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Lauren Mar 2019
By. Lauren

128 beats per minute.
128 times I'm sure I will die.
184,320 beats per day.
A rhythmic palpitation refusing to slow.
And people wonder why I can't keep a beat.
Every second I seem to speed.
128 beats per minute.
128 pumps of blood.
At this rate I am more blood than water.
Because my day is made up of 184,320 beats per minute my body is forced to hold.
I'm sorry my poetry had been lacking lately my health is getting very bad.
Lauren Apr 2019
By. Lauren

It's 3AM where are you?
It's 3AM I called you.
It's 3AM I still love you.
It's 3AM and I just got the call.
It's 3AM why'd you do this?
It's 3AM and you're still dead.
It's 3AM and I miss you.
It's 3 years later and I still cry at 3AM.
Suicide is a real problem that effects everyone. People will miss you. Your friends will make a sappy post about you. They really do care.
Lauren May 2019
By. Lauren

5th Avenue.
Where I first met you.
Where your eyes met mine.
Where our lips first locked.
5th Avenue where I knew I loved you.
Lauren Apr 2019
By. Lauren

Number 1: "What has made your mind so naive to tell me the reason I passed out was due to the stress of taking a bath?"
Number 2: "You're the one in need of a therapist for the senseless concept in your mind I need emotional support to wash my face in the morning"
Number 3: "You told me to lie on the floor when I am about to faint except when I did so what gave you the idea to yell at me in your narrow mind"
Number 4: "If you eliminated one possible health condition at the beginning of the appointment why is it in the end I am always stuck with my feet out the door with that label?"
Number 5: "Are you sure you even completed medical school because it sure seems like I can self diagnose better than you can even take my pulse."
This is in no way meant to discredit doctors it's just I have been to 40 in the past year stuck with the most bizarre answers. One being "You need to develop stress relief tools so you do not pass out after a bath."
Lauren Jul 2019
By. Lauren

The smell of death has always been a 6th sense to me.
I do not know why but the second something I once held dear to my heart passes on I smell the smell.
A smell that's so nauseating I can hear it.
Hear its rumble.
Hear its beating on the no longer pumping heart.
Hear the smell.
The smell of rotting.
The smell that brings tears to my dull eyes.
The smell I've always seemed to recognize.
The smell of death.
The blunt reminder that they are gone.
Gone forever.
Gone like the smell.
The smell I feel trapped in.
The smell of death.
My 6th sense.
Lauren Mar 2019
By. Lauren

I'm gonna start off by telling you just because you know me doesn't mean you truly know who I am.
You may know my real name but that doesn't tell you what my past consisted of.
My past tells you a story in which you can't understand.
My past consist of names that died before my reality did.
My body has always been this place in which I am afraid to go back to.
It's a place where I just want to cut off what does not belong to me.
Because my body doesn't belong to me.
My mind tells me one thing but how do I display that my body disagrees.
For I am trans my body tells me I'm a girl but my mind tells me I'm a boy and I'm stuck in this false reality in which I cannot escape.
In the course of seconds people hear my real name but they don't know who I truly am because my birth name is dead.
All I ask is to live in the body in which my mind belongs.
Except it's always my body saying that I don't belong.
The people on the streets don't understand because
yes, I am a girl but
no, I am not.
For I am trans.
"I am a boy," one day I hope to yell with no tremble in my voice due to fear.
Because I am a boy.
And a boy I will be.
You know your a true poet if you feel the emotions around the people around you. This poem is from the perspective of a boy I know.
I know these poems do not get as many reads but if you know me you know I prefer to write from my heart. So here it is a ode to the boy in the back of the class.
Lauren Mar 2019
By. Lauren

