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5.4k · May 2018
Penalising Poets
Eleanor May 2018
Isn’t it funny
How poets dramatise everything
“An ocean of depression”
“A death grip of love”
We just can’t help ourselves
It’s who we are
It’s part of being a poet
Over analysing life
Deeply contemplating death
“What is the meaning of life?”
Everything is philosophical
There’s always a lesson to learn
An issue to address
A heartache to confess
I couldn’t even resist a little alliteration in the title.
1.5k · Sep 2017
Perfect
Eleanor Sep 2017
To me, perfect is an opinion.
Nobody's perfect is the same.
But the tell me this,
why is "you're so perfect" a compliment?
Why does another person's perfect matter?

We wake up and strive for perfection.
But what happens when we get there?
Do we lose our motivation?
No, because we never get there...

Even when you think you've scaled your mountain,
all it takes is one insult,
to send you thundering down again.
Or does it?

What about body positivity?
Or not giving a **** anymore?
well I am not those people,
and my perfect is on the floor.
1.5k · Apr 2018
Fly
Eleanor Apr 2018
Fly
I’ve been waiting in my darkness
For you to pass by
But never in a million years
Did I dream, that you
Would be the only one
Who could teach me
How to fly...
1.1k · Dec 2017
'Do your best'
Eleanor Dec 2017
As children we are encouraged,
'Do your best'.
we are told that,
'You cannot do more than your best'.

So then when we are told,
'Well your best isn't good enough'.
What now?
We cannot do more than our best.

The words,
'Your best isn't good enough',
What is there of that to make?
Are we, ourselves, not good enough?

The most we can do,
Our current capacity,
It does not satisfy.
Our 100% is inadequate.
This poem links to 'Enough'. I ask that teachers and parents never say the phrase, 'your best isn't good enough'. It will not affect those whom did not try their best, therefore making the statement futile and untrue. It will crush those whom did try their best, discouraging them and causing decreased self esteem.
1.1k · Feb 2019
Dear Mum
Eleanor Feb 2019
Mum, there's one thing i don't want you to hear,
it's that food doesn't make me grin from ear to ear,
it makes me terrified of the voice inside,
wanna crawl into my bed and hide,
and cry and cry about my outside,
until there's silence from the voice inside.

But it's never silence,
just a pause,
'til it grabs me again with it's awful claws,
scratches me and makes me bleed,
bruises me until i plead,
and remind myself that i agreed,
pain until I'm skinny, please.

I'm fat i know, i don't need to be told,
I'm tall and only 16 years old,
I'm a child yes, but you never scold,
because a good girl you did mold,
i used to get good grades and study hard,
now all i am is a bunch of lard,
i still study hard but i am scarred,
by the voice that tells me,
i'll never reach that bar.

I try and try but don't succeed,
i wish i could follow my brother's lead,
all the way to university,
getting himself a good degree,
a 50,000+ salary,
but the closest i'll get to that salary,
is a salad.
so i'll sit here munching rabbit food,
while you're thinking that i'm being rude,
for not sitting at the table with you,
while you EAT you're normal human food.

Why is EAT such a hard word to say?
it's three simple letters, just E, T and A,
combined and jumbled in three different ways,
EAT, tea and ATE are the things you can say,
but the latter word causes dismay,
sending my mind into disarray,
ana is here, she's here to stay,
reminding me there's no other way,
i must put down the food,
say i'm not hungry today,
go a little longer,
fast just one more day.
1.1k · Dec 2017
Enough
Eleanor Dec 2017
Am I good enough?
No.

I tell myself that I am not good enough.
I'm not good enough for my art teacher,
I'm not good enough for my french teacher,
I'm not good enough to be recognised,
I'm not good enough for my peers.

I'm not good enough for my friends,
I'm not good enough for my boyfriend,
I'm not as good as my brother,
I'm not good enough at my passions.

How can I be expected to believe in myself
when I have always been told that
I'm not good enough?
Supported by the few times I have believed in myself,
I have failed and been completely crushed.

