Who Said I was Jeaolous?

I could say that I am not jealous of people who write well... but I am as well as this poem written by a person who obviously is already dead this poem is called Sonnet 18... and it's by William Shakespeare.

Shall I campare thee to a summer's day? A lover pining over someone and comparing them to what he/she thinks is beautiful...

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:  again comparing to that of a summer's hue and how the time grows short and yet as it continues this poem states that though death shall not brag and that their eternal summer will not fade but that as long as many things last they shall last also.

I wish that I to can write like this and I like the type of speech it's written in maybe sometime later in the future I will be able to create a piece like this at least my jealousy of it shall keep me writing. But until that time comes I shall hope to do my best with my writing.

I'm Tired

I'm tired.
I'm tired of fighting, of nagging, of not being able to stop my dad from telling me what to do. I'm tired of work, of school, of the painstakingly long hours it takes me to go through school work. I'm tired of feeling tired. I'm tired of living in a house that has a controlling atmosphere. I'm tired of swinging back and forth through life like a roller coaster. Tired of going to school alone. Tired of being afraid for others. Tired of being sore. Tired of wearing a back pack that weighs a third of my own weight. I'm tired of daylights savings time. I'm tired of books, of feeling stupid, of being annoyed. I'm tired of rain. I'm tired of life.

Love Is...

Love is a damsel in distress waiting for her hero. Love is knowing she'll do something only for you. Love is feeling the rhythm of his heart. Loving is knowing they'll always support you. Love is watching a child leave home. Love is waiting for your turn to die. Love is a moment you keep remembering throughout your life. Love is a feeling that is never the same for everyone else when it comes to brothers, sisters, wives, husbands, mothers, and fathers love is different. Love is a friend telling another about their other friends in a good way. Love is having someone to hang out with. Love is never-ending.

Blood

Blood, is it blue as the type color or as it look like when you looks at your veins that is flowing with the substance of liquid of which we call blood. Or is it Red like this type color, as when a deadly blow to the heart sends it (blood) flying into the air or as a simple paper cut bleeds and yet is the most painful in the world. Or is it Both, when it is in the veins or splurging from wounds, blood is continually changing colors, from Blue to Red. Always, always changing. Forever until the ends of the Earth flowing, and beating and living.Without it our hearts will not beat in the rhythm that we're used to. Blood is the liquid needed most. Moving from one color to the other blood is a versatile substance that everyone is born with and will live with for the rest of their entire lives.