I long for the feeling of touch on the palms of my hands.
The tingling sensation of her holding my hand not afraid of what will come.
Not afraid of what will be thrown wether it
Stick, stone, or word.
I long for the opportunity to love her even in church on Sunday afternoon, despite my lack of religion due to my fear.
I long for the warmth on the other side of the bed that she occupies with a smile on her face.
I long to know what it's truly like to not be afraid to walk down the street holding my girlfriends hand.
When normal people see a gay pride event they are disturbed covering their children's eyes.
When they see us they do not understand.
Throughout my life I have had to fight for my love and that's more than you will ever comprehend.
I simply just long to feel human.
Now is that so wrong?
Why is my love so wrong? I did not chose to be this way.
Lauren Mar 2019
By. Lauren

When will you stop my brain?
I am ready to sleep now.
I took you hours ago.
Yet you won't tuck me in.
When will you numb me
So I feel no more pain
When will you make me stop writing these poems.
Advil P.M when will you make me normal?
When will you let me live?
When will my mind stop racing? I just want to dream.
Lauren Feb 2019
By. Lauren

They ask you what you want to be,
How do you explain
That you want to specialize in the exact
Thing you suffer from?
Because, you want to pursue a job
In which
Requires your blood to defy
It's own laws of gravity.
Because, every time you stand,
Your blood pools in a formation that would
Drown even the most talented of swimmers.
Your heart has to fight
Simply to keep you upright,
Yet you want to pursue
A dream
Going against all that you know.
24/7 your world is spinning,
You are dizzy.
Yet, you want to treat others who feel the same as you.
In a world without risks you wouldn't last
More than 5 minutes.
You don't let PoTS define you
Should they,
So here you are.
As your head tries it's hardest to piece the world together as it spins like a carousel.
Your heart is pumping,
126 times per minute
All in the desperate attempt to keep you standing.
You, are trying.
Lauren Feb 2019
By. Lauren

I have so many things to write,
I'm afraid to write.
I'm afraid to feel.
And since
I'm afraid to feel,
I'm afraid to love.
I'm stuck with the same situation again.
I have so many things to write,
I'm afraid to write.
Lauren Mar 2019
By. Lauren

They exiled him one by one pushing him out the door.
The door slammed.
If only they knew he was just like me.
Homosexuality is a sin the preachers sermon seems to yell at me in a blunt tone as if a bullet had just shot.
As I excused myself to go cry in the church bathroom my footsteps sounded louder than that of a gun shot.
A loud boom each time I took a forward movement.
They all turned and looked at me.
They knew,
I knew they knew,
And in that moment I was exiled too.
Lauren Mar 2019
By. Lauren

When I first looked into your eyes I saw that something was wrong.
I knew that you had a secret that you where keeping from the world.
I could see a tear drop from your glistening brown eyes.
I could see the depth of the ocean that you where keeping hostage.
I could see that you were suffering. Because when I looked into your eyes I saw the girl that I used to be.
I saw a girl that was afraid to tell her parents how she truly felt.
When I looked into your eyes I knew that you were just waiting to tell the world something.
When I looked into your eyes I saw a secret waiting to be told.
Sadly, I also saw that you will grow old And will likely keep the secret from everybody in the world out of fear.
You know I can see your secret don't you?
"Your secret is safe with," me I want to whisper in your ear.
I want to tell you that I know how you feel.
I want to tell you that I will be there for you.
But how do you tell that to somebody who hasn't even told you they're secret?
I know what your secret is because I had  the same secret that you had.
Maybe you don't even have a secret at all.
Maybe your secret isn't even a secret at all.
But when I looked into those brown glistening eyes once more I knew that I was correct.
I knew that you were truly keeping a secret deeper than the one I was.
I knew together we had a big secret that we would have to help each other with.
So when I looked into your brown glistening eyes mine glistened too as if to convey the message "we're in this together, love."
These are the words I'm afraid to say to the beautiful girl in the back of the class.
Lauren Jun 2020
By. Lauren

