Post the worst thing you've ever written: passage, sentence, chapter. Don't matter, as long as you think it's garbage

yeah, i was real, real bad

my first rap

I created everything that you see
Every thought running through your mind is only there cause of me
Your reality
is subjective to my directive
And the inner peace I seek
Don't bother me with your concerns
They're too petty for
me to switch my view
From the world that burns
on queue
Of the man in the mask whose primary task is
Closin up ya eyesight, snuffin all the bright lights
Emulatin Christ like he was dragged through no mud and beaten with no clubs
It's all a distraction, a red herring refraction
of responsibility
to do due diligence is a necessity
For when you live as a god you must learn brevity as a quality
To command these primates and force their soul to vibrate
Pop past dimensions, stop time all by ascension of the mind
Forced to realize the tension of being alone
is undone as soon as you
Put down the gun, don't run, just fuckin have fun
Maybe that'll learn ya some common sense
Just enough to jump the fence
Possibly open up your thoughts to me
Quit fearing rejection, forge a connection
Cross the border into the New World and create some disorder

oof

The short story wasn't completely awful

>brevity
This word has escaped my mind for months, thank you. Rap guy.

Thanks, I like to read my old stuff to remind myself I'm def getting better, but it's nice to also think that I wasn't just vomiting everywhere.

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
So's the Star of David,
I am ze Jew.

How old were you when you wrote that stuff?

I wrote this shitfaced one night and it's just,,, trash.

Dead sweat on the skin of newfound drunks.
Stumble into the night with no regard of the
footwork that served you so well inside.
Who are you? Again,

I’ll let dark air cool my skin, let it hit the back of
my throat with the blue steam of tobaccos and sharp
breaths in of forgotten names and remembered hurts.
Who am I? Again,

I’ll fumble my way down this avenue, open chested.
Let the world see my scribbles and exposed bones.
She never saw this collar. We never saw this night.
Who were we? Again,

You’re you, I’m me, we have no leg to stand on with romance.
It’s a dead art replaced by stamping feet and drooling lips.
I haven’t felt that since my blood was a simmer.
Where am I again?

like 17, i didn't take reading seriously for two more years (still don't read enough, but I've learned to be self-critical and I've gotten a circle of people to share with that are mean)

>the culmination of my rap career
now I know what it was all for; thank you

Shieeeeeeeeettterstinn bimbus the third

Ah I see. I'm 18 myself and decided to finally start with writing. I'm in the process of writing an autobiographical (I know) short-story on an excursion of mine. The most disheartening aspect is that you have to write terribly before you can get any good.

look at it this way, writing well will follow you forever. it'll affect the way you articulate yourself, it'll help you understand yourself just because you have to think about what you want to say, and if you look for some people you can bounce ideas off of, the mutual respect and the jealousy at good lines and clever phrases, it'll be a good deal less lonely

Very insightful. How did you go about finding people to crit your work?

From the first draft of my first story when I started to write more (15 or 16):
>Sister is going to move out. That's what she told me. It's a lie, I can tell. She's just comforting herself. She'll leave for a time and be back again. More sullen and angry than before too, she's pathetic. She'll be crying and screaming of how it is my fault, mother's fault... our fault. And we think the same of her, and I belive we are right, it is all her fault... Family isn't family here. Nobody loves anybody here, everybody here is bloated with spleens. I wish we'd all just die. Not painfully, I don't hate them like they do me, I just want them to die in their sleep, that's all. And then I'd be alone at last.

first thing was a creative writing class at college, found the two people that were better than me, and made friends. i've went to a bunch of online forums for critique and picked up a couple of legitimately impressive writers that were nice enough to sorta mentor me.

occasionally the /crit/ threads here will have someone who obviously knows their shit, and don't be afraid to ask them for help, the worst thing that could happen is that tell you to suicide (you don't actually have to though)

Can't unsee? Go to the sea.
Dunk your head in brine with glee,
Douse the foul memory
Curbing your ability
To create, to dream, to be.
Your scorched corneas--the fee
To be blessed by sweet Lethe.
If, alas, you should foresee
That this be no remedy,
Hades awaits patiently.
Get a rope, a chair and...wee!
No more of Veeky Forums's poetry.

