The Harvester

The Harvester

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WpMetadataReadOngoing<5 mins
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Fri, Apr 17, 2015
In my AP English Language class, we write every Thursday about a given topic so as to develop our argumentative skills through writing ("If people cannot write well, they cannot think well, and if they cannot think well, others will do their thinking for them." -George Orwell), but I could not stay focused and I wrote this very dark poem.
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My life has always been terrible. I was always bullied at school. I don't know why, it just seemed that people didn't like my presence. The guys would beat me up and I'd get in trouble when I defended myself, for the teachers never saw what they did. The girls would trick me, making me think they liked me and laughing at me because of it. I was always in the principle's office for one reason or another, but I wasn't a bad student. I actually got really good grades. To make matters worse, my mother wanted nothing to do with me. She'd lock me in the basement, sometimes for days, with no food or warmth. My father would then sneak down and beat me before raping me. So, naturally, I wanted to die. But, for some reason, I can't die. No matter what I do, I can't stay dead. The thing I want more than anything is far out of my reach. Why can't I just die? Warning: mention of rape, suicide, and abuse. Also, this is a boy's love story.

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