chauncey - Hello Poetry

Once upon a time, not so long ago, there was a boy who say and read all day and all night. That's all he would do in his spare time, read, read read. Now, this boy wasn't hard to find in a crowd due to his brilliant blond hair and his misty blue-green eyes which seemed to be as if fog had rolled into a swamp and created a beautiful tranquility. This boy, was made fun of for reading, for not knowing things, even for having glasses. They called him things like ****** "four eyes", "stupid". These words hurt the boy more than anything he could ever imagine. So he buried himself deeper in books. He wandered down the halls of Hogwarts from Harry Potter, and slept in the cabins at Camp-Halfblood from Percy Jackson. He watched on as tributes killed each other in The Hunger Games, and flew with the flock in Maximum Ride. But one day, something happened to this misty eyed boy. He moved schools, with new faces and new insults. Except, the misty-eyed boy was never called names, never made fun of. He was accepted, people talked to him without calling him a name. And he started to respond. Slowly, he emerged from the pages of the books he had been buried beneath. When he emerged, something caught his eye. A beautiful girl, one with auburn hair and hazel eyes that shone like the full moon on a clear night. She made him feel happier than he had ever felt, and the names that had clung to this poor boy fell off. This misty-eyed boy decided one day to give his heart to this hazel eyed girl. And that's when something amazing happened, she gave him hers in return. And they were happy...for the time being. As the boy began to talk more and more, he started to read less and less. He went online and made friends from all over the world. He indirectly hurt this hazel eyed girl, and she started to take her heart back. That misty eyed boy tried his best to convince her that he was the right one to hold onto it, but she gave it over to somebody she had met online. The misty-eyed boy was devastated, he began to do the one thing he had wanted to do all his life. He wrote. He wrote and when he did the world seemed to stop, nothing mattered anymore, there was no hazel eyed girl, only him and his emotions. And the boy was happy. The boy wrote and wrote and wrote, stealing glances at the hazel eyed girl whenever he could, smiling slightly as he remembered all the fun that they had had together. One day, the girl gave the boy her heart again, and he felt that feeling that he had felt only once before in his life. The misty-eyed boy was even happier. And they stayed like this, but not even a year later, the hazel-eyed girl started to take her heart back. She turned to another boy, one who's blond hair was shorter and his eyes were a deep blue like the sea. He charmed her with his kindness and his grace, and when the misty-eyed boy complained, the hazel eyed girl and the sea blue eyed boy lashed out at him. And the boy was sad again. He wrote, but this time, he could not forget about that hazel eyed girl. He felt the pain envelop him and consume him. He gave up multiple times but couldn't surrender because he knew if he did he would hurt those who loved him. Before you give all of your sympathy towards this little misty eyed boy, you must know this. He too, had let his demons out. Twice in this story did he make that hazel eyed girl cry, and cut and give up. He said things that made her feel horrible about herself, he did the things he promised he would never do. He became a monster. But that ended as quickly as it arose, and the boy felt horrible. He sat in his room, crying because he knew that that girl had scars because of him. And that little misty-eyed boy sat and wondered, what would have happened if he had just stayed buried.

