Because I was newly pregnant, I was sick as a dog, yet I knew all my lines from a year before.
quote by Gwyneth Paltrow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A January Fear
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
My class is all here
Down to each little sneer
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
Those cute little creatures
Have nothing to fear
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
Still knowing that teacher's
not entirely all here
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
Each little tear
Makes it perfectly clear
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
A day off is coming
And hopefully near
a sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
It's harder and harder
Maintaining my leer
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
Perhaps my behavior's
becoming quite queer
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
Perhaps in the morning
I'll call in and cheer
A SICK DAY A SICK DAY
I GOT A PAIN IN MY EAR
Alas...I can hear my principle sneer
With a resigning smirk easy to hear
NO SICK DAY NO SICK DAY
SORRY MY DEAR
NO SICK DAYS NO SICK DAYS
REMAINING THIS YEAR
poem by Robert John Meehan
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Beautiful Madagascar
Of great ideas,
Of great words,
Please don't come to me empty handed;
Oh beautiful Madagascar!
You are one among the lot.
Like the year of the donkey,
Like the year of the bull,
Like the year of the cow,
Like the year of the dragon,
Like the year of the rat,
Like the year of the fish,
The best kept secrets of beautiful Madagascar! !
You are our hope and dream,
But you are supposed to be the pregnant girl;
With the muse of Africa to all who do visit you.
Pregnant with possibilities when,
Dogs are sold for fun;
Upon what are the foundations of the earth fastened?
Out of the whirlwind came beautiful Madagascar!
Like the seeds with hope,
Like the stars with a song,
Out of hunger and nakedness came something sweet.
Beautiful Madagascar,
Wake up to the tunes of Africa! And,
Let others see your beauty when they do visit you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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It is true that the movie is perhaps my most politically-charged. The story is thrust into motion by the idea of what do you do when your 13 year old daughter comes home pregnant. And not only is she pregnant, but she wants to keep the baby.
quote by Todd Solondz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It is not by watching a newly wed wife that she is going to become pregnant.
Im sick
im sick of not knowing,
im sick of not showing,
im sick of all the starring
im sick of not caring
im sick of being labled bad
im sick of always looking sad
im sick of feeling locked in bars
im sick of all the painful scars
im sick of all the thugs
im sick of all the drugs
im sick of asking myself why
im sick of telling myself i want to die
im sick of feeling like i always want to cry
im sick of living a lie
im sick of not having a dream
im sick of lifes borring theme
but thares only one was out...
so what does that mean?
poem by Malorie Genoff
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So Sick
im sick of not knowing,
im sick of not showing,
im sick of all the starring
im sick of not caring
im sick of being labled bad
im sick of always looking sad
im sick of feeling locked in bars
im sick of all the painful scars
im sick of all the thugs
im sick of all the drugs
im sick of asking myself why
im sick of telling myself i want to die
im sick of feeling like i always want to cry
im sick of living a lie
im sick of not having a dream
im sick of lifes borring theme
but thares only one was out...
so what does that mean?
poem by Ricky Baker
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Sick of Being Sick
I’m sick of being rejected;
I’m sick of being emotionally neglected;
I’m sick of crying so many tears;
I’m sick of running away from my fears;
I’m sick of my childhood nightmares;
I’m sick of being told to do those stupid dares;
I’m sick of not having friends;
I’m sick of all these dead ends;
I’m sick of myself for what I’ve become;
I’m sick of feeling oh so numb;
I’m sick of watching myself drown;
I’m sick of my heart falling to the ground;
I’m sick of this life;
I’m sick of this everyday strife;
I’m sick of not having a dad;
I’m sick of getting mad;
I’m sick of my childhood past;
I’m sick of being harassed;
I’m sick of the dread;
I’m sick of wanting to be dead;
I’m sick of being the one who’s always so strong;
I’m sick of being somebody that doesn’t belong! !
poem by Shelby Brockway
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4 Year Girl
A four year girl i knew
This thing we had of truth
Somehow our spirits where alike
Much had we weathered for each other
The four year girl i knew
Could turn your eye if she smiled
Oh how i loved that girl
When she liked smiling at me
A four year girl i knew
Showed me who she was
Did it hurt you like it hurt me
The trust laid just as deep as the lies?
The four year girl i knew
How could i have been so naive
How could she have fooled everybody
Without telling one lie
A four year girl i knew
I spent four years falling for
And in four days lost the girl
And walked away with a heart
Screaming with pain (for)
The four year girl i knew
Why cant my heart bare the change
Of four years in four days
poem by David Bodnar
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I Am Sick....
I am sick …. The pain I feel.
