Damn man, don't you just love going to the toilet? The inspiration you get from merely sitting on a toilet seat is incomprehensible. Yeah, well, have a read at it. Here is a description of what it's about:

It's simply about an average teenage boy, who gets bullied quite alot by people "better" than him, to the point where he commits suicide and how the lives of the people doing it go on. My poem shows insight to this character and I chose to portray his feelings in an interesting way. You know he feels depressed and I used no such word or synonym in the poem and that was, in some sense, my target. All this person wants is to become better, to do something with his life. He has goals, and is a good person, and also looks up to older people. However, the poem depicts how the actions of others were a catalyst to dwindling his hope and chances of "being accepted into society" (for like of a better term.) I chose to evoke his feelings through imagery, connotations and subtle atmospheric description to give you an idea of the story that spun out of my head while reading the back of shampoo bottles in my bathroom (I know right?)

Here it is:

Become.
He aspired to wise men
But had long gone past
He anticipated the future;
But saw blood-stained grass.

In a struggle to excel,
Southbound for hell,
He fathomed a world
Where all was well.

Discerning tongues
That veiled the truth
They dwindled his ambition
And troubled his youth.

The outsiders, onlookers,
observing ill-informed
Misguided, misjudged,
rebelliously conformed.

A platonic perception, he strived to insist, 
Yet unfaithful to this, inclined to desist
They composed him of rumours
And formed a cold, dark mist.

Ultimately burning all sense of hope
They replaced his aspiration with reason to mope
All his goals, his reason for respire;
A waste of time,
A waste of pain,
He concluded, reluctantly, that death was his desire.

But time passes. They forget.
No sorrow felt, no sense of regret.
In vain yet still, their world is best
To heaven, northbound, without fear of less.

This generation of discrimination.
With a corrupt fixation
It's unmoving, unguided; the dead they persist
Preserving yet, that cold, dark, mist.

Feel free to ask any questions if you are struggling with the meaning of some of the verses.

This was absolutely amazing. You deserve a big applause. I didn't have any struggle with reading, I'm glad. Come on now, give yourself a pat on the back. Are you planning on posting this on sites like deviantart.com too?

By the way, for how long have you been writing poems like these? Is it more of a hobby or just something you do when you're bored?

Applause you deserve, for that was great, I am amused.
I wrote you a haiku.

Dilara: it's more of a thing I do out of boredom.

I tweaked a few verses and scrapped some lines (replacing them with more meaningful text.)

Hopefully I have improved it

A TL DR is in order.

I didn't read it, but I like it anyway.

I finally read it and almost jizzed. Great job man