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ArtyBiscuit
What has happened to us? Not the norms that we as a society agree on Not the laws or reforms that we used to believe in What has happened to us? If I ask a question 'Are you ok?' I get 'I'm fine.' Yet their eyes lower, Their smile turns over, Their words falter. I watch everyone fit into a box. To be a student of perfection, And a small box online closing over them To be a new trend Shaming any imperfection. **** that. Let's take a page out of a dead society "You must strive to find your own voice." Oh, Mr Keatting How many children need to hear your words today? "Oh Captian, My Captain!" How many people need a captain to help guide them from yesterday? We live for today, Not for tomorrow, And certainly not yesterday. Let us take a page from their society. To be empathetic toward each other, And to take that chance. To no longer take a glance at the good and the bad. To sit and talk with one another, not through a phone. So that no one has to fall with a hole in their chest.
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Apr 8
Apr 8, 2026 at 9:36 PM UTC
Take a Page Out of a Society
An assumption that I've come to find Is apparently I'm Gay Not that I think I am No, I thought I was straight But I'm in chorus, and as a male who does that... Well, you must be gay. And I'm in drama, that's a nail in the coffin, right? I love art..? 'That doesn't help the case.' They say I help and lead a group to support LGTBQ+. 'Oh,' they say. 'I support you and the LGTBQ+ community.' 'I'm an ally.' I've done drag because Simply It's fun and expressive. 'Of course your Gay. You've done drag!' They say. An assumption that I've come to find That's become the fact of my life. People should feel safe with who they are, And yes, I love to spread that. But as a straight male who wants to do that. It's apparently Perposterus. Impossible. 'You must be gay.' But I'm not. 'But you must.' Ok, whatever you say. I'm gay.
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Jan 12
Jan 12, 2026 at 11:31 AM UTC
I'm Gay?
What happened to the kids who can find a dragon in a tree Or the sunshine that beams bright down on Meadows that could be a battle field Where did the swords made of wooden branches go Has this world lost the spark we once had? What happened to the place of wonder where all you had to have Is an imagination Where toy soldiers lined up Obeying a command of a 9 year old without fear What happened to the kid who was afraid of the dark Having a night light by their bed side Because maybe that kept the monster at bay Did we loose that monster under our bed? What about traveling space with a small blanket and a stick That could have been our spaceship Could the aliens be lost? Did they run in fear from the kids who toil in A cold classroom where they sleep Have we traded space flight for the stars and beyond? I can’t find anymore dragons in the trees My swords made of the sturdiest of woods the ones that could take on Beasts of the under ground And now Just rotted wood There are no more monsters under my bed I think they left with a stick and a sack and no more The children who feared those monster sleep in the classrooms Where no monster hides We no longer can understand aliens that lived in our friends body My communicator broke too and the UFO binoculars can no longer find Aliens in the sky Goodbye to all the wonders of the mind for no one remembers them For it is all dissipating into smoke From the dying embers of the fire we once called Imagination
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Nov 23, 2025
Nov 23, 2025 at 7:49 PM UTC
Imagination’s end.
The first: tall, imposing, a sixth-grade boy, watching, admiring. The second: scary, with frostbitten eyes that hid careful warmth. The third: too loud, but perfectly warm, melting the frost. The boy, now eighth grade, listens to the two senior girls with filters That seems to not catch anything. Still, He listens, intent. The fourth: straight as a soldier, his heart locked, But the key was found. The fifth: a walking cliché -- too kind, too forgiving, and fond of syrup. The sixth: brought in by the fifth. A new boy, just reaching high school, watches him, curious. The seventh and eighth: closest in age mirrors of what the boy could be. Now: the boy, a senior, sits in his home, a room across from him as he writes Number Nine. She works, she toils, the boy With his lifetime to view her her sarcasm and wit. He came to a conclusion all perfect sister-qualities. Number Nine, the boy’s favorite.
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Sep 1, 2025
Sep 1, 2025 at 3:21 PM UTC
My Foreign Siblings And Real Sibling.
Siblings I have many, Not by blood But it's 2025 for god sake: Family is who you choose! They have come and gone, but never truly. A silver key, a brass key, a key nonetheless. For a home, far from their first one. One in a foreign country, one to be unlocked at any time.
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Sep 1, 2025
Sep 1, 2025 at 3:09 PM UTC
To My Foreign Siblings.
Lies fall out of my mouth. I’m a cunning little fox. Deception is a must. Trickster, Cunning, joker even! Not a serious answer on my breath. Lies seep through my lips. A cunning little fox choked by the lies. Lies tighten around my throat My lies faulty, broken, transparent even! I didn’t get caught, nor did I own up. Lies stay trapped in my mouth. The cunning little fox suffocated. Who am I? Call it natural selection, karma, penance even! Poisonous flowers grow, outlining the fox’s still body. Bright, beautiful easy to spot.
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Apr 7, 2025
Apr 7, 2025 at 9:04 PM UTC
Breathing, Lying, Suffocating
Late nights are often for highschool Nights turned to morning The screens illumination fading. Endless movies, Endless Homework. Papers clutter the soft folds of the bed Socializing now almost foreign But movie quotes endless. The ever growing stack of papers breathes and grows to the height of the bed. Unselected nights, passed out Eyes with heaviness, now closed and hidden. A pen tapping to the floor falling under the bed, never picked up again. The breath of the papers growing as sleep takes over. A yellow button appears “Stop” was plastered on it. Ringing. Buzzing. The phone broke the silence. Sink of a heart then a groan of weariness followed.
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Mar 6, 2025
Mar 6, 2025 at 10:09 AM UTC
Late Nights
Music was never something I obsessed over. Dumb icebreaker questions were thrown at me “what’s your favorite music?” Or “Who is your favorite artist?” The answer was always the same “I don’t listen to music” Silence welcomed me and I welcomed it Music was foreign The life I have never was interested eventually though Places that I frequented or even lived in during the summer Music played Always The silence that welcomed me and I welcomed back Faded to black gone like the credit screen after a movie The music I hummed to and began to sing to was odd to me Oddities turned to happiness happiness turned to sadness Sadness turned to excitement Each emotion dependent on the song Now I’m desperate to catch up Catch up on the excitement of all the songs people listen to So I can be pleased by music just like everyone else.
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Jan 23, 2025
Jan 23, 2025 at 11:41 AM UTC
Music confuses me
Being a people pleaser is a part of me You ask if I can meet you I’ll promise you yes. My schedule that will not allow it I’ll change it so it can My schedule will be deconstructed and reconstructed to form for yours. You don't seem to like my laugh I can laugh differently To your liking. Molding and creating a new me for you My personality being formed around you. An obsession, An unhealthy obsession to make a personality formed for you. The lesson here is to say what you hate Because I'll change for you always I'll lose who I am, But as long as you're happy I’m a people pleaser.
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Jan 19, 2025
Jan 19, 2025 at 9:02 PM UTC
A People Pleaser Mind