A Fallacy inspired Soapbox Rant

The other day I was walking around campus and I saw a very misinformed boy with a shirt that said "Shakespeare Hates Your Emo Poems." While, I'm not emo myself nor an advocate for emo kids, this shirt made me feel somewhat irate (Maybe because I posted an emo poem earlier). I like to write poetry, and I believe the occasional emo poem is healthy.

Now, in honor of the fact that I just finished reading Hamlet again (a very emo character (WHO DIES!! Maybe he does hate emo things, no, just kidding) This post is dedicated to emo poetry and I'm sure my room mate is going to judge me.

First will be one of Hamlet's Soliloquies "To be or not to be", which is all about the contemplation of suicide, how much more emo can you get.

Then will be a poem of my own, once again inspired by Hamlet, about how his despair consumed him completely until everything around him, including himself, was destroyed by it. Very sad.

To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover’d country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.

Cypress Tree

There is a cypress tree

that grows inside of me

Parasitically eating

my hearts final beating

the living of my being

As all of my fears

made manifest in tears

all my soul's pain

is it's life giving rain

The agonized bleating

of my hearts bleeding beating

is it's sun softly beaming

on its leaves slowly feeding

My decomposing soul

it's dark soft rich soul

and I scream bloody murder 

as it's roots push on deeper

This tree that needs felling

to me it is telling

Like a dark Van Gogh painting

of yet another failing

and what there is waiting

when my heart stops it's beating

As I breath my last breath 

and give in now to death

this dark tree

takes the last of me

as I cease to be

nothing more that the

symbol you see

in a dark cypress tree.

Shakespeare loves my Emo poems (but I promise I'm a happy person)