Today's guest blogger, DeAngelo, an eleventh grader, will be sharing two poems with all of you. In his third year at the Academy, DeAngelo is conscientious and disciplined, always impeccably dressed for school and polite. He is always ready to volunteer in any capacity. His talent for poetry became apparent during his sophomore year and already we know him as a prolific and powerful writer. He's quite a big deal in wrestling. And quite a big deal when it comes to scholarship, leadership, and service. Thank you for visiting our blog today!
Troubled!
The mom screams SHUT-UP! You gettin' on my nerves!
The baby keeps crying and the mom gets disturbed
Most people love kids, not this woman she's cruel
The baby is only six months not understanding any rules
He gets beat, smacked, and even burned up with a lighter
If she didn't want the child why lay down with that firefighter
He's a married man and didn't want anything to do with you
Now I understand why your black dress is all covered in soup
Because you hit him one last time and all his pain went away
Now he's an angel in Heaven waiting for the golden gates
But soon you will join him but only with death
And now Hell's Satan is going to put you to rest
So next time please try to cry at your baby's passing
Oh wait she has life with a death sentence passion!
Eight Colors of the Day
The day starts off with a nice yellow shine
The thoughts of yesterday's red anger in the back of my mind
Blue is in the sky when I wake up
And I run downstairs "Look at that orange juice cup"
And drink as I think about what happened yesterday
She slapped me I didn't hit her but um that's okay
Today is better than yesterday, it's not so gray
And I would like to get past it because it's a new day
But...
Bang! He shot the paint can with a small black gun
Didn't harm nobody but hey he better start to run
A white car pulls up he hears "Freeze I'll shoot"
Now the mom is at home crying the tar off the roof
Ugh! Looked in the paper and that boy didn't stop
No wonder why blood is all over that light brown mop
