...wow...you just slaughtered the enlish language in ways I didn't even know was possible...

omg 4get wut dat otha person wuz sayin cuz their stoopid, dey totalli arnt wurthy enuf 2 reed ur amazin poeotry

...persian midgets...nice...
meh, not bad. spelling could still use some work but the point comes across clearly.

Now headed to college to become an English teacher, I have to tell you that being sixteen and showing this little effort in your own writing must consciously trying to write this badly or you simply have no talent. I'm going to assume you don't cherish your own work, but by looking at your author's note above, I realize this can't be the case. In fact, you've almost blinded me with blatant disregard for the English language you would think anyone that deems themself a poet would cherish.

Not only does your poetry sicken me, but it's barely understand.

Also, I must ask, in your poem, the bad grammar is accompanied greatly with a lack of spell check. Your poetry would be taken much more seriously (albeit incredibly emo) if you used something called Microsoft Word, Microsoft Works, Word Perfect, or even Firefox browser. As a matter of fact, I feel the need to inform you that the little red and green lines typically mean you did something wrong. Not fixing these problems shows not only a lack of skill but intelligence.

Looking at your bad reviews, I have to tell you that there's something called constructive criticism. You need to take criticism even if it's a flame, and wonder - "Am I really that bad?" because looking at some of your flames, and after getting more than one with the same message of "I don't know what you're trying to say" they aren't referring to your lack of normal metaphor. That's what our era is known for, not that you would know that, but they are instead referring to your constant use of "chatspeak" something all writers find vomit-worthy.

Now, this is definitely a flame, but I can't help it. However, now I'm going to take this review and change it in a different light, which is probably will since when at one time you were trying to exclaim Gray, you exclaimed Gary. At the very least, I assume you were exclaiming Gary.

Here we go:

A/N: I really liked using numbers instead of letters but English Nazi people have been really getting on my nerves lately, so I'll try to use less. Hope you're happy, **.

If my life was a color, it would be gray.

Storms,
Little mice,
Elephants,
Small Persian(?) midgets.

It's just on the brink of turning into a deep and fathomless black hole,

Like my tortured soul, which is far more black than gray. [sic]

A dark sad gray,
Like the ocean before a hurricane,
Or a marble counter top in the kitchen of despair and apathy,
Hacked from the rock of eternal sadness and eternal war.

Pain,
Senseless violence,
All is dismal gray,

Gray, gray, gray!

I'm small compared to the ocean, and the happy yellows in the sky,
The sun, the moon,
That suck me dry.

Like the Persian midget on the carousel,
My life goes whirling by (six?)
In an endless circle of pain and misery and lots and lots of empty unfeeling motorcycles?
Gray!

Now the virgin gray is stained with dripping crimson,
Of the anger inside me that I try to hide,
But now I have to release it,
Turning this gray into horror and anger, and not gray but curdled mess or reddish agony,
Just like the murdered Persian midget.

Gray,
Gray,
Gray,
Gary,
Gray!

-

Now, overlooking that poem, but before I edited it, it certainly looked like it, and it definitely felt like it.

Your poetry is like a bullet, headed for my brainz!1!

Wow, I feel ill just writing that former sentence.

Please, if your life really sucks as bad as you say it does, shoot yourself, please. Just don't aim for the temple where your eye socket will collapse, but through the mouth where it will destroy not only the back of your head but your brain, the very brain I now despise for having been conceived. As matter of fact, shoot your parents too right in groins. They deserve it.

I'm not saying your a bad poet. I'm just saying you're a ** that probably wouldn't breath properly if someone gave you an oxygen mask.

Good luck on your chosen path. I'm still praying that chosen path is suicide.

I mean, my life has sucked too. Hell, right now, I'm writing this with spider venom in my leg, and I'll still **' ** that you live.

Signed,
The girl who now hates you, hates like the murdered Persian midget, even though no human is gray and Persian are a very pretty golden brown.