I still have one week
But looking at my skills, I'm
Not a dancing queen

And it's weird to think
That I will be older than
Katniss Everdeen

Jan 10

i should like to be without thought in spaces so uncoming
that i,                             unthinking  
                                                   could wander amiss
without the downward cast of brow on brow
to that holed in moment
                            close like whispers in cold air
where trapped are days of high sunned earth
    and tilled up clouds                          that move with frenzy
over      vasts of          unbridled  
for       i think
it is only without thought that I can go there as barred as i’ve been
by trees that cut     and point
                              in accusation of the height i’ve stolen
as they’ve long forgotten those shinning gems
                    when i through them a captain
                                                      could be
they forget as i
have forgotten thee

#growingup   #young   #trees   #childhood   #youth   #adult  

I cannot lie,the city will always have my heart
And I will always stretch out my arms towards the Great Perhaps,
Towards the wide cerulean oceans,the grassy plains and the freezing mountains
For I long to be free—not the kind of free you made me feel,the kind of free I need to be because I am trapped,crushed under the weight of existing
But always remember that you have always been and you will continue to be,my home
There are spaces in my heart left for you to fill,
My hands will always long for the feeling you made me feel as I danced with your winds,
And my skin will never find another lover as great as your Sun—it will always miss the way your Sun kissed my shoulders,I will always miss the exhilarating feeling I felt whenever I ran chasing your Sunsets
And the rush I felt climbing your mountains,spreading out my arms as I stood at the zenith,wondering if that's how it felt like to fly
I will always miss your stars—they taught me how to love the night,taught me how to map out my dreams and plot where we'll be in your skies
I'm sorry I can no longer dance under your moonlight or play hide and seek with the little urchins
These days all that I hide from are the versions of me I try to bury deep beneath the bottom of my childhood drawer and all that kisses my skin is ink and sharp steel
And all that I feel when I stand at the top of the city's towering heights is the fear of free falling and the inevitable death of each and every piece of me left as I do so,as I let myself fall and sink into the abyss more
But I will climb back up again,I can and I will climb multiple mountains,travel a thousand roads and get lost in all of the cities of the world,I'll find myself and I won't be too afraid because I know I will always have a home
You will always be my home,will you?

Inspired by Ed Sheeran's "Castle on the Hill" and my childhood (if I had any lol)

My Jigsaws Missing Piece

I still remember.
I was just 5 when you left us.
I asked every day for a week when you'd be home.
I missed you, I hurt, I ached...

...But you never came home.

I missed your voice Dad, your smile and your laugh.

I still remember the fun that we had.
Before you left, we had our one family holiday.
Me, perched on your shoulder.
I was invincible and happy. Carried on the shoulders of a giant.
My Giant.
My Dad.

But Then something happened Dad.

I don't know what happened.
I was too young to notice, too young to understand.
One day we were family,
The next you were gone.

Can you help me?
How do I recall that jigsaw piece that happened so long ago?
It's the only piece I'm missing from my old broken home.

All the things that I recall during every waking hour,
They're all pieces, of a part of me, they're pieces I hold dear.
I close my eyes and hold you there,
You're still my shield and my guide.
You help me through my darkest hours, when I feel I'm most in need.
Your laughter and your smile and the funny names you gave,
They are all pieces of my broken jigsaw.
They're my memories of you, my Dad.


John Flanagan 4/1/2017

Dec 19, 2016

I used to only wear skinny jeans
Even if it were hotter than it seemed
Then puberty hit
And I had to quit
'Cause my hips aren't nearly as lean

Some people grow out of fashions mentally; I can no longer fit into a pair of skinny jeans.
Marilyn Sistinas
Marilyn Sistinas
Dec 8, 2016

Mistakes, ones not of their own, that taunt them to this day.
Some sips down the throat and those visions grow bearable, blurry.
Times have changed them, times have changed me.
Rips in their only pants, holes in their hammy down shirts.
Broken soles on the shoes they've had for years,
substance in their systems for longer than that.
Terrors in their heads, worry keeping em up in their bed.
Feeling lonely and empty, empty handed and still giving.
Unsure if their life is even worth living.
Things are harder than they seem, can you blame them? Can you blame me?
A stooge off the side of the road, from the place they decided to roam.
A broken lighter in a pocket, in the other- what no one knows.
Their bruised skin rapidly wearing thin, their eyes caving in.
A life no one chooses but is shown,
one you only venture into when you end up alone.
Left with the invading thoughts,
doing things they've never forgot.
You can't relate until you see, you can't blame them, you can't blame me.