I have taught myself to fear failure.
829 · Apr 2018
Loving Myself
Eleanor Apr 2018
When will I learn to love myself?
Do I have to decide to start loving myself?

Because if that is true it means that,
The only thing stopping my happiness, is me.

Do I not want to love myself?
Do I love hating myself?

I think maybe I do love hating myself.
Or maybe I'm afraid of loving myself.
For reasons that I cannot fathom.

A quote from Confucius:
Respect yourself,
and others will respect you.

Maybe that is an ancient version of today's
No one will love you,
until you love yourself.

So when will I learn to love myself?
When I stop being afraid of it.
757 · Apr 2018
Fine
Eleanor Apr 2018
I’m fine.
Really, I promise I’m okay,
See I’m smiling,
So please get on with your day.

I’m fine.
I can see the worry in your face,
See I’m smiling,
I’m really not your pity case.

I’m fine.
I’m really not that sad,
See I’m smiling,
So how can it be that bad.

I’m fine.
These are tears of happiness,
See I’m smiling,
I’m no damsel in distress.

I’m fine.
There’s no problem here,
See I’m smiling,
But I could disappear.

I’m fine?
I’m not sure anymore,
My head filling with doubt,
I am bruised inside and out,
I feel like I’m worth nothing,
And nothing anybody says,
Can get these stupid thoughts,
Out of my stupid head.

I’m not fine.
Not even okay,
Can someone help me please,
I can’t do this by myself,
I can’t get out of here alone,
I need a helping hand,
But I can’t ask for help.
I can’t scream!
I can’t shout!

See I’m smiling...
I’m fine.
681 · Jan 2018
Poet
Eleanor Jan 2018
A poet is:
Someone who makes the ugly, beautiful.
Someone who makes the beautiful, obscure.
Someone who makes the obscure, understandable.
Someone who makes the understandable, amazing.
A poet is:
Someone who uses words, to make art.
Someone who looks at art, and sees a story.
Someone who looks at a story, and sees a purpose.
Someone who sees a purpose, and uses it.
A poet is:
Someone who sees hatred, and writes hatred.
Someone who sees love, and writes love.
Someone who feels sad, and writes sad.
Someone who sees kindness, and writes kindness.

A poet can be anyone.
A poet can write about anything.
A poet can be implicit.
A poet can be explicit.
A poet can be hidden.
A poet can be famous.

You can be a poet.
The only rule is to write.
Poems are hard to define. You can write poems to express feelings or just to appreciate the things around you. You can write a poem on some paper or on a computer or in the sand, it doesn't matter. You can show people or keep it to yourself. The important thing is that when you you write a poem it's impossible not to be good enough because that poem is for you and only you. The world is lucky if they get to read it.
576 · Jun 2018
Stripped Away
Eleanor Jun 2018
I was pure,
I was innocent,
I was a child.
I saw only goodness in the world and only goodness in you.
You tried to strip that view away from me by taking something that was fundamentally mine.
Mine to give,
willingly,
not to be taken by the force of overwhelming strength.
You watched my pain and enjoyed it.
I will never know exactly who you are.
I was short, you were tall.
It hurt but I didn’t look.
I closed my eyes and tried to force my mind to leave my body.
My body was trapped but at the time my mind was free.
Now, my mind is forever contaminated by the blurred memory of the cause of my permanent flaws.
569 · Nov 2017
Friend
Eleanor Nov 2017
A friend.
by definition:
one whom has a bond of mutual affection.
By personal finding:
one whom is trusted in all confiding.

What if...
the trust is shattered and broken,
or the affection is no longer mutual?
the friendship is no longer perpetual.

Did I do something wrong?
Probably.
Will you forgive me?
possibly.
Did I make you feel strong?
Definitely...
not.

I am a terrible friend...
I am annoying,
I am loud,
I am frustrating,
I am rude,
I am inconsiderate,
I am a bad friend.

