it.
Hate the populares.
They judge the light of red
inside me.
Hate stereotypes.
I cry from them.
But I try not to
let it take over.
But anger.
I can't control.
YOU ARE READING
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PoetryHope By: Kayla Hope is hope no matter what. Sometimes you hope for many things to come you hope for hope someday you hope to come home you hope you can make it But no matter what, hope will come to stay This book is my first book to my life of...