Growing up I was told America was the home of the brave, but I'm not feeling so brave right now watching the riots go down.
The virus eating us away.
The plastic bullets bouncing off.
We are the targets.
We are the one's being fought against, but America is the home of the brave.
Just how do you stay brave when the death toll is rising each day?
Not from a virus, but from a fear and desire within us all.
Growing up I was taught that America was peaceful, but I'm not feeling much peace right now.
Our emotions just ricochet.
I was taught a president would hold us together in our nation under God.
Just, where is he? Where are they? My president doesn't care and God has never been there.
What now?
What is left in this so called home of the brave?
Our nation once said to be under God is fading away.
Welcome to America!
Lauren Mar 2019
By. Lauren

Calling: Ex
"Please leave a message after the beep,"
The phone seemed to scream in my ears.
I hope you know
You ruined my
*static cracks explode like bombs being fired directly at me
Lauren Apr 2019
By. Lauren

Can I have a minute or two?
Just a simple waste of time.
A sip from the drink we call life.

Can I waste a minute or two to get closer to you?
A minute closer to the edge of death.

Can I waste a little more time?
Just to know your lines.

Are you ashamed of my waste of time?

Last of all,
Can I have more time?
I need to write more rhymes.
Lauren Apr 2019
By. Lauren

I feel like the fattest skeleton to ever break
For years I suffered from anorexia  I now am a perfectly healthy weight but some days I can't help but feel fat.
Lauren Jul 2019
By. Lauren

What is it you see in me?
Are my words too real for you?
I hope your heart has not been broken this way too.
Your poor eyes young girl.
You've read more than one should bear.
How do you stay so strong?
May I have a piece of your point of view?
To the girl always liking my poetry.
Thank you.
Lauren Mar 2019
By. Lauren

Despite what the world says looks really do matter.
How will I get a job with crooked teeth turning every which way?
How will I expect respect when I'm not dressed like I deserve it swallowed in sweat pants and a tattered hoodie?
I will not be enough despite my brains if I am dressed like a kindergarten.
My looks will never be good enough to land me that dream job but at least I will be able to say, "I acknowledged that."
Looks really do matter even if you have the brains.
Society's Standards are  absurd I pluck my eyebrows, shave my legs, you will not see a hole in my jeans or a wrinkle in my shirt, not a pimple on my face, or a yellow spot on my teeth, not a curl in my hair  yet I will never be good enough to make my 89 cents to his dollar despite my brains.
Lauren Mar 2019
By. Lauren

Does anyone else read their poetry aloud and think "wow I'm good."?
Sometimes I feel bad for loving my poetry so much. If only I could bear to read it aloud for the world to hear the true expression I am trying to convey.
Lauren Mar 2019
By. Lauren

A ****** day for a ****** person like me.
I woke up late, once again.
Rush, swoosh, ugh!
I am late once again.
In a rush to leave I find myself throwing on the first thing my weak fingers can feel.
I'm late and my health is failing.
Today is a ****** day!
The door closes and I left my keys once again.
"Today is ****," I scream.
As I look in the mirror of my car my eyes want to scream.
Every imperfection is visible on me.
Today is a ****** day for a ****** person like me.
Lauren Jul 2019
By. Lauren

* my voice echos *
I want to tell you a story.
A story that goes like this.
A story where my voice echoes over the bustling room.
A story where I can get real quiet when talking about sensitive topics.
A story that goes like this.
It all begins loud as I tell a violent tale of the girl that was hit last week by her boyfriend.
Then it seems to fade.
My voice fades into a bleak whisper as I tell the tale of two lovers one living with a mask over her face.
A tale of two fates.
Two worlds.
Two people that will never seem to cross paths no matter the story.
I want to tell you a story where I can tell the truth.
A story a lot like this.
A story of vulnerability.
I want to tell you a story.
A story that will help the world see the true me.
I guess I don't want to tell you a story at all.
I just want to tell you the truth.
I want to tell you my truth.
Time to start where it all began.
* my voice fades into a shallow whisper
Lauren May 2019
By. Lauren

