A poem I wrote when everyone at school kept saying I was a goth! I hate being categorized!

My poems don’t mean I’m a Goth


I write poems about death, pain disease and Manson songs,

Suicide, stabbing, poison and human wrongs,

Silence, darkness, bloodlust and heavy metal,

And the one about the rose with the darkened petal,

I write about inhuman sufferings dark,

And dying maidens in hallways stark,

Lost treasure of jewels, silver and gold,

Lamenting over summer, wanting the cold,

Everyone is insisting that I am a Goth,

I welcome this assumption like a house welcomes dry rot,

Just because I like heavy metal, death themes and black,

They all insist that my Gothic phase is back,

A couple of harmless heavy metal bands,

A few death poems about wilderness lands.

Dreams of piercings and tattoos or not,

Heavy metal and black doesn’t make me a Goth,

Fantasies about Rottweilers, dragons and black cats,

Being the one in my family who’s unafraid of rats,

I wouldn’t call myself a Goth,

This is a point I have to argue a lot,

I’m not a Goth so you can tell,

Whoever says I’m one to go rot in hell,

Thatdidsound like a Gothic phrase,

But I’ll deny the return of my Gothic phase!

The End

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