Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
She can walk
          between
             night and day
               never letting either
                  get in her way.
She learned this trick
                     many moons ago
                                by
                     going deep within
           and never letting it show.
Her soul is innocent
her heart is pure
she’s gone through more
than most could endure.
            She’s an angel of light
                 an angel of dark
                 you never know
              what you will spark.
                      You want to hurt her?
                         Please, go ahead and try
                           she’ll be the one to show you
                                  just how well she can
                                                              f
­                                                                l­
                                                                ­  y.
                                  Her soul innocent
                    her heart pure
      but never think for one minute
that she’s not secure.
                                Say what you will
                          please, do what you must
                       but your jealousy and hatred
                             won’t waver her trust!
~
Even Those Angels Out There Have Their Limits…..
 Sep 2018 Mia
President Snow
Water
 Sep 2018 Mia
President Snow
She is water

She dance like the waves
Swaying as the wind blows
Soft enough when she's calm
And tough enough when she's mad

She is not a real water
But deep enough to make me drown
Well basically, 60 percent of the human's body is made up of water. Lol
 Sep 2018 Mia
Beaux
If I die in a school shooting
I'll never go home again.
My room will sit unused,
A capsule frozen in time,
A snapshot of how I was.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my dog again.
She will sit at the front door
Waiting for me and wondering,
Why I never came home.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never graduate from high school.
My yearbooks will sit stacked
Stopped short of their goal,
Missing years that should have been.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my mom again.
She will sit distraught,
Planning a funeral
For a child taken from her.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my friends again.
They'll sit together, missing me.
One empty seat among them,
A constant reminder of their loss.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my little sister again.
She will sit through high school
Knowing I can't guide her through,
That she has to figure it out alone.

If I die in a school shooting
My school will be stained.
Pools of students lives will sit,
Blood tattoos on the brick structures,
Marks of death ground into it.

If I die in a school shooting
Everyone will wear black.
They'll send their thoughts and prayers
To a town marred by death,
Forever to be the home of a shooting.

If I die in a school shooting
Will the world change?
Or will I become one of hundreds  
Of kids who have to die?
What will it take?

If things continue this way
Children will have to live in fear.
They'll look over their shoulders
Always worried and wondering,
If they'll die in a school shooting.
The state of Florida is now home to the two most deadly mass shootings in American history. Pulse Nightclub was attacked in my city, I have friends who attend Marjory Stoneman Douglas in Parkland. My little sister often fears going to school. I'm afraid to graduate and leave her. I want to be able to protect her if something happens. I hate that we have a reason to be afraid... That it's reasonable to have these fears. I hate it so f*cking much.
 Sep 2018 Mia
aesthenne
home
 Sep 2018 Mia
aesthenne
she,
in a simple nightgown
he,
in cotton pyjamas

nearing dusk,
as they laughed
while holding
the others hand

bare feet brushing
along the
soft bristles
of the rug

the radio
softly playing
a tune of
jazz

what a time
to be alive
Based on "Dance to This" by Troye Sivan and Ariana Grande.
 Sep 2018 Mia
Madison Greene
I could spend the rest of my nights searching for another you
trying on lovers like new pairs of shoes
knowing the sun will rise along with the memories
but I'd rather spend my morning hours with thoughts of you
than have to pretend his hands will ever compare to the way your words made me feel
 Sep 2018 Mia
Jonathan Surname
High waisted jeans.
Converse with the colors faded,
Socks that are too warm.
Coffee that you forgot,
now it's too cold.
Goldilocks with a pixie cut,
but it's grown out.
And dyed red.

Joking about suicide but taking it seriously.
Alive on a bed with petals and thorns.
While autumn decays the terrace around to warn
you of the winter soon to storm through and
separate you from the torn.

His smile faded worse than your shoes.
And you spent a lot of time walking at night,
through puddles, trudging up dredged silt
and kicked loam
on your way half-buzzed to your apartment home.
It took a season longer for him to fade from bright
to held steadfast against the backdrop of vacuum
stagnant light.

He smells of sweat and sweetly crunched leaves.
Popular spice rub and sparkling water throat-feel.
Your jeans you bought with the holes in them are *****.
You'll wear 'em 'til you're thirty,
you're thrifty,
and frugal, but you still tip thirty percent per purchase spent.
Because you were in their black shoes once,
dressed shirt pressed and smiled to impress those
who spent less than you'd guess on their own tips back then.
Mid-20s and all you are is memories of nineteen.
A few more to even the score.

Yoga pants as pajamas. Pajama bottoms to class.
It used to be about the glances, and remarks.
Now it's about delivering yourself from the past.

You'll tip handsomely to the ugly people.
And nod your head with your chin bounce up,
in a show of recognition for the facade we all front.

You'll smile when most frown.
You'll rejoice amongst the vogue of cynics.
You will, because will is what does and you don't give up.
In a show of recognition for the facade we all front.
 Sep 2018 Mia
Poetoftheway
,how do you know when
(a human is too broken?)




<•>

human too broken?

like the light bulb, removal from its fixture, a simple shaking revelation of the tinkling filament spent, something that cannot be repaired, the only option is replacement and that makes
you cry

the empty box of oatmeal raisin cookies, you find secret’d,
hid by you, not to be found by you
at the bottom of the kitchen garbage,
but box betrayal, by the chartreuse tipped box lid sided
peeking upwards, asking, silencing screaming,
what did I do to deserve
this degrading

like the blouse now too tight that it brings stares as the buttons strain, unwelcome attention unintended,
you know it but still pretend not to see,
for you both once loved that silky guise that so
heightened the high tender, the match of your pink rose skin letting, no! making
your eyes glisten, like broken filament glass, on the sidewalk,
recalling the pleasured admiration,
rain remembered from the
prior priority of a life consisting of only
perfect gifts

so mean revert to the poseur question; this is how...

remove the human from a fixed place, whimpering-threatened,
you may hear clear the crackle cackling  of the innard shards against the misperception of a body intact,
even if you do,
no repair service you want,  can be found, see it nowhere,
is it even
anywhere advertised?

the body presumed intact is secret’d under a tactile coverlet,
holey scupperrd holy cuttered
so that the cells and bicuspids, the threads
no longer function in a tandem,
you keep it in the closet closed,
in the back, deep hid, where,
when it screams why,
it can be safe ignored,
because  ‘betrayed’ is no longer a word,
in your globe's dictionary,
the parental controls activated by you to
save your own inner child’s unconstrained confusion,
it has been removed


so the broken glass, the clothes you dressed each other,
if not weep-well,
well enough hid,
the fit is off,
the fit is off,
the coverlet ripped so bad and neither cares
an unexpected poem, unplanned, needing work
aug 4-5
 Sep 2018 Mia
JaxSpade
Blind Melon
 Sep 2018 Mia
JaxSpade
Parts of me
                      Ill my pieces
                     Thoughts to be
Just like Jesus
       Impossibly
Be the good neighbor

When I don't like nobody

Finding peace
Is a solution
Searched in it's rarity

     It is a puzzle piece
Lost which completes
                  Parts of me
                    I once had
Till I developed leprosy

My skin dripped fingers
As my heart fell off of me

Hunting down the cure
Was exhausting
And melancholy

My dissed ease
   Was a necessary
          By all means
I lost
Parts of me
                    Involuntarily

As I looked to the floor
I noticed everything

The broken pieces
Scattered
Were swept into a pile of me

Now I'm putting back
The parts of me
That never functioned
Properly

However broken
I never lost hope
Until I could find every peace

To assemble
The parts of me
That were always there

But I was too blind
To see
Next page