Bones shatter under the pressure to be perfect.
No flaws in the marrow or bumps on the side.
Only the longing for perfection that will never be satisfied.
I feel this poem is not truly finished. Although I will never be satisfied here it is.
Lauren Mar 2019
By. Lauren

My world is like a broken record constantly spinning on the turntable not being able to stop but not being able to play any tune worth hearing.
As the record I call life turns the obnoxious screeching commences.
The spinning never ceases to give up its power as it begins to make me nauseous.
My life gives no concern to the activities I can no longer appreciate.
You do not realize how wondrous a record is until it spins 24/7 leaving only the residue of past headaches and brain trauma in your mind.
Because my life is a broken record ready to be tossed out.
Because my life is a broken record ready to be tossed out.
Loving with a chronic illness is like being held underwater not being able to breathe but not being able to save yourself either. Some days you just feel hopeless.
Lauren Jun 2019
By. Lauren

I didn't choose to answer that phone.
They said my name on the other end.
How was I to react from within.
So then I denied the allegations.
Hung up the phone for this was the end.
2 minutes later they called again.
Left a message my ears where unwilling to hear.
They told me news I was shocked to receive.
He had done it again and gotten seized.
I am still quivering.
Trembling from the news.
They asked me to come in but I refused.
Unwilling to accept the reality that she too had been abused.
Lauren Mar 2019
By. Lauren

I can't put my feelings into words.
I can't dive deep into alliteration.
Yet I find myself trying my hardest.

I can't end a line with a rhyme.
Because I am not perfect nor are my rhymes.

My poems lack the ability to feel.
Yet my brain lacks the ability not to feel.

I fell in love with poetry but literary devices fell into a hatred of me.
I want to improve my poetry.
Lauren Sep 2019
By. Lauren

I wish I could go back in time.
I want to change everything.
You told me if it hadn't of happened I'd be on the team.
I just want to be one of them.
One of the strong.
Not one of the weak.
You told me if it wasn't for what had happened to me I could be more like them.
I don't want to be different.
I just want to fit in.
Sadly, I'm stuck here with this disability.
I just want to go back in time.
I want to change everything.
Sadly, you can not change your circumstances these are the cards I have been dealt and must learn to wield.
Lauren Feb 2019
By. Lauren

A bad day,
A day in which everything ends.
A world in which everything seems to be on fire.
Chaos is a every day affair for me.
Because chaos is a relative refusing to leave.
Chaos is the foundation of the day that swallows all that is calm and produces a monster out of it.
Chaos is the occupant on the other side of the bed.
Because chaos is more dreaded than the day it intertwines itself in.
Chaos is the lover that breaks everyone's heart who ever thought they loved it.
Because everything seems so calm until you find chaos.
And then everything ends.
Lauren Jul 2019
By. Lauren

I can not see the shades of brilliance each color has to offer.
I can not see their variations of pigmentations.

I hear the word scarlet
But I can not imagine its complexion.

The word cobalt sparks confusion in my mind as to what one should see.

Colorblindness affects me every day.

When you look the color vermilion in the eyes a sense of anger glares back at you.
You say the color is violent.

To me the color is blue.
Sadness glares back at me.

I guess it has always been this way.
All color does is confuse me.

Why can't I be the same?
Lauren Jul 2019
By. Lauren

I feel so bad.
All I ever do is complain to you.
What am I to say to you when all I ever do is complain?
I just want to joke with you but I can't when all I ever do is complain.
I'm in pain.
I want to tell you why but I can't even try.
It's all a predicament I don't want to be in.
And I don't want to be here.
I don't want to be in pain.
I don't want to complain.
I want to be strong for you but how can that be done.
It sounds so plain.
Just be strong Lauren.
Why must you complain?
Did your mother teach you no better?
Did your life fail you that hard?
Lauren why don't you just stop this already?
Stop complaining!
Lauren Apr 2019
By. Lauren