0

May 18, 2014

May 18, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC

Buried

Once upon a time, not so long ago, there was a boy who say and read all day and all night. That's all he would do in his spare time, read, read read. Now, this boy wasn't hard to find in a crowd due to his brilliant blond hair and his misty blue-green eyes which seemed to be as if fog had rolled into a swamp and created a beautiful tranquility. This boy, was made fun of for reading, for not knowing things, even for having glasses. They called him things like ****** "four eyes", "stupid". These words hurt the boy more than anything he could ever imagine. So he buried himself deeper in books. He wandered down the halls of Hogwarts from Harry Potter, and slept in the cabins at Camp-Halfblood from Percy Jackson. He watched on as tributes killed each other in The Hunger Games, and flew with the flock in Maximum Ride. But one day, something happened to this misty eyed boy. He moved schools, with new faces and new insults. Except, the misty-eyed boy was never called names, never made fun of. He was accepted, people talked to him without calling him a name. And he started to respond. Slowly, he emerged from the pages of the books he had been buried beneath. When he emerged, something caught his eye. A beautiful girl, one with auburn hair and hazel eyes that shone like the full moon on a clear night. She made him feel happier than he had ever felt, and the names that had clung to this poor boy fell off. This misty-eyed boy decided one day to give his heart to this hazel eyed girl. And that's when something amazing happened, she gave him hers in return. And they were happy...for the time being. As the boy began to talk more and more, he started to read less and less. He went online and made friends from all over the world. He indirectly hurt this hazel eyed girl, and she started to take her heart back. That misty eyed boy tried his best to convince her that he was the right one to hold onto it, but she gave it over to somebody she had met online. The misty-eyed boy was devastated, he began to do the one thing he had wanted to do all his life. He wrote. He wrote and when he did the world seemed to stop, nothing mattered anymore, there was no hazel eyed girl, only him and his emotions. And the boy was happy. The boy wrote and wrote and wrote, stealing glances at the hazel eyed girl whenever he could, smiling slightly as he remembered all the fun that they had had together. One day, the girl gave the boy her heart again, and he felt that feeling that he had felt only once before in his life. The misty-eyed boy was even happier. And they stayed like this, but not even a year later, the hazel-eyed girl started to take her heart back. She turned to another boy, one who's blond hair was shorter and his eyes were a deep blue like the sea. He charmed her with his kindness and his grace, and when the misty-eyed boy complained, the hazel eyed girl and the sea blue eyed boy lashed out at him. And the boy was sad again. He wrote, but this time, he could not forget about that hazel eyed girl. He felt the pain envelop him and consume him. He gave up multiple times but couldn't surrender because he knew if he did he would hurt those who loved him. Before you give all of your sympathy towards this little misty eyed boy, you must know this. He too, had let his demons out. Twice in this story did he make that hazel eyed girl cry, and cut and give up. He said things that made her feel horrible about herself, he did the things he promised he would never do. He became a monster. But that ended as quickly as it arose, and the boy felt horrible. He sat in his room, crying because he knew that that girl had scars because of him. And that little misty-eyed boy sat and wondered, what would have happened if he had just stayed buried.

1

Eanie meanie mineie mo, Nobody ever needs to know, Just make sure the scars don't show, Eanie meanie mineie mo

0

May 15, 2014

May 15, 2014 at 1:27 PM UTC

Eanie Meanie Mineie Mo

Eanie meanie mineie mo, Nobody ever needs to know, Just make sure the scars don't show, Eanie meanie mineie mo

4

A little rabbit went down a hole, Claiming to be late When stopped and asked what for He stated "For a very important date." Now this little rabbit, Was white as the winter snow And after the little white bunny Did Alice eventually go. Down the rabbit hole you could say It felt like an endless abyss "Alice," called her mother "Alice, sweetie, you're missed!" But lo and behold it was too late Alice was unable to hear She landed at the bottom of the hole And found wonder both far and near How much I would like that A story so pleasing to hear It doesn't have to be a rabbit hole I'd love to go anywhere but here.

0

May 11, 2014

May 11, 2014 at 8:43 PM UTC

Anywhere

A little rabbit went down a hole, Claiming to be late When stopped and asked what for He stated "For a very important date." Now this little rabbit, Was white as the winter snow And after the little white bunny Did Alice eventually go. Down the rabbit hole you could say It felt like an endless abyss "Alice," called her mother "Alice, sweetie, you're missed!" But lo and behold it was too late Alice was unable to hear She landed at the bottom of the hole And found wonder both far and near How much I would like that A story so pleasing to hear It doesn't have to be a rabbit hole I'd love to go anywhere but here.

