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Mackongo Mar 2020
I told myself not to think
about you, but no;
Of course I do.
My heart starts to sink,
But no--
Not of love, no don't be mistaken,
Not of our past,
No--
Not of our risks we have taken.

A tearful regret
On a smooth-sailing ship
through the currents of spite,
And the depths of despair,
My despair.
Mackongo Oct 2019
It's rather easy with encouragement
to fill the pages with words.
Typing not deterred,
Quiet air with frantic typing,
And my ideas and words just flowed.

Poetry I thought was awkward,
Hell, it still quite is.
I didn't think it was my calling,
But to be honest, it was calming.
A class of five, it's rather small,
Yet it's quite fun and there was bonding,

Not the reason for my class,
Yet I'm here with frantic typing.
I wanted to write a story,
With- or without- a happy ending.
I'm just glad I've learned,

I could do that here too.
Mackongo Oct 2019
I shovel the dirt in the ***,
    And white rocks for display.
I start to dig an empty spot,
    In soil, my plants lay.

A small obsession has grown large,
    My love grows like a plant.
As roots stem out, they start to lurch,
    In hopes of sun, they slant.

After time, they will get bigger,
    And demand attention.
My small connection to the Earth,
    For only plants, I’m patient.

Time and time again I’ll check,
    And watch all my plant’s growth.
The roots are long and stems are thick,
    And bigger than I’ve hoped.

They have been dead but back to life,
    So easy to revive.
My mother’s plants have had some strife,
    Yet mine always survive.
This is the last poetry assignment. My teacher liked my previous ballad poems and encouraged me to write another one. I wish I wrote something more deep and meaningful, but succulents work too!
Mackongo Oct 2019
A subtle heat that’s from the lights,
   We see expecting eyes.
A spooky stage that’s full of frights,
   We seek the first place prize.

We hope to perform perfectly,
   A battle of our acting,
We have worked so tirelessly
   To hear the crowd start clapping.

We may not be main characters,
   Yet we carry the plot.
We eagerly await our turn
   To have our shining spot.

We say our lines and do our best,
   Yet judgement we await,
Our performance was a test,
   We were told we were great.
Mackongo Oct 2019
Blank contacts in the case they sit,
  Fake blood and latex too,
Attempting to look like I’m bit,
  Filling the lines I drew.

Disheveled hair and torn up clothes,
  My makeup dark and loud,
The perfect pigments that I chose,
  A zombie and I’m proud.
My teacher wanted us to try ballad stanzas
Mackongo Oct 2019
Attempts of sleep,
To no avail.
Surrounded by silence,
And silence broken,
By slow ticks.

Hands always move, always constant,
Yet, slowly coming to a close,
With never ending movement.

The clock is worn,
It’s old,
It’s exhausted. Like me.
The clock strikes four,
And I’m still here,
Suffocating in near silence.
A portion of an assignment. This part is my favorite
Mackongo Oct 2019
A mindless drone
With no purposeful existence,
So easily replaceable.

So, why am I still here?
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