Darkness has engulfed the world.
Burning everything I called precious.
Making you cry.
Will it ever end?
The obis is killing me.
I miss the world we use to have.
The one not engulfed in darkness.
But instead shining with light.
Lauren Feb 2019
By. Lauren

To all the self harmers I know,
You are loved even on your worst of days.
You will have scars.
Your friends will worry when you show up with red marks on your arms and legs.
Children will ask questions.
Just remember please, it is all because they are worried about you.
To all the ex self harmers I know,
I've been there too.
The days you face become more and more difficult like a heavy weight as you search for a way to cope and breathe freely once more,
You will make it out of this.
You are powerful.
Your scars will fade.
To all the the people who have self harmed,
Your stories will never go away.
But your stories will end.
To self harm,
It's time to move on and stop claiming wrists as friends.
Despite all the errors I make in my poems I find myself struggling to take a break. Tragically, I am the type of person who loves feedback so here is another poem.
Lauren Mar 2019
By. Lauren

I love what I do so very much but I don't know if what I do loves me back.
My love for poetry wraps around my heart and squeezes it until it struggles to beat onward.
I love writing poetry.
But does poetry love me writing it?
Lauren Jun 2019
By. Lauren

Today I'm feeling done.
I know it's bizarre.
Only one feeling to represent a day not yet done.
Just today I'm feeling done.
Today I can see the end.
I can see the blood drip.
The drain clog.
The finder cry.
Today I'm feeling done.
Not the I want to die done.
Instead the I'm already gone done.
Just done.
The 15 years of trying and 0 achieving done.
Such a simple word to represent such a strong feeling.
Such a bizarre word for what I mean.
Not unique.
Only simplistic.
4 letters to represent a whole day.
A whole life.
Today I just feel done.
Lauren Jun 2019
By. Lauren

I do not want to be depressed.
Mom I am trying.
I can not keep apologizing.
I took the blade to my own skin it was not a demon from god.
I'm just trying.
Mom will you listen!?
I can not apologize.
Mom I do not believe.
Why must you say that I brought this upon myself?
Mom god did not send me a devil.
You can not drown my depression in a sea of Jesus.
Mom I brought this upon myself it is all my own mind.
Mom I can not believe.
Not in a god you claim made me this way.
I do not want to be depressed.
I just want to be me.
To be free.
Not free from a demon
But free from me.
This isn't based off full truth but here's a poem.
Lauren May 2019
By. Lauren

I try to pursue my dreams but every time I'm faced with the harsh reality.
Ideas never come to me.
It always must be on their own terms.
Today I realized
I am lost in the obis of my own poetry.
No escape of finishing a poem:
All I know how to do is repeat a line.
Will this ever be done?
Poetry is a dream of mine.
If only it was not a weary traveler carrying only one bag at a time.
Poetry how may I help you today?
Lauren Feb 2019
By. Lauren

As a cry for attention exits each mouth around me, I begin to dread the day awaiting me.
Each word spoken is another noise I'm forced to deal with.
Despite my dreams I take each step needed to begin my day.
Because, in a world without poetry I dread everything.
The slightest breath causes my mind to race.
A plan of action even forms for my next piece of poetic expression.
Each day poses a new opportunity.
An opportunity to pursue my dream.
An opportunity to be me.
So I take a breath that blocks out all the noise around me.
I pick up the pen
And I pressure my dream in a world
With poetry.
Lauren Mar 2019
By. Lauren

When we were younger our parents told us to follow our dreams.
Now that we have grown an inch or two our parents tell us choose a sustainable job in which you can fall back on in the hard times.
It's always difficult rebelling against your parents.
You know the advice is a *** of gold except you want to pursue a dream in which you are happy.
Not following your dream is a heart break.
Following your dream has more ups and downs mostly sorrow after you fail.
The gratification is so overwhelming that you would like to peruse more dreams until you crash, fall, and tumble down the stairway of success.
Then you are found nocking at the door of your parents *** of gold advice.
Recently I was faced with the decision of what to do for the rest of my life. Poetry is my dream but a cardiologist I will be.
Lauren Jul 2019
By. Lauren

