rae-la
English
I'm just a quiet girl with loud tendencies. A sweet girl with a mean streak. A happy girl with occasional sad thoughts. / I hope my poems will make you feel something. Hopefully they make you smile, and I apologize for the ones that make you cry. / And just know, I hope you are safe and happy. I love you.
I often wish that I had your hand to hold when I make cold trips through the blistering winds and I would complain to you about how cold my nose is, in hopes you'd offer to kiss me warmer. I would grip your hand tighter as I got colder, and snuggle into your shoulder hoping for a peck on the forehead and I'd kiss you too. All I actually want is you.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 8:13 PM UTC
While you're finding someone to put out our burning house, I'm throwing the 'home sweet home' mat in the flames.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 12:29 PM UTC
Pick weeds from a garden and tie them up with a ribbon, tell him to make them beautiful.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 10:48 AM UTC
To This Day by Shane Koyczan
To This Day
When I was a kid
I used to think that pork chops and karate chops
were the same thing
I thought they were both pork chops
and because my grandmother thought it was cute
and because they were my favourite
she let me keep doing it
not really a big deal
one day
before I realized fat kids are not designed to climb trees
I fell out of a tree
and bruised the right side of my body
I didn’t want to tell my grandmother about it
because I was afraid I’d get in trouble
for playing somewhere that I shouldn’t have been
a few days later the gym teacher noticed the bruise
and I got sent to the principal’s office
from there I was sent to another small room
with a really nice lady
who asked me all kinds of questions
about my life at home
I saw no reason to lie
as far as I was concerned
life was pretty good
I told her “whenever I’m sad
my grandmother gives me karate chops”
this led to a full scale investigation
and I was removed from the house for three days
until they finally decided to ask how I got the bruises
news of this silly little story quickly spread through the school
and I earned my first nickname
pork chop
to this day
I hate pork chops
I’m not the only kid
who grew up this way
surrounded by people who used to say
that rhyme about sticks and stones
as if broken bones
hurt more than the names we got called
and we got called them all
so we grew up believing no one
would ever fall in love with us
that we’d be lonely forever
that we’d never meet someone
to make us feel like the sun
was something they built for us
in their tool shed
so broken heart strings bled the blues
as we tried to empty ourselves
so we would feel nothing
don’t tell me that hurts less than a broken bone
that an ingrown life
is something surgeons can cut away
that there’s no way for it to metastasize
it does
she was eight years old
our first day of grade three
when she got called ugly
we both got moved to the back of the class
so we would stop get bombarded by spit *****
but the school halls were a battleground
where we found ourselves outnumbered day after wretched day
we used to stay inside for recess
because outside was worse
outside we’d have to rehearse running away
or learn to stay still like statues giving no clues that we were there
in grade five they taped a sign to her desk
that read beware of dog
to this day
despite a loving husband
she doesn’t think she’s beautiful
because of a birthmark
that takes up a little less than half of her face
kids used to say she looks like a wrong answer
that someone tried to erase
but couldn’t quite get the job done
and they’ll never understand
that she’s raising two kids
whose definition of beauty
begins with the word mom
because they see her heart
before they see her skin
that she’s only ever always been amazing
he
was a broken branch
grafted onto a different family tree
adopted
but not because his parents opted for a different destiny
he was three when he became a mixed drink
of one part left alone
and two parts tragedy
started therapy in 8th grade
had a personality made up of tests and pills
lived like the uphills were mountains
and the downhills were cliffs
four fifths suicidal
a tidal wave of anti depressants
and an adolescence of being called popper
one part because of the pills
and ninety nine parts because of the cruelty
he tried to **** himself in grade ten
when a kid who still had his mom and dad
had the audacity to tell him “get over it” as if depression
is something that can be remedied
by any of the contents found in a first aid kit
to this day
he is a stick on TNT lit from both ends
could describe to you in detail the way the sky bends
in the moments before it’s about to fall
and despite an army of friends
who all call him an inspiration
he remains a conversation piece between people
who can’t understand
sometimes becoming drug free
has less to do with addiction
and more to do with sanity
we weren’t the only kids who grew up this way
to this day
kids are still being called names
the classics were
hey stupid
hey spaz
seems like each school has an arsenal of names
getting updated every year
and if a kid breaks in a school
and no one around chooses to hear
do they make a sound?
are they just the background noise
of a soundtrack stuck on repeat
when people say things like
kids can be cruel?
