Butterflysyd - Hello Poetry

The monotone is a disease I feel it’s malevolence rushing through my veins As life slowly slipped between the gaps of my fingers Floor fallen Wasteland Wasted life

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May 13

May 13, 2026 at 9:38 PM UTC

Monotone: A Disease

The monotone is a disease I feel it’s malevolence rushing through my veins As life slowly slipped between the gaps of my fingers Floor fallen Wasteland Wasted life

6

Dear Mr. President Envelopes in folded letters Rustic paper encased with spiderwebs, the smell of library books Dear Mr. President, Is this a democracy I ask? My parents did not vote for you But you are the bully pulpit Entrusted with this country’s democracy And the people beg you to restore our democracy But you will not listen You answer our cries with pure hate You do so with no emotion You spit in the face of the people Is this a democracy? Ignorance, greed, and wealth over the jaded citizens Over restoring the melting planet Mother Nature expresses her fury in California with her raging fires And the Earth is drowning in her tears Is this a democracy? Is this a democracy, where color is equal to felons and hoodlums You hold not a tinge of remorse for how we hurt The Lord knows our tears are silent to you Is defunding the school system a democracy? You take everything from us Then take everything from our kids The pupils threatened more than ever at the shooter’s will You sacrificing the lives of the innocent for the wants of the selfish Who are free to take their shot Is this a democracy? Is this a democracy? When your policies benefit the 1% The wealthy The small margin We greatly outnumber them is size but they devour us in power You let them have it Is this a democracy? Dear Mr. President, Little do you know We the people are staging a rebellion Playtime is over You old buffoon! You spit in the face of the people How dare you abuse us You can’t silence the people You can’t break those who are broken We are the beauty in the broken glass Shattered because after falling 245 times we get up once more We are the ones who will never give up For you can’t silence us Dear Mr. President, Our riots are deafening

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Apr 10

Apr 10, 2026 at 6:07 AM UTC

Is this a Democracy?

Dear Mr. President Envelopes in folded letters Rustic paper encased with spiderwebs, the smell of library books Dear Mr. President, Is this a democracy I ask? My parents did not vote for you But you are the bully pulpit Entrusted with this country’s democracy And the people beg you to restore our democracy But you will not listen You answer our cries with pure hate You do so with no emotion You spit in the face of the people Is this a democracy? Ignorance, greed, and wealth over the jaded citizens Over restoring the melting planet Mother Nature expresses her fury in California with her raging fires And the Earth is drowning in her tears Is this a democracy? Is this a democracy, where color is equal to felons and hoodlums You hold not a tinge of remorse for how we hurt The Lord knows our tears are silent to you Is defunding the school system a democracy? You take everything from us Then take everything from our kids The pupils threatened more than ever at the shooter’s will You sacrificing the lives of the innocent for the wants of the selfish Who are free to take their shot Is this a democracy? Is this a democracy? When your policies benefit the 1% The wealthy The small margin We greatly outnumber them is size but they devour us in power You let them have it Is this a democracy? Dear Mr. President, Little do you know We the people are staging a rebellion Playtime is over You old buffoon! You spit in the face of the people How dare you abuse us You can’t silence the people You can’t break those who are broken We are the beauty in the broken glass Shattered because after falling 245 times we get up once more We are the ones who will never give up For you can’t silence us Dear Mr. President, Our riots are deafening

51

It wasn't that I looked in the mirror and did not know who I was. I knew who I was and that person felt so out of reach. It was as if the mirror was permanently foggy.

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Feb 15

Feb 15, 2026 at 9:40 AM UTC

What is Clarity?

It wasn't that I looked in the mirror and did not know who I was. I knew who I was and that person felt so out of reach. It was as if the mirror was permanently foggy.

3

Depression is like the bad part of a song You must endure it to get to the good part of life But the dangerous part is that the record can get stuck

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Jan 4

Jan 4, 2026 at 10:04 PM UTC

Replay of a Melancholy Melody

Depression is like the bad part of a song You must endure it to get to the good part of life But the dangerous part is that the record can get stuck

3

I took a three hour nap The sun had set And the darkness resounded in every corner of the house I wake in pain Nostalgic memories linger in my brain like Trying to remember a long gone smell Like a song that no matter how many times you play it, It’s not the same as the first time you heard it My body warping, Spiraling, A foreshadowing pattern haunts my mind “Candy bars breaking in half” Is what Amber McBride calls a family shattering In elementary school My friends and I played family Wore glowsticks on Halloween Walked on the gravel around The same place where we had field days full Of bean bag races and silly string I still have that drawing of us The marker ink is the only part of our friendship That has not faded “Candy bars breaking” In middle school, the days were sweet & short Moments like a lollipop that we were rushing To finish to get to the bubblegum in the middle I was private school and our entire class was a friend group The only thing that could separate us was the physical distance of the pandemic Our adventures in Forest Hill Park were as magical as Bridge to Terabithia Years later we turned out to be a sea of buried phone numbers “Candy bars breaking” In high school, Friends are like interest, Something that compounds over the years What we hold now is golden: Group chats and irreplaceable photo shoots of Moments together Promises to stay in touch are not enough Because we are not kids anymore and are old enough to understand To know promises can be broken We are halfway through the school year and I am both happy and daunted at the same time Fearing another candy bar breaking Gripping this one with my heart In the darkness of the eighth hour I lie A warping mess on my mattress Pretending the broken chocolate on the floor does not bother me Begging myself to to discard it But the memories are a joy etched in my brain They are part of who I am So, I am cursed with a suffering of longing for the clock to turn back