Drunk on the "innocence" of our youth.
Ready for another shot of liquor.
We down quicker and quicker.
It's always seemed to be this way.
Our pupils dilating larger and larger.
Not ready for the hangover.
Not ready for it all to be over.
Drinking makes the demons go away.
No more chatting in our minds.
Tonight we get to be normal teens.
Just drinking the "innocence" of our youth away.
Letting it glide down our throats
Quicker and quicker each time ready for the gulp.
The gulp that makes it all go away.
I hate the thought of drinking growing up and seeing how it makes the people I know act.
Lauren Jul 2019
By. Lauren

Have you ever wanted to be someone you are not?
Breathe air from someone else's lungs.
Pump blood from someone else's heart.
Think in someone else's mind.
Fall in love from someone else's body.
Just be someone you are not.
Live someone else's life.
A whole different world waiting to be discovered.
Mistakes and all.
I just want to be someone else entirely.
I'm open about my sexuality but right now I really just wish I was straight.
Lauren May 2019
By. Lauren

For the longest time I feared death itself.
I wasn't afraid all those times to take my life.
Yet today I think in fear.
I do not know in which I believe.
A heaven or hell.
An eternity with him.
All that I come back to is fear.
The world is my happy place.
A *** brimming with just the right amount perfection yet the proportional pinch of imperfection to top it all off.
I guess what I'm saying is I'm afraid to believe in heavens perfection.
It's just the preacher always said hell was no party either.
Only a scorching arena of loneliness.
Do I believe in either?
My religion was forced upon me to the point I snapped.
I do not know in which I believe.
Maybe the world just simply ends.
No heaven or hell.
Only a simple lights out.
When it all ends will we just be floating?
Souls in the obis of outer space drifting along never to see one another again.
Still alive but not truly there.
Not truly human.
Just weary travelers who will never lock eyes again.
Is this how it all ends?
Lauren Feb 2019
By. Lauren

Falling in love with a poet is like falling down an endless hole.
As the black and white stripes spin all around,
Your mind is soon engulfed in their literature for you and you alone, so they say.
Except, falling in love with a poet means
You aren't the only one to fall down their rabbit hole of happy day poetry.
"When I look into your eyes I see a sunrise of warmth, happiness, and the love I have for you. You are my world in which my heart keeps beating. Without you I may as well be dead."
Falling in love with a poet is just a game.
It's an opportunity to write a few poems or two.
But, falling in love with a poet has no true feelings except for the shallow expressions shown in their poetic devices.
Lauren Mar 2019
By. Lauren

"Look alive," the people scream at me as I step up to the microphone.
If only they knew that's not anything I ever learned to do.
The basic skill was never taught in kindergarten.
All I ever learned to do was be in fear. When I am faced with a crowd I am faced with fear.
I was taught to run away except that's not what I want do.
I want to face my fears head on but I'm stuck with my fear looming over my shoulders.
The people scream at me as I step up to the microphone and I am faced with fear.
I never learned to face fear.
All I learned to do was be engulfed in fear when faced with a crowd.
All I ever do is run away from my deepest fears and feelings.
I want to face my fears but I never was taught how to do so.
Our generation has fallen apart due to fear.
50 years ago no one would be afraid to step up and speak at a mike.
Our forefathers did not suffer from fear like we do today.
Our generation hides behind a mask on social media because that is the only way we know how to speak now days.
I love my poetry but I hate how repetitive and simple it is.
Lauren Feb 2019
By. Lauren

The word youth,
Meaning the period between childhood and adult age.

Those very years sparked a flame in my heart causing the tenderness of my love for you.

Our youthful passion caused a yearning for the enchantment of later life.