But that doesn't mean that I am lying when I say "I am here for you."

I am not angry at you for saying that I don't care about you,
I am not angry that you told me to get out of your life,
I am not angry that you think I'm not there for you.
I am sad that you didn't share your strife.

Sorry is not the right word for what I want to say,
but I have never been good at english okay?
I am not a literary genius so in my dismay,
accept my sorry is all that I pray.
Dedicated to Georgia.
566 · May 2018
Teardrop
Eleanor May 2018
I have a tsunami of tears behind my eyes
But only one slides down my cheek

Warm and salty
Like the dead sea
The dead sea
What a name
That so aptly represents
my tear

That singular soul
Crosses it’s world alone
Fighting through makeup
To hide my imperfections
I empathise with
my tear
556 · Feb 2019
closed book
Eleanor Feb 2019
it's not always about the way you look,
because looks don't always read like a book.
you didn't see me with the glance that you took,
because i cannot be an open book.

i'm sorry if you want to know more,
but trust me you'd have to be sure,
because in my mind you will find,
the most frightening things my life can bring,
haunting me night and day,
never able to get away,
because i am fighting a civil war.
in my brain.
462 · Jun 2018
How to change the world
Eleanor Jun 2018
A dash of hope can change the world
A sprinkling of kindness can lift broken spirits
A pint of compassion can bring waves of happiness
A pinch of love can re-ignite a life

But none of this is possible without a spoonful of optimism
I know I called this how to change the world but take it with a pinch of salt
450 · Aug 2017
Everything, Nothing
Eleanor Aug 2017
I believe that we do everything for emotion.
We risk for excitement,
dance for fun,
and for happiness we can smile at the sun.

I apply makeup for joy,
sing for any feeling of my choice,
own up to rid myself of guilt,
and for sadness, I hate the way I was built.

I watch sad videos to feel empathy,
I draw for peace of mind,
I listen to Dodie for ALL the emotions.
But right now, I feel nothing...
427 · Dec 2017
20 past 2
Eleanor Dec 2017
Should she get up and exercise?
Should she brush her hair again?
Should she do her work now?
Should she get some water?

Are her fingers too short?
Are her pores too big?
Are her clothes ugly?
Are her friends fake?

Does her boyfriend love her?
Does she love her boyfriend?
Does her kindness waver?
Does she know who she is?

Is she the same?
Is she worth self love?
Is she normal?
Is she enough...?
Is she good enough?
Is she smart enough?
Is she kind enough?
Is she passionate enough?
Is she talented enough?
Is she happy enough?
Is she supportive enough?
Is she pretty enough?
Is she in control enough?
Is she strong enough?
Is she weak enough?
Is she hungry enough?
Is she skinny enough?

These are her thoughts at 20 past 2.
423 · Oct 2018
scarred
Eleanor Oct 2018
i told you my secrets
you told me you cared
you pulled me in closer
when i said i was scared
but now im scarred
you moved on so quickly
expect me to stay there
you’re right in that thinking
because i still care
400 · Aug 2017
Lost
Eleanor Aug 2017
I know you are lost,
I really want to find you.
It's been so long,
Since I have seen you.

I know you are lost,
I promise I'm trying.
I feel the pain of the lost,
Is that the worst thing?

How does it feel to be lost?
Do you know where you are?
I'm afraid I'll never find you,
I think you've gone too far...

Do you miss me?
I miss you.
I will always love you...
Even if I get lost.
394 · Aug 2017
You
Eleanor Aug 2017
You
You, called me names in class.
You, dragged me down the stairs.
You, took all your anger out on me.
But I don't care anymore.

You, said that I stink.
You, said that I was gay.
You, turned the whole class against me.
But I don't care anymore.

You, crushed my confidence.
You, Picked at my insecurities.
You, left me with nothing.
But I don't care anymore.