Cool winter air,
On the back of my balls,
Out of my call center chair,
Away from the center's walls.

I can finally breathe!
My fucking headache is gone!
This is all that I need,
All that I've longed.

So I stare straight up,
Take a whiff of the smoke,
The smokers just a smokin',
Tokin' and broke.

And so goes my shirt over my nose,
To smell my tobacco-hinted cologne,
I close my eyes and, as my high grows,
I feel accompanied here alone.

If this was a line by a teenage character in a story you wrote, it wouldn't be too bad.

Some nihilistic doodles in a deep state of depression. Since then I've burnt them, so I can't quote myself.

my diary desu

its not that bad. seems bit convoluted, what was the context? he is an optimized version
>"wait Im ..."
>" I have no need for the names of the dead"

Why did you try to poetry it up? is the guy a hypocrite? I mean at the same time he thinks she is pathetic but also writes it off as his self righteousness
>bloated with spleens
why?

I believe this to be by far one of my more triumphant efforts in poesy, yet the comments I have received upon it thus far have not been shall we say - complimentary?

Nevertheless, I trust that here, in a thread full of 3rd and 4th rate slosh, it shall find a more appreciative audience.

Please listen to the musical setting whilst reading:
youtube.com/watch?v=ZpA0l2WB86E

Discourse on True Love
(Set to the famous “Serenade” of Franz Schubert)

I am shipwrecked on the island
Of your beauty.
I set sail romantically upon the sea of love,
Like a pirate looking for treasure beyond gold.
You called out to me with your siren song,
When you wore high heels on Saturday.
Wherefore my heart is broken,
’Tis broken, and ever shall be broken,
Unless you be the repair-person of my heart.
Come, my dearest, come unto me,
Together we shall study the heart’s machinery,
Together we shall be the technicians of romance.
Behold, I am your text-book,
And you are my hopeful student eager for an ‘A’.

O my darling,
Let me be your silver shining sword,
And you shall be my sheath, soft and snug.
Sharpness and softness thusly combined,
We shall experiment the meaning of True Love.
O Venus! O Mars!
Eternal feminine and masculine!
Eternal dance of opposite attraction!
Inexorable like the sun and moon,
Like the force of gravity invisble you pull me in.
My desire shall revolve eternally about you,
Forever until the planets themselves dissolve,
Or until it becomes awkward.

Alas, my love, alas!
If I tear out my aching heart,
And post it to you through the mail
Will you . . . appreciate it?
But my love for you
. . . is deeper than this even.

>My desire shall revolve eternally about you,Forever until the planets themselves dissolve,Or until it becomes awkward.
This alone has earned you your (you).

Well, this seems like a good enough thread to let really cringe-worthy shit off my chest. Guess I'll do it in poetry form to make it extra special.

Straighten the torso
Now the neck even more so
Just try not to notice it there
The Weakness
Flowers in its hair

Cover the face and avert the oculus
It'll only hurt the three of us
The brain, the heart, and the fool
Who uses the heart and the brain
But not as proper tools

If this hasn't been stressed enough already
Just stop being stupid and take it steady
There's a lot that has to be done
To love oneself
Before loving another one

But... maybe? Should we give it a shot?
No, we're fooling ourselves and should definitely not
The fool has too much power over us
As we struggle to turn the gaze
Avert the oculus

Christ, avert already, please
Stop driving us crazy, you fucking sleeze
We were finally getting used to being alone
Without touch, or responsibility or
Never mind, esteem made sure the fool was overthrown

this my first poem. you can thank your tortured genius meme for it. its singed into my memory now

this ghoul who puppets my small soul
i feel her filth and putrid glow--
perplexing how i love her so.
i love her so, i love her so;

she manipulates with puppet strings
and sings and sings abhorrent things:
"you won't be mourned but quick forgot;
from dirt you came, buy dirt you're bought"

who shall be slain to rid my brain
of these sad thoughts, this cruel abuse?
a stupid question i suppose
i did not want the answer to
"but who but you dear, who but you?"