20

If I could have another name I think I'd chose my own A name does not define us As a name isn't set in stone. Yet if I had my pickings About how I'd change myself I'd find a new personality And put my old one on the shelf. I could be calm and collected I could think before I act, I would keep my head on straight And never break a pact. I'd tell what needs to be told Nothing more and nothing less. You see I'd change myself, So I'm not such a ******* mess

0

May 11, 2014

May 11, 2014 at 8:32 PM UTC

Mess

If I could have another name I think I'd chose my own A name does not define us As a name isn't set in stone. Yet if I had my pickings About how I'd change myself I'd find a new personality And put my old one on the shelf. I could be calm and collected I could think before I act, I would keep my head on straight And never break a pact. I'd tell what needs to be told Nothing more and nothing less. You see I'd change myself, So I'm not such a ******* mess

16

You are something worthless, Useless and vile, About you they say you're heartless, And nothing worth the while. So why don't you take it, And just end it all, There's not one who'll have a fit, So take the final fall. Jump into the water, **** the freezing cold, You knew you loved her, But remembered the answer that she told. So just take the time, To go out and end your life, About one thing they'll whine, You've gone and stained the knife

0

May 11, 2014

May 11, 2014 at 8:32 PM UTC

Stained

You are something worthless, Useless and vile, About you they say you're heartless, And nothing worth the while. So why don't you take it, And just end it all, There's not one who'll have a fit, So take the final fall. Jump into the water, **** the freezing cold, You knew you loved her, But remembered the answer that she told. So just take the time, To go out and end your life, About one thing they'll whine, You've gone and stained the knife

16

I'm sorry I annoy, That I'm not up to date, I feel like such a ploy, And I know so much hate. I know that you don't like me, I know I'm second best, But I'd prefer if I at least see, Somebody who's not like the rest. So I'll slice up my wrist, To take the pain away, I'll feel death's kiss, And fail to live another day. Now it'll take a little time, I'm somebody easy to miss, But I think everybody will be fine, As long as ignorance remains bliss.

0

May 11, 2014

May 11, 2014 at 8:31 PM UTC

Bliss

I'm sorry I annoy, That I'm not up to date, I feel like such a ploy, And I know so much hate. I know that you don't like me, I know I'm second best, But I'd prefer if I at least see, Somebody who's not like the rest. So I'll slice up my wrist, To take the pain away, I'll feel death's kiss, And fail to live another day. Now it'll take a little time, I'm somebody easy to miss, But I think everybody will be fine, As long as ignorance remains bliss.

16

Each day I say the same thing, Every day I tell the same lie, There's only one song this bird can sing, And it's less of a song than a cry. A cry of agony and hurt, Escaping from a person full of pain, Somebody who's been left in the dirt, And is slowly going insane. Insanity is a comfort, A way to escape it all, A way to tone down the hurt, And take me out of a freefall. A freefall of confusion and mistakes, That make me think too much, Thoughts turn from puddles to lakes, And depression follows as such. Thinking makes me sad, Because all I think of is her, And when times weren't so bad, Because there wasn't pain to conquer. A pain that runs my life, And makes me do something so vile, A pain that cuts like a knife, And makes me wear a fake smile.

0

May 11, 2014

May 11, 2014 at 8:28 PM UTC

Fake Smile

Each day I say the same thing, Every day I tell the same lie, There's only one song this bird can sing, And it's less of a song than a cry. A cry of agony and hurt, Escaping from a person full of pain, Somebody who's been left in the dirt, And is slowly going insane. Insanity is a comfort, A way to escape it all, A way to tone down the hurt, And take me out of a freefall. A freefall of confusion and mistakes, That make me think too much, Thoughts turn from puddles to lakes, And depression follows as such. Thinking makes me sad, Because all I think of is her, And when times weren't so bad, Because there wasn't pain to conquer. A pain that runs my life, And makes me do something so vile, A pain that cuts like a knife, And makes me wear a fake smile.

24

Butterflies dance upon my wrists, showing the world a boy who's losing a mental battle. A boy who wants a metal skater to gracefully slid upon his skin, melting it to red water. But those butterflies, those multicolored saviors fluttering about me, are alive. If I allow that metal dancer, so elegant and clean, to preform upon my wrists then those butterflies will die. One tiny cut, and they will bleed with me. So it's my job to protect them, and their job to protect me. The light that shines from their silky wings scares away the dark demons within me. As they flutter through the darkness, their small voices whisper to me. Things like, "Don't give up" and "You can do it." When I have nobody else, they remain. I can hear them singing in my head, my friends upon my wrists. When I feel sad enough, I'll give them another friend, another savoir to dance upon my wrists. And I know I'm not the only person with butterflies fluttering on me. I hope that one day that they, as well as I, will have the courage and the strength to let our little butterfly friends fly away.