I am sick…. This must be surreal.
I am sick…. I will not die.
I am sick…. But I must live on with this lie.
I am sick…. It’s not like cancer it’s not that bad.
I am sick… but the say depression goes with this pain I have.
I am sick…. It will never disappear.
I am sick…. My days will go on with the same o’l tear.
I am sick…. That I have thought of taking my pain away.
I am sick…. For that I cannot for the pain must stay.
I am sick… and no one can fix me.
I am sick…. That no one can see.
I am sick…. They believe nothing is wrong with me.
I am sick…. Because of this disease.
I am sick…. Because I beg god please.
poem by Winifred Harkness
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Sick I Am...
i am sick...please don`t be sad...
i am sick...please don`t tell anyone...
i am sick...please forgive me if i hurt you...
i am sick...going so faraway from here...
i am sick...saying this only for you...
i am sick...maybe will never come back...
i am sick...remember me and never forget me...
i am sick...pray for me and wish me all best what you can...
i am sick...all wounds i have inside my heart...
i am sick...please don`t be sad...
i am sick... and you will never see me..
poem by Hazem Al Jaber
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Pro Life Pro Choice
So a girl carrying a deformed baby in her that is her father's is a murderer because she has an abortion? When sperm hits egg it is process and biochemistry. When a person jumps off a hundred foot bridge they probably will die because of gravity. I don't believe God gets 10 year old girls pregnant by their fathers or rapists. There were over 32,000 rapes last year in the USA.
Can we be pro life with our own life yet not impose our morality upon everyone else?
What if a 12 year old is pregnant by her 15 year old boyfriend and she is in the midst of a break down and her parents decide she shouldn't have the baby; that she is too emotionally and mentally unstable? Her parents went through a divorce and she is doing bad in school and she is cutting herself. Happens all the time. Do we call her a murderer? Do we condemn her parents?
The youngest girl recorded to have given birth is 5 years old and 7 months......there are many many 8 and 9 year olds known to have given birth.
Ideals in a imperfect world enforced by a government with its power and apparatus can be a page out of Kafka, a nightmare of oppression.
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Pikcha
Pikcha, pick, cap, hip;
Sarah is pregnant!
Spiritual River,
Spiritual Blues,
Recorded,
On demand;
Held, beheld!
But, Sarah is pregnant.
Morning sickness,
Expecting a baby;
Lines, linesman!
A luscious dinner,
But, Sarah is pregnant.
Pikcha, pick, cap, hip;
One by one,
Pose, repose!
The open goal,
As cold as snow;
Surely it was easier to score it! !
Because, the goal post was empty;
And now, she's expecting a baby.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Sicckk
sick of it..
im so sick of it
im sick of waking up in the morning.
im sick of you saying im nothing,
im sick of you calling me down.
im sick of you drinking all the time. |
im sick of you blaming everything on meh.
im sick of you
im sick of this
im sick of everything..
but must of all your the one im sick of..
i relise your the reson for my pain...
sorry mom..
its time for me to goo..
poem by Cheylayna Bear
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Tired sick.
When you don't have something that is what is everyone craves,
Then the trouble begins in waves. '
The clock loudly and soundly does tick
While you get tired sick.
You go do something that depends on others
Better do quick lest disagree your mothers.
Rhyme does you no then good,
Seems like that something is the only food.
The world beats around in their newly acquired fun
While you sit alone there, one and only one.
The clock loudly does tick
making you sick; really really sick
Tired of the fun, you go sit one,
While the music subsides and leaves you then,
With what you want.
The clock does tick,
Making you tired sick.