0

Dec 12, 2025

Dec 12, 2025 at 9:31 PM UTC

Candy Bars Breaking

I took a three hour nap The sun had set And the darkness resounded in every corner of the house I wake in pain Nostalgic memories linger in my brain like Trying to remember a long gone smell Like a song that no matter how many times you play it, It’s not the same as the first time you heard it My body warping, Spiraling, A foreshadowing pattern haunts my mind “Candy bars breaking in half” Is what Amber McBride calls a family shattering In elementary school My friends and I played family Wore glowsticks on Halloween Walked on the gravel around The same place where we had field days full Of bean bag races and silly string I still have that drawing of us The marker ink is the only part of our friendship That has not faded “Candy bars breaking” In middle school, the days were sweet & short Moments like a lollipop that we were rushing To finish to get to the bubblegum in the middle I was private school and our entire class was a friend group The only thing that could separate us was the physical distance of the pandemic Our adventures in Forest Hill Park were as magical as Bridge to Terabithia Years later we turned out to be a sea of buried phone numbers “Candy bars breaking” In high school, Friends are like interest, Something that compounds over the years What we hold now is golden: Group chats and irreplaceable photo shoots of Moments together Promises to stay in touch are not enough Because we are not kids anymore and are old enough to understand To know promises can be broken We are halfway through the school year and I am both happy and daunted at the same time Fearing another candy bar breaking Gripping this one with my heart In the darkness of the eighth hour I lie A warping mess on my mattress Pretending the broken chocolate on the floor does not bother me Begging myself to to discard it But the memories are a joy etched in my brain They are part of who I am So, I am cursed with a suffering of longing for the clock to turn back

53

A burning passion is something that eats away at your heart day n night Constantly, consistently, until it consumes you You become your desire It becomes your reason for existence

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Dec 7, 2025

Dec 7, 2025 at 6:46 PM UTC

How it Feels to be on Fire

A burning passion is something that eats away at your heart day n night Constantly, consistently, until it consumes you You become your desire It becomes your reason for existence

4

Two sisters, same womb Birthed and raised in separate lands A bond so tight breached by the Atlantic Ocean One raised in the United States The other stayed in native Africa Same motherland Conceived by the same parents Raised in different homes This leads me to ask, What is my culture? I am "culturefull", I am African American I am not African In the way that I have family that has emigrated from the mother of continents Nor am I American in the way that the American default for the rest of the world is white But I am African in the way that my features and very soul are alive And I am American in the way my family has toiled this soil and served this country for generations Furthermore, Though American, I never where the red, white, and blue Because American pride Seems too patriotic for a country so ignorant So in a way, I am something whose beauty has been meticulously put back together, while some pieces remain lost on the journey In the same way of understanding that without both titles -African and American- my two stories are not complete I am both in a sense, to the way I am neither A honor to my origin vs a reflection of my past What am I? I ask myself this sometimes A Soulann, a specific ethnicity of American often misunderstood I am African American

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Nov 26, 2025

Nov 26, 2025 at 6:45 PM UTC

Sisters by Blood, Nurtured by Different Mothers

Two sisters, same womb Birthed and raised in separate lands A bond so tight breached by the Atlantic Ocean One raised in the United States The other stayed in native Africa Same motherland Conceived by the same parents Raised in different homes This leads me to ask, What is my culture? I am "culturefull", I am African American I am not African In the way that I have family that has emigrated from the mother of continents Nor am I American in the way that the American default for the rest of the world is white But I am African in the way that my features and very soul are alive And I am American in the way my family has toiled this soil and served this country for generations Furthermore, Though American, I never where the red, white, and blue Because American pride Seems too patriotic for a country so ignorant So in a way, I am something whose beauty has been meticulously put back together, while some pieces remain lost on the journey In the same way of understanding that without both titles -African and American- my two stories are not complete I am both in a sense, to the way I am neither A honor to my origin vs a reflection of my past What am I? I ask myself this sometimes A Soulann, a specific ethnicity of American often misunderstood I am African American

32

I hope to stay in your memory To be a Forget-Me-Not That you water daily In the garden of your mind

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Nov 26, 2025

Nov 26, 2025 at 12:31 PM UTC

I Hope To Stay In Your Memory

I hope to stay in your memory To be a Forget-Me-Not That you water daily In the garden of your mind

4