Vented frustrations about my lovely school. [Psuedo philosphy]

I hate being a writer.

Not because of the writing, of course.

I love the writing.

What I hate is my fellow breed.

Writers! The accepting group, the open group;

They don't segregate (so they say)...

Which confuses me into hurt diziness.

New ideas, analytical ideas,

Hold no bearing in their writers world.

They are "blind" by seeing what you do not.


You attack hypocrites, yes? You long for people to SEE THE LIGHT!

... I do not see you mauling yourself, shining that light on yourself.

You label yourselves as understanding,

Yet you refuse to understand.

What are you? I am ashamed of you.

Dead ashamed, to be labelled the same way you label yourselves.

You writers, you weavers of word chains,

Resemble a man who killed himself long ago, in 1945.

However, unlike that man, you persecute the soul, the mind, the heart. Not heritage. 


And now I, a writer, will be shunned

From writing what you do not want to read.

Sound familiar?

The End

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