Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Evie G May 10
Drinking her is a terrible experience
The furious fizz fizzles on your tounge, insisting on its existence in your mouth
The facade of fun from the fucia bottle flickers,
leaving you with clear liquid suffering
It flagrantly fizzes around your mouth, flicking your tastebuds.
It’s funny she says.
Then the facade of fizz fizzles,
You taste hatred
A bitter thirst.
An acrid stench of fear, inflicted on others
An unrelenting
Of equal suffering.

I do not know who made fizzy water,
but i would like to have a chat.
Evie G Mar 22
The time would be 3:00, had it not been hidden behind the countdown
The wavering vrrrrrrrrrrrrr of the microwave is not enough to wake
The naive parental mind, causing the ideal image to break
The ping
Of the microwave waits
Torn between warmth and fear
It is this moment when the panic sets in,
for the door


the miniature metallic square
The pop of door
The stench of soggy noodles

And so she is safe

Until another 3:00
Hey there,
Playing with space a bit with, yk, for funzies. Any comments much appreciated
Evie G Mar 1
Life is a system
and i am its product
producing mosaics
and i am its robot
life gives me a function
and have a-  

Here is my product
another mosaic
for i am a robot
and that is my function
but i have a hand?
That is not in the system...

Am i a mosaic?
A rainbow of robot
and then is my function
to lend you a hand?
Programmed in my system
to give you my products?

Am i a robot
devoid of a function?
An empty hand.
A useless, silent system.
No products.
No Mosaic

What is a function?
A powerful productive hand!
A hyper-intellectual system!
A booming blossom of products!
a busy

I take from your hand
and inform my system
I create my own products
Perhaps, I am the mosaic
Perchance, I am the robot
and I function.

Bumps from the system created my hand
creating my products, I dictate my function.
For I am the robot that made the mosaic
and I think that's alright.
Hey there! this is my first attempt at a Sestina so feedback would be most appreciated ! its a really cool form and i recommend you all try it. I went into this will an expectation of what it would be and by the time i finished it it was something else, wild how this stuff works.
Evie G Feb 25
If you were to ask me what boredom was, I’d tell you were boring and to stop asking stupid questions, but if you really persisted, I would tell you boredom is the tick tock on the white clock on the white wall of our English classroom.
it’s the thrill of seeing how many dried crackers you can cram into your mouth before your mouth becomes a cracked and dried desert. Boredom is
making up haikus,
Alone but not quite knowing,
How many syllables go on each line
Boredom is haikus.
Boredom is
the decapitation of innocent
grass blades as you listen to an unenthused sports teacher
the blood of your unwitting enemies splattered on your fingers.
Boredom is this boring poem

Now you were never one for boredom;
you enjoyed sitting on the grass, getting a soggy ***,
you enjoyed the crunch of crackers snapping on your tongue,
you really enjoyed
and I still do not know why
making up haikus
you enjoyed the long languorous spaces between lines...

and I guess that really was just you.
But recently the silence has been getting short its rudely interrupted
by forced laughs and nervous glances from eyes that recently went shopping

You jump at every crunch or crack, scared of well…
I don’t know .

And your poetry,
Well, you barely write anymore because you just can’t seem to muster up the energy and you’re just tired and its nothing to worry about and it doesn’t matter anyway because you have an English essay due tomorrow yeah-

And the grass misses your ***

And I miss you

And there’s someone in your place, a lethargic parody, too frightened to pick up the phone, frightened by nothing at all
There’s a black hole in the shape of a friend
hidden behind the comets of comedy and asteroids of avoidance there’s a small hole

I reach in… grasping for a hand,
I catch glimpses. tufts of hair. old coffee smiles
but… nothing
so, I try again

I reach in, grasping for a hand, or even a bone
I catch glimpses of skin, hair, teeth, bone. Nothing
and each time I throw myself into the silent abyss,
batter past the comets and asteroids and reach into that dark expanse I find less and less,
I miss you

I am right outside,
whenever you’re ready to,
we can talk a bit

I’m trying my best ,
and I really care for you ,
but haikus are dumb
accept it, it’s true.

The spot of grass is waiting right where you left off,
the crackers in the tin are there just waiting to be scoffed.
if ever in that silence
you feel yourself alone
just know that in my house,
you’ve found yourself a home.
Hey there! so i actually just won my schools poetry competition with THE HARRY BAKER judging so i can now die happy my life is complete oh my god. This is essentially an extended version of a poem i wrote back in November i think, it really takes on a new meaning and (i might be bias here) i think is worth the read ? Anyway, any feedback would be lovely, thanks
Also, willing to debate the validity of haikus because i think they are terrible
Evie G Feb 10
I am Eve
I know I am life

I know why a heart beats
I know why the cat sleeps
Far too much

I know why the moon glows
I know why the mould grows
In the bread bin

I know why the earth shakes
I know why the dog wakes
And barks at the world

I know why the wind moans
I know why we break bones
When falling off benches

I know why the stars shine
I know how to write a couplet
As grand as Shakespeare

I know why the trees groan
I know why the hormones
Rush through teenagers

I know why we exist
I know why we like lists
And ticking off the boxes

I know why you and I
Can stare at the same big sky  
And see a different thing

I am the raging turbulent seas
I am a cold cup of tea
I am whatever you make of me.
Hey there, inspired by I Am Talesin
Evie G Nov 2020
Once upon a Christmas eve,
A family sat round a fire
Dad’s he’s late, he’s blaming Steve
Some cables needed to be rewired
A house he finds,
Is full of smiles,
So off he goes on his way.
Grabs baubles from the attic,
and also, grandmothers ****** investigation files

The child, eager with a sparkly blue notebook, rushes to peek inside
Crowe, it reads, Age 33, with thirty-three stabs to her side.
Oh how dramatic, Oh how fun what a wonderful thing he had brought
As seen on tv and on the big screen but never in this way before.
She stared at the words and pondered and scribed and found a new area of thought
Thinking of A Woman Dead!
But not that way of course, in the fun kind of way.
Didn’t think of the dead woman.

Now and then, the blue notebook sparkles out of the corner of my eye
I cradle the crumpled pages in my arms, the notes that I took.
The notes, cold, combined with my father’s colder memories
The good Damsel murdered by a bad ex-lover
An unfortunately common situation.
Another woman lost and alone,  
Another statistic.
Oh well.
This was something I wrote during a poetry workshop about my grandma but it kind became about more than that- I wrote this a while ago
Evie G Nov 2020
Sometimes, your silence is a cold- blooded creature
Unpredictable, uncontrollable, unknowable.
How will I approach this prickly animal?
my hands hover,

Other times it is a fireplace,
Warm from a far, but you know not to get too close.
My hands hover.

But today, your silence is a handwarmer,
Small, familiar and soft.
I’ll sit with it in my hand a while until it goes cold.
This is about a friend i have who's silence took me a while to understand, but of course interpret it however you will, use and abuse it, that's what poetry is for after all. Let me know your thoughts :)-
inspired by Jack Underwood's 'Sometimes Your Sadness is a Yatch'
Next page