Louisa Rogers
Louisa Rogers Poems
Bullying.
You're called lots of names,
Love doesn't feel the same.
...
For months they fought,
With bombs and guns,
To win the greatest war.
Forwards they ran,
...
Throughout our lives we find different friends; good, best, close and true.
Happiness is shared with them all but it's when I'm in a crisis that I know who the true ones are.
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Started to write this just generally but completed it for a short story competition at college.
She walks past the mirror and catches a glimpse of what the world is about to see. She turns, cringes and wonders why the pristine crystal glass hasn’t yet cracked at the sight of her imperfections. To the visible eye, there are none, just the pain that seems to haunt every corner of her face. She does not see what they see. She sees harsh, painful, unfair memories etched into the delicate, young face that stares back at her. He does too. He tries not to let it show but she knows it. She knows him. There is pity in his harshly reflected bottle-green eyes that he cannot hide. He says he still loves her; says he never stopped. But with her self-confidence now lower than the bowels of hell, nothing he says will reassure her it is still the truth. How can he love such damaged goods?
...
From our hearts we thank,
The ones we've lost in wars gone by.
And those who are still fighting,
And laying down their lives.
...
When I try to think about things, I usually get a blank screen staring back at me.
But when I'm trying to block everything out, memories come flooding back like water through a broken damn.
There's only one way to perminantly shut the world out but I haven't got there quite yet.
I just need to stop the memories so I can stop the pain running through my blood like poison.
...
This needs editing I know but here's the first draft...>
I don't know how and I don't know why,
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I wrote this when I was sat in a local park of mine and saw a lot of what is described in this poem.
Enjoy:
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This was written as a task for my english class at school. We had to write a poem based on a picture of one of our parents and the story behind it (if it was known) . This is based on a picture of my mother on her 21st birthday in her costume for the fancy dress party - she was dressed as a ringmaster. My father took the picture and was dressed as a lion.
Here it is:
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Suicide.
You hear about it on the news, in the newspapers.
The reasons always either bullying or just pure loneliness.
Never a broken heart.
...
Louisa Rogers Biography
I was born in London and have lived here my whole life with my Mum, Dad and an older brother that I've started to grow apart from. I've grown up with dogs and I love them. Dance has been a huge part of my life since I was 3 but I've recently changed my lifes' career plan with it. I had it all mapped out, what I was going to do at Uni and what job I wanted with which company. But that has drastically changed over the past few months. I'm sure dance will still be a part of my life, but it's not my future career any more. I now plan (hope's probably the better word) to write and photograph the world by travelling to every corner. I sorta live life as it comes and have a list of things I want to do before I die. I tend to look to the stars and follow horoscopes. My close friends give me any other advice I need of which sometimes I don't have to ask for. I love them for that and so much more ♥ I am a scout and bloody proud of it. I've been bullied for it in the past amongst other things but this year I went to the 22nd World Scout Jamboree in Sweden and no bully can make a single second of that experience bad. I had the time of my life, made memories that will never leave me and met some amazing people that aren't just friends for a week - hopefully they'll still be around to bug in a few years ♥ Now for the serious poetry part... I don't write poems because I have to; or because I want to. I write poems when a few lines pop into my head. When I feel something. I grab a piece of paper or card or reach for my notebook and write them down. Usually the words that follow, simply flow into my head, like water into a pipe. Other times I have to think a little harder about what I mean, what I want to say. Once a poem's finished, I read it over and over again, crossing words out, adding words in until i get the right meaning in the right rhythm. But poetry to me isn't just about the rhythms and rhymes. It has to make you feel. Whether you feel happy, sad, lonely, powerful, respectful or are full of hatred, guilt, curiousity, wonder, resentfulment or even laughter. I believe poetry can make you feel all of these things; and so much more. Once it has made you feel something, no matter what that something may be, then it is poetry. I class myself as a poet still learning; and I'm sure I'll never stop doing so. Jeez that's a little long now - my bad. But that's part of the blurb for the (so far) never ending book of my life. There is so much more to me than that and if you'd like to know any of it, just message me. Yours, Louisa xx PS. http: //www.blogger.com/profile/01675337515878926794 << I've got a couple of blogs if you want to take a look :))
The Best Poem Of Louisa Rogers
Bullying. No Wait, Scratch That. Abuse.
Bullying.
You're called lots of names,
Love doesn't feel the same.
Feels less important, less there,
You think you start to lose your hair.
You're just brushing it harder out of stress,
The next day you put on the same dress.
Scars are hidden with bruises and bumps,
Not visible, not obvious like past scratches and lumps.
You stumble through life, avoiding most punches,
No help with your homework, you pack your own lunches.
No one is there when you need a friend,
But you hope someone will be there in the end.
You wonder about your end and how it'll be,
Whether it's lonely or not, you don't mind 'cause you'll be free.
No one should live like that, no matter how old,
You should live as you want to, not as you're told.
It comes in different forms; verbal, physical, some people even first try to seduce,
They say 'don't worry' then 'shut up, be quiet! ' and by now it's not bullying; never was.
Abuse.
Written 09-01-11
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