kayla-morrison
I started sharing my poetry after a student asked me to write something for him (To Youth With Unrecognized Potential.) I read it aloud in class and not only shocked but impressed a lot of my classmates. I know I have a lot of work to do but I hope to improve my skills over time :) I am hoping to get some helpful feedback on here.
The ****** sun rises
To meet the green
boys preparing.
I watch the day divide.
Alas, if my story end here
Let it be one of courage
Not rage
Let it be of a human
Not a boy
Let my name be lost among the fallen
My soul forsaken among the ******
Let my story wrap its arms
around my brothers.
Let my death be life for them.
O! The gift I wish to give.
The sacrifice I face for them.
If my story end here
Let theirs live on.
May 31, 2021
May 31, 2021 at 7:28 PM UTC
What of those who place themselves in others?
Why, death.
The fool who trusts a stranger
Who can not see the buds
Of a flowering enemy
Revealed to be mine own self
Death awaits.
They've stolen, taken myself
By force, by sweet poison words
****** my life's marrow
Death comes to me
A friend,
That mortal sheet to lift
And I will emerge
Anew.
Apr 5, 2021
Apr 5, 2021 at 9:14 AM UTC
The doer
Is merely a fiction
Added
To the deed.
Some construct of morality
And self prescribed validity
Justifies the doer manipulates the language
Clarifies the plot
The deed.
The empty space between
Existence
And thought.
What is matter matters
And what matters do we find
Plausible?
Apr 3, 2021
Apr 3, 2021 at 12:52 AM UTC
Wing tipped tongues
Utter madness as their wings fly away.
It's art. Like a trash bag floating down an empty street.
Empty words float and circulate the masses.
Consumables.
We eat media, satisfied by garbage.
Wiping the latest episode of Tiger King off our chins,
We chomp on clickbait desserts.
The writers, thinkers, and philosophizers
starve.
Searching for anything with substance
they revisit old watering holes.
The marrow has been ****** from literature,
The cave is too real to re-enter,
But there is a rumble from within.
Weak but present.
The uprising is upon us!
Writers, Thinkers, and Philosophizers, rise!
Rise and pluck the birds from the sky,
steal their wings and soar.
Soar across time and spread the wisdom that has been bestowed upon you.
Dec 26, 2020
Dec 26, 2020 at 5:51 PM UTC
Orange face, war paint,
The White House wrapped in caution tape.
Right to **** lives at stake,
I wonder when we'll get a break?
Sickness prevails,
the devil's in the details.
Bees are dying, nations crying,
Natural disaster underlying.
Wear a mask,
It's not a task.
Save yourself and stay at home,
Frontline heroes are not alone.
Look to the sky, look to the sea,
this fresh hell is reality.
Nov 22, 2020
Nov 22, 2020 at 11:55 AM UTC
I must caution you,
Against a world lacking conflict.
A wold enveloped in
Continual peace
is hell.
Without suffering,
Without anger,
There is no passion.
A world wothout conflict
Is a wold lacking the beauty of sacrifice
The love of conviction
The satisfaction of righting a wrong.
I must caution you,
Without wrongdoing, without war
There is no peace
Just
Consistancy.
Apr 21, 2017
Apr 21, 2017 at 8:06 PM UTC
Life doesn't have rules
it's nOt all laid out the the beginning
on clean paper
in black
And white.
Some say there is a plan,
some say there is nothing.
I Try to follow direction,
but there is none to follow.
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 10:03 PM UTC
Someone asked me what being a poet is like.
And I blushed.
Not because I was called a poet
(Which I'm not)
Not because my poems embarrass me
(Sometimes they do)
But because being a poet
Is like that dream.
You know that dream,
where you're naked in front of a class?
Being a poet, painter, and musician
Is like being naked.
You're exposed to the world,
The most private parts of you exposed.
Ready to be judged, lauged at, criticized,
And loved.
It's like the world is looking at you.
The ugly scar on your chest,
Stretch marks from being spread too thin,
Fat pockets from when you weren't strong.
Someone told me I have a comma problem,
It hurt, like somone telling me I was ugly.
I know I'm beautiful though.
I love my imperfections.
My writing is my own, unique.
No critisizm can stop me from being me.
I lay my words uncovered, unaltered
On the page. They wait, breathlessly.
Sometimes being a poet is hard and brave,
Other times it's fun and easy.
Someone asked me what being a poet is like
I said it was great, and then I started to
Write.
(Undress)
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 8:48 PM UTC
As a toddler my mom taught me
to use hands for games,
Patty cake, patty cake,
We had so much fun.
In 1st grade Mrs. Z taught me about hands.
The big hand represents the hours,
The small hand is for minutes,
And that skinny red one counts the seconds.
In high school Sarah Kay taught me
about holding hands, and hand models
She said "I read hands to tell your past."
Hands learn she said to me.
A coworker taught me to speak with hands.
Thumb in, 4 fingers up, thats "B" she said.
We could talk without moving our lips,
It was magic.
No one taught me the importance of hands,
Though.
The way you need to stretch your hands,
Reach out to the world and say,
"Here. Grab on, I won't let you fall"
How to make my hands, helping hands.
The kind with strong cracks and callouses
But they have a soft touch, gentle hands.
Hands that can stand the beating of
Negativity
Hatred
Rejection.
Hands that stay open,
Ready to accept whatever...
Gifts
The world gives them.
I want to learn how to use my hands,
To inspire a nation.
Who will teach me?
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 2:31 PM UTC
A simile is like a metaphor.
A metaphor is a similie,
Except if it forgot "like" or "as"
A similie is like checkers,
The rules are simple, easy to follow.
A metaphor is chess,
Complex and intricate.
Think of a simile as the store brand
A metaphor is the name brand
Of anything.
Metaphors are tests for the mind,
They make you visualize
Bear Mountain.
Similies are like little suggestions,
They point you in the right direction,
The Mountain was big like a bear.
Both important,
Both fun!
I like similies
Metaphores are love.
Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 10:26 PM UTC