every school was a big top circus tent
and the pecking order went
from acrobats to lion tamers
from clowns to carnies
all of these were miles ahead of who we were
we were freaks
lobster claw boys and bearded ladies
oddities
juggling depression and loneliness playing solitaire spin the bottle
trying to kiss the wounded parts of ourselves and heal
but at night
while the others slept
we kept walking the tightrope
it was practice
and yeah
some of us fell
but I want to tell them
that all of this ****
is just debris
leftover when we finally decide to smash all the things we thought
we used to be
and if you can’t see anything beautiful about yourself
get a better mirror
look a little closer
stare a little longer
because there’s something inside you
that made you keep trying
despite everyone who told you to quit
you built a cast around your broken heart
and signed it yourself
you signed it
“they were wrong”
because maybe you didn’t belong to a group or a click
maybe they decided to pick you last for basketball or everything
maybe you used to bring bruises and broken teeth
to show and tell but never told
because how can you hold your ground
if everyone around you wants to bury you beneath it
you have to believe that they were wrong
they have to be wrong
why else would we still be here?
we grew up learning to cheer on the underdog
because we see ourselves in them
we stem from a root planted in the belief
that we are not what we were called we are not abandoned cars stalled out and sitting empty on a highway
and if in some way we are
don’t worry
we only got out to walk and get gas
we are graduating members from the class of
**** off we made it
not the faded echoes of voices crying out
names will never hurt me
of course
they did
but our lives will only ever always
continue to be
a balancing act
that has less to do with pain
and more to do with beauty
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 11:14 PM UTC
DESCRIBE THE KISS LIKE BEING ****** INTO A BLACK HOLE AND DRIFTING THROUGH SPACE SEEING THE STARS AND PLAYING CONNECT THE DOTS WITH ORION AND THE GEMINI TWINS AND THEN BEING PULLED BACK TO EARTH AND NOT WANTING TO BREATHE IN THE FOUL AIR OF EARTH BUT TO BREATHE IN NOTHING BUT THE SCENT AND AIR OF THEIR CONSTELLATION LOVER
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 9:20 PM UTC
Terrible. Absolutely terrible.
You inspire me. You make me want to write beautiful things.
I can't. I cannot write beautiful things, because of you.
I get tongue tied in my own mind.
The gorgeous stanzas flee in terror.
Terror brought on by the thought of you.
Beautiful stanzas scared of your magnificence.
Terrified you will shine brighter.
Terrified for good reason.
Not even one million beautiful stanzas, written by the best poets, could outshine you.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 7:39 AM UTC
Hearts shattered in a million pieces,
destruction all around.
"How?" you ask,
"I love you".
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 1:31 AM UTC
Pretty girl hanging from the ceiling, tell me your story.
Was Mommy an addict and did Daddy like to smack you?
Did Daddy skip town and did Mommy bring all of her boyfriends around?
Did Mommy or Daddy have a special game they liked to play?
Pretty girl dangling, please, tell me your name.
Tell me about how vile you think you are, how it's your fault they took it so far.
Tell me about the fake smile you wore daily.
Tell me about the one best friend you had, the one who knew everything.
Tell me about the neighbor boy you secretly loved, but were too scared to tell him.
Tell me this rope around your neck was an accident.
Pretty girl dead, I will whisper sweet things to you.
I will remember your story and your name.
I will remember your best friend, and I'll tell the neighbor boy how much you loved him.
I will hold you close to my heart, for you were brave.
Yet you weren't strong enough.
Pretty girl, rest in peace.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 8:46 AM UTC
Pretty girl hanging from the ceiling, tell me your story.
Was Mommy an addict and did Daddy like to smack you?
Did Daddy skip town and did Mommy bring all of her boyfriends around?
Did Mommy or Daddy have a special game they liked to play?
Pretty girl dangling, please, tell me your name.
Tell me about how vile you think you are, how it's your fault they took it so far.
Tell me about the fake smile you wore daily.
Tell me about the one best friend you had, the one who knew everything.
Tell me about the neighbor boy you secretly loved, but were too scared to tell him.
Tell me this rope around your neck was an accident.
Pretty girl dead, I will whisper sweet things to you.
I will remember your story and your name.
I will remember your best friend, and I'll tell the neighbor boy how much you loved him.
I will hold you close to my heart, for you were brave.
Yet you weren't strong enough.
Pretty girl, rest in peace.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 8:46 AM UTC
Ring loud and clear.
Shout for all to hear.
You are strong.
Have proven your strength time and time again.
You are here.
You are here.
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 10:29 AM UTC