Sarah Rose
Sarah Rose
Dec 8, 2016

This is Seventeen.
Seventeen is loosely in the beginning of my life. Seventeen is realizing you’ve got a whole lot of life left in front of you. It is accepting that life is a page of writing that has been started, but is nowhere near finished, that a few doors have closed, but many more are still open, that some choices are irrevocable, but some may be changed yet, that there are still many what ifs that need to be figured out.
Seventeen is being caught in the limbo of being seen as an incompetent child and being forced to make adult decisions.
Seventeen is having the freedom to drive anywhere, but having a curfew to stay within.
Seventeen is losing many of the friends you used to have, but keeping the ones who are the closest to you, the ones who understand you the best, the ones you hope to have forever.
Seventeen is being able to stay up late, eating pizza in the park, and play on a playscape trying to be kids for just a little longer.
Seventeen is year long concert series and jamming out to your favorite bands covered in sweat.
Seventeen is dying your hair bright colors, much to your mother’s disparagement, and then changing it a week later.
Seventeen is being forced to choose what you want to do with the rest of your life when your favorite food changes on a daily basis and you have no idea how to function without your mom nagging you.
Seventeen is being excited, scared, sad, angry, hopeful, happy, jealous all at once and trying to deal with it, while still completing your homework on time.

#teenager   #teen   #growingup   #spoken   #slam  
Marilyn Sistinas
Marilyn Sistinas
Dec 6, 2016

This is it, isn't it?
The moment we patch up our wings in preparation for flight.
We'll be getting somewhere soon and I know this, I feel it.
The day we will finally feel free with wind against our skin,
with room to breathe and our life to live.
Things are going to change, our future is finally going to happen.
This is it, isn't it?
That portion in life when we get to make our own decisions,
when we can get it all together and have the time for our revision.
We're making it happen, we're going to make it.
The day we can expand our lungs and exhale with ease,
where we can soar through skies and break through barriers.
This is it, This is it.
The moment in our life when we get to make it ours.

Dec 1, 2016

I used to think:
Who am I if I am not one with the rain?
Who am I if I am not a storm rolling through?

Who am I if I am not loyal to a fault?
Who am I if I don't risk everything for those I love?

I used to think,
Who am I if I don't fit here?
Who am I if I don't belong here?
Who am I if I'm not like everyone else?

Misshapen puzzle pieces,
Malformed from being left in the rain and sun-dried.
Cardboard hearts with self-inflicted paper cuts
And ribbons tied too tight to look elegant.

I used to think,
Who am I if I'm not who I wanted to be,
And I used to think,
Who am I if I hurt someone I care for?
Who am I if I fear storms?
Who am I if I stand up for myself and fail?

I used to think constantly,
But here's the key:
Don't think,
Don't try,

I am misshapen puzzle pieces
Left out to dry in the sun.
I am orange and black caterpillars,
And I am yellowing pages of old cloth bound books,
And I am one within the flames
That threaten to devour you.
I am garden snakes
And murders of crows.

It takes a long time to find who you are,
But once you take the time to find whoever it is
You're meant to be,
Well I have to say,
That journey takes some bravery.

I used to think.

Sparkling Dust
Sparkling Dust
Nov 26, 2016

Droplets of rain falling on an abandoned umbrella
Mud puddles loved by little children
I look out the window, to our garden, missing that red gumamela
Now withered, like my days, forgotten

“Growing up and growing out of things”
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