I do not own Harry Potter or any of its charaters. If I did i would be rich and wouldnt be writing this
I head to the chair at my desk while grabbing my book as I go. I made it a goal of mine to write a poem every day so that I can retain what little sanity I have left. This book was given to me by one of my friends a long time ago, but I have never seen to write anything till just recently. Day by day, week by week I am loosing my mind. I must write to get all these thought out of my head or I will do something I will regret soon. I let out a heavy sigh “why can life be easier here, why do we have to fight. Bloody old man and that stupid minister have no clue what they are doing and yet are seen as the heroes.” I whine
I open my book to a random blank page. It is already filled with hundreds of haikus, poems, and journals. But it will never be full, as I have enchanted it like so many other books out there.
When one lives in their own little world, where do they go?
When one lives in their own little world, what do you say to bring them back?
When one lives in their own little world, how do they live
When one lives in their own little world, whom do you turn to?
When one lives in their own little world, when do you know to bring them back?
I live in my own world. I live where magic is what I see, is what I hear, is what I feel, and what I obsess.
In my world I have but few friends that I can count on.
In my world I can imagine things other people could never believe.
In my world I am free to express my emotions, I am free to laugh, to cry, to be angry, and to relax.
I live where anything I wish may not be possible but still act as if it was.
So who are you to pull me away from that world.
Who are you to take me away from the only place where I ever freely show my emotions?
When you see me laugh, when you see me cry, when you see anything, it is all an act for you.
You will not leave me alone in my solitude with my friends
You put me to work and complain about me not doing anything
You do nothing while praising your skills.
You ignore all I have to say.
And yet expect as if I should worship the ground you walk upon.
As if I should treat everything you say as if it were the law.
You tell me that I am not social, that I should leave my place of peace to seek out others.
But what you do not see is that I am not trusting as you wish.
The friends that I do have I know will never betray me, and I them.
The friends I do have are loyal, kind, fun, chatty, and cheerful.
My friends I can talk to with out worry about being rejected as they accept me for who I am.
You want me to join people and become someone I am not.
They do not relate to me, they do not make me happy, I do not speak with them but have my mouth speak for me.
I have talked with vampires, giants, snakes, basilisk, pixies, wizards, witches, gnomes, and centaurs, I have spoken with the popular and the rejected, I have spoken
with the perverts and the prudes, I have spoken with every person I could see.
But none of them bring out the true me as my friends do.
None of them care what I have to say, think, or feel.
They only care about petty things, things that make them unworthy of being friends in my eyes
So why is it you try to force me under your control?
Why is it that you seek to turn me into something I am not?
Why is it that you do not approve of who I am?
Why do you not approve of the people that I do befriend?
What will it take for you to accept this?
For me to be a puppet tied down to the strings that you control?
Will I have to rebel and run away from this place I call my own?
Will I have to run from my home in this house I am in?
I do not pity those that are among my friends as pity is for the weak.
I do feel for them, I will feel their sorrow, their sadness, their anger, their happiness, their joy, their confusion,
I will feel for them whither asked to or not, as they are my friends.
They are whom I can trust with my secrets, with my heart, with my soul, and my life.
They are among the ones I am honored to have known.
But you I pity as you shall never have me.
You, who may have my body as your mule, I pity
You, who may toy with my heart in fun, I pity
You who may tear my soul as you betray me, I pity
You, who will never learn the secrets I carry, I pity
TO BE CONTINUED
I close my book and put it back on the shelf with the hundreds of other books that are there. That is one more poem to my book, one more memory of my past that no one will ever understand. The only one who might is a boy, just a young boy whom everyone thinks is a hero. When he is just as human as I am. A boy who has had a life as bad as I have, and they still think he will be their savior. A boy, whom one day I wish to have at my side, I start mumbling “I wonder if I can find a way to talk to him alone without those morons around him watching his every move. But I will have to talk to him soon or he will be lost to me forever”
“LORD VOLDEMORT!” one of my Death eaters yells.
“What is it bellatrix.” I say coldly, ‘why must I always be interrupted while I am thinking’
“We are ready to attack pivet drive my lord” her voice is like a child’s. She truly is insane while I have yet to reach that point. But she is one of my most loyal so I never say anything about how she talks. “Very well. Kill everybody. But leave potter to me” I spit out. I must look angry right now, but in fact I’m anxious to see harry soon.
Hope you like it. if not then feel free to Email me your flames, the animals around here would love it. NOW GO!! do it or I shall send my army of ferrets to take over your home Bwahahahahaaaaa!!!