My heart cherished every last relishing moment of those youthful years with you, my love.
Lauren Mar 2019
By. Lauren

I tried not to love poetry for you.
But I couldn't.
It's just now I try to love poetry for me.
And I can't seem to do that either.
Right now I read my poetry and can't stand it. I have lost almost all interest and I'm afraid it's because of who I fell in love with.
Lauren Jun 2019
By. Lauren

Am I not allowed to be me anymore?
Can I not be free?
Must I seek your approval?
An object in your fantasy.
That is not who I am.
That is not who I love.
I do not think like you.
Why must you hurt me?
Can I not just be me?
Just simply free.
Lesbians are not here to be your fantasy. We are not objects we are simply human. We love who we love no apologies.
Lauren Jun 2019
By. Lauren


You hit me up.
It's 1 AM and you think it's a good idea.
Sliding into those DM's after years.
What am I to say?
We once where best friends I cannot lie.
You and me till the end.
You and me in my bedroom just being friends.
I still remember everything.
The late-night texting just like friends do.
The conversations we refused to share.
Just giggling at the lunch table when all else was silent.
I remember when we were once only girls.
No relationship drama to intersect.
It's just we grew up.
No more braiding hair life got too serious.
Stuff happened.
I do not hate you and I hope you feel the same.
It's just I didn't know what to say in those times I needed you the most.
The times I just needed a good hug from you to get through the day.
I guess that's why we're here today.
Sitting across a table trying to figure things out.
Can I give you a sip of what I think?
We all messed up.
You got too close to her for my heart to handle.
It felt like you'd shattered all our good times.
No more you and me it was all you and her.
I knew she wasn't good for you.
A toxic girl only there to **** your blood and break your heart.
Just what was I to say?
You cannot tell someone their new found best friend is toxic after they've left you.
You got with the wrong crowd the people you knew I was not comfortable around.
The people I first knew and introduced you to.
This is our reality now.
I will not be your best friend because you have Changed more than you needed to.
Now you're just a ***** with a best friend itch.
I will not hold your hand anymore.

"Message Sent"
This is bound to be the worst poem I have ever posted but here it is anyway.
Lauren May 2019
By. Lauren

I don't know what to say to you.
You took my friend,
But where will it end?
It seems like every time it comes to a close
You take her again.
Do you enjoy this game?
A spiraling loop of she's mine.
Will you just let her win?
I don't know what to say to you.
Just know this game will end.
Lauren May 2019
By. Lauren

On that day it's like the bell didn't ring.
No buzz in the hall
Or message to convey.
Only the whisper of voices and echo of tears.
The dreaded news refusing to spread.
The blink of an eye was too much to handle.
The drop of a tear immediately followed.
She was gone.
What could be done?
No bell would change the fact only a ring of emotion would be released.
No buzz of white noise would bring back her laughter.
All that was left was a cathedral of empty lungs.
No air left to breathe.
No more tears to shed or news to spread.
She was gone.
That fact was all that followed.
Lauren Apr 2020
By. Lauren

I miss writing poetry.
It just feels like death to me.
My thoughts under lock and key.
How do you write when you don't have rhyme?
It's just trauma on a page.
Why would anyone want to read?
My thoughts are so tangled up now that thou is dead to me.  
Poetry where has thou gone?
I feel so lost and numb.
It's all too much to say.
Trauma takes over me.
I ruined yet another friendship today.
It didn't make me cry this time.
Instead, it brought me here.
I've lost so many things.
I just feel like an empty drawer.
What am I to do?
There's nothing left to say.
Lauren Feb 2019
By. Lauren

Muscles are the gift you where blessed with.
Muscles are the gift I was robbed of before I had the pain staking opportunity to even learn what they where for.
You take your body for granted,
But for me I watch daily as mine deteriorates.
For you there is no worry about your health.
Sadly, for me I look down and wonder when my legs will give out.
I wonder when I am going to collapse next.
I may be young, but I know the pain of imagining when I will die.
My body
Will be the end of me
And that
Terrifies me.
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