0

May 11, 2014

May 11, 2014 at 8:00 PM UTC

Butterflies

Butterflies dance upon my wrists, showing the world a boy who's losing a mental battle. A boy who wants a metal skater to gracefully slid upon his skin, melting it to red water. But those butterflies, those multicolored saviors fluttering about me, are alive. If I allow that metal dancer, so elegant and clean, to preform upon my wrists then those butterflies will die. One tiny cut, and they will bleed with me. So it's my job to protect them, and their job to protect me. The light that shines from their silky wings scares away the dark demons within me. As they flutter through the darkness, their small voices whisper to me. Things like, "Don't give up" and "You can do it." When I have nobody else, they remain. I can hear them singing in my head, my friends upon my wrists. When I feel sad enough, I'll give them another friend, another savoir to dance upon my wrists. And I know I'm not the only person with butterflies fluttering on me. I hope that one day that they, as well as I, will have the courage and the strength to let our little butterfly friends fly away.

1

As I put the barrel to my head, the cold metal will extract the memory of you, the last thing on my mind will be the way you so effortlessly forgot me and disregarded my emotions. The way you lied and smiled through it, pretending as if you still loved me while all feelings of love had already gone to somebody else. The thought of you will be forced up by the rope that pushes up against my chin as it tries to slip up my throat. The pills that I put down my throat will be a representation of me trying to push the memories of you down again. Your memory will flow free with the blood that escapes my arms and legs as I slice them open. When I fall, your memory will float to the top of my mind. The last thought on my mind will be you, because you of all people are to blame.

0

May 5, 2014

May 5, 2014 at 10:31 AM UTC

Blame

As I put the barrel to my head, the cold metal will extract the memory of you, the last thing on my mind will be the way you so effortlessly forgot me and disregarded my emotions. The way you lied and smiled through it, pretending as if you still loved me while all feelings of love had already gone to somebody else. The thought of you will be forced up by the rope that pushes up against my chin as it tries to slip up my throat. The pills that I put down my throat will be a representation of me trying to push the memories of you down again. Your memory will flow free with the blood that escapes my arms and legs as I slice them open. When I fall, your memory will float to the top of my mind. The last thought on my mind will be you, because you of all people are to blame.

1

When I die, I don't want my life to flash before my eyes. I don't want to see all the pain that I went through, or all the grief that I have caused to people who I held so close. I don't want to see the betrayal of people who I called friends, I don't want to see the lies, the false hope, the bliss of ignorance fly through my head like the bullet staining the room read. I don't want to see my memories flowing out with the blood staining my wrists, or coming back up with the excessive amount of pills. I want to see nothing, or perhaps, maybe Death itself. The black robed man, with the scythe of hollowed oak wood and polished silver blade. Curved so perfectly it sometimes seems to be the moon in the sky, fresh after a new moon. I don't want a rerun of my life as I take my last breath and plunge into the icy river. I want to look at Death, I want to stare directly under that hood of his and at whatever may be under it and tell him, "I don't fear you." Then, maybe I can kick the chair, take the step, slice down, swallow, hold my breath. Maybe then I can **** myself and be at peace for the first time in forever.

0

May 5, 2014

May 5, 2014 at 10:16 AM UTC

I Don't Fear You

When I die, I don't want my life to flash before my eyes. I don't want to see all the pain that I went through, or all the grief that I have caused to people who I held so close. I don't want to see the betrayal of people who I called friends, I don't want to see the lies, the false hope, the bliss of ignorance fly through my head like the bullet staining the room read. I don't want to see my memories flowing out with the blood staining my wrists, or coming back up with the excessive amount of pills. I want to see nothing, or perhaps, maybe Death itself. The black robed man, with the scythe of hollowed oak wood and polished silver blade. Curved so perfectly it sometimes seems to be the moon in the sky, fresh after a new moon. I don't want a rerun of my life as I take my last breath and plunge into the icy river. I want to look at Death, I want to stare directly under that hood of his and at whatever may be under it and tell him, "I don't fear you." Then, maybe I can kick the chair, take the step, slice down, swallow, hold my breath. Maybe then I can **** myself and be at peace for the first time in forever.

1