poem by Pablo Picasso
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Last Call
He was sick of it all
Asleep at home
Told you off and goodbye
Well you know one day itll come to haunt you
That you didnt tell him quite the truth
Youre a crisis
Youre a icicle
Youre a tongueless talker
You dont care what you say
Youre a jaywalker and you just just walk away
And thats all you do
The clap of the fading out sound of your shoes
Made him ownder who he thought that he knew
Last call
He was sick of it all
The endless stream of reminders
Made him so sick of you sick of you sick of you
Sick for your sound
Sick of you coming around
Trying to crawl under my skin
When I already shed my best defense
It comes out all around that you won
And I think Im all done
You can switch me off safely
While Im lying here waiting for sleep to overtake me
Yeah yeah youre still here but just check to make sure
All you aspired to do was endure
You cant ask for more ask for none
Knowing youll never get that which you ask for
So you cast your shadow everywhere like the man in the moon
You start to drink you just want to continue
Itll all be yester year soon
You start to drink you just want to continue
Itll all be yester year soon
Church bells and now Im awake and I guess it must be some kind of
Holiday
I cant seen to join in the celebration
But Ill go to the service
And Ill go to pray
And Ill sing the praises of my makers name
Like I was as good as she made me
And I wanted her to tell me that she would never wake me
I wanted her to tell me that she would never wake me
I wanted her to tell me that she would never wake me
I wanted her to tell me that she would never wake me
I wanted her to tell me that she would never wake me
I wanted her to tell me that she would never wake me
I wanted her to tell me that she would never wake me
I wanted her to tell me that she would never wake me
Im lying here waiting for sleep to one take me
song performed by by Elliott Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0164In Mind
It’s only now, only now, that I remember, that I can see,
how you made your presence felt so often;
so long unlooked for, seeing only absence, never believing presence;
for in the subtlety of your wisdom, the wisdom of your subtlety,
you leave reminders of that presence in that secret place
where it’s as safe as childhood happiness
forgotten, then remembered…
for you speak a closer language to a child,
closer than the growing child comes to believe.
When was the first time - now I can remember who you are,
when you first spoke to me?
Wasn’t it that day when I could toddle unsteadily
but with wide open eyes, where the lion’s head
poured water from its mouth into the basin?
and in the paving of the bricks – which anyone could see –
you left me that private, secret message,
knowing that I’d not notice, (so I’d not forget) ,
until one day it swam out of memory?
For this is your so secret, open generosity: you leave every one of us
this secret message: that moment when we knew
that we knew something certain – and yet,
did not know what that something was?
And then, that time after a year or two – a lifetime for a child –
when you announced your presence by your so painful absence,
and I made that solemn decision for a four-year-old,
never to trust a grown-up ever again; not because
of being a helpless child – but because there was that in me
which knew when you were there, and when you weren’t?
Then you left so many messages I did not need to heed
-or so it seemed, because they were so obvious –
and only in your absence was your presence felt:
the day after a gale, the ozone of the beach, the sea
now brown but calming, seaweed salty on the stones;
the field of flowers and dewdrops –the moths in ecstasy;
and in that silent glade of woodland, as if you had made that space
between the trees, to leave a message loud and clear: that
you live in space, so visibly invisible…
then later, on the tennis court, green grass just newly cut,
that exhilarating smell; lime-white lines just newly marked;
and when the ball hit the centre of the racquet, just so,
I missed your message, in the will to win…
And then, grown up: how are we to know – until we know –
your messages left all around, in so many places, all so different?
When, like the unicorn, we know we’ll never see you,
yet know we know that in our minds, you live?
That single horn upon its clear-eyed brow,
that dips in recognition of innocence,
how could we miss your message, so gently elegant,
one-pointed image of yourself, in mind?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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He's So Sick
He's so sick to think that I'm the one who did something wrong
He's so sick to think that I'm the one who wouldn't leave him alone
He's so sick to think that he could actually think that I wanted him
All I could say is Yuck
How did I get stuck with a person who is so sick to think of me like that
All I can say is If only Jermaine just knew that much I know he would surely snap and cause a commotion
I'm so glad that this person will graduate and will finally be gone and leave me alone
poem by Chelsea Houston
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I’m Sick
I’m sick of life
I’m sick of its ways
I’m sick and tired
Of playin these games.
I’m sick of jobs
I’m sick of money
I’m sick and tired
N I’m not been funny
Im sick of emotions
Im sick of hope
Im sick and tired
This is the effect of dope.
poem by James Grayson
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As We Go
A dream of white, snow newly laid,
Lines of footprints, all freshly made,
As across the ground we go,
Leaving our footprints in the snow.
A dream of yellow, sun so strong,
Lines of sunshades on sand, belong,
As across the beach we go,
Leaving the shades, in the sun’s glow.
A dream of blue, sky clearly seen,
Lines of vapour, where planes have been,
As across the land we go,
Leaving the trails, that skywards flow.
A dream of black, the night is here,
Lines of stars, which slowly appear,
As across the hours we go,
Leaving the stars, on night’s shadow,
A dream of colours, as dawn awakes,
Lines of raindrops fall as daybreaks,
As across the day we go,
Leaving the drops, on dawn’s rainbow.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Tired of living a lie
I 'Am sick of all the crying
I 'am sick of not knowing
I'am sick of not showing
I' am sick, of people
I'm sick of pretending is
all perfect.
Tired of living a lie
sick of loving you
Tired of the tear I cry
Sick of anger
Sick of pain in my heart
Sick of having to do this
Again.
Marisa Taylor
poem by Maria Luisa Taylor
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