You, told me I was fat,
You, got away with everything,
You, stole my best friend!
And I still care...
394 · May 2018
ok
Eleanor May 2018
ok
I’m not ok
I’m far from ok
I’ve been this way
For more than 1 day
387 · Aug 2017
Broken
Eleanor Aug 2017
I am broken.
You are too.
Everyone is broken,
but we'll make it through.

Some are only chipped,
and can be easily fixed.
Whereas others have been smashed,
and it is only with love, care and patience...
that they can be truly recovered

Some stay broken forever,
forgotten, alone and unloved.
But for some the repair just takes time,
and will be remembered, cherished, loved
and never beyond repair.
384 · Aug 2017
Paper
Eleanor Aug 2017
Hello,
my name is Paper.
How are you?
Good, I'd like to tell you a little something.

I am in love with a pen.
Her name is Bic.
She draws on me with silky smooth ink.
She never scratches on me,
and sometimes furnishes me with a big tick.

Her lid is blue like her ink,
as blue as an indigo felt tip.
She has a metallic ball point,
which glides smoothly over me.
Quills who? They have to dip.

You know,
the author of this poem is using Bic right now.
I wish it didn't have to end,
oh no, the dreaded.
I actually wrote this with an ink joy but you know oh well.
374 · Aug 2017
Waterfall
Eleanor Aug 2017
A butterfly flutters gracefully by a waterfall.
It's wings causing a tiny breeze.
But that tiny breeze,
caused rocks to shift,
and for the waterfall to dry up.

Revealing an ugly rock face,
with jagged edges,
and crumbling ledges.
What a miserable case.

Why did the butterfly cause such a reaction?
Because it had been done 1,000 times before.
Let me know your interpretation.
356 · May 2018
Down
Eleanor May 2018
Treading water on the deep dark
It’s cold but the sun is on your face
If you look down you'll go down

Now a loved one is there too
They have hold you to stay afloat
It’s harder to stay above the dark
You’re fighting to still feel the sun

Now another, and one more
You’re weighed down, with love
Fighting, for every breath
Desperate, for help, anyone
There’s no sun, left, on your face

Sinking, cold, dark, lost, endless.
355 · Aug 2017
Skinny
Eleanor Aug 2017
What is skinny?
Is it the rude word for slim?
Similar to fat vs curvy?
Or is it something else?

Maybe it' a feeling,
when you're below a certain BMI.
Or when you find that perfect swimsuit,
or your best angle.

What if it's a mindset,
defining who you are?
your perfect stereotype,
or something far worse...

A goal.
The thing you strive for everyday.
The only thing that matters.
A living breathing entity.
Your world.
Your friend.
Your enemy.
Your downfall!
You.
342 · May 2018
Dancer
Eleanor May 2018
Their mind is free
The music flows
Their heart is happy.

And then they fall
A little hurt
But they dance again.

Cautiously now
Move step by step
Their mind works harder

Never to want
To fall again
Their mind is blurring.

Full of worry
Too much to think
To enjoy the dance.

Where is the joy
They love so much?
They have stopped dancing.
334 · Oct 2017
Mouse
Eleanor Oct 2017
Dear mr or mrs dead mouse,
I am sorry...
I should have stuck up for you
I should have kept you warm
I should have done more
But I didn’t...

I should have found you a place
I should have stood my ground
I should have protected you
But I didn’t...

I should have cared for you
I should have given you a chance
I should have kept you alive
But I didn’t... and I’m sorry.
325 · Apr 2018
Untitled
Eleanor Apr 2018
Pinpricks on exposed skin barely causing a flinch
Ravine like gashes excruciating and unbearable.
But both are pain
Is one more valid than another?
Is a sister more sensitive than a brother?
Letting those pinpricks pierce her heart
Or does the brother just hide it from the start?
Must the pain be physical to be real?
So must one’s emotions make a physical deal?
These are some formidable questions answered not by scholars but by the ones who feel
307 · Jan 2018
Nothing
Eleanor Jan 2018
Nothing to nobody,
To nobody a somebody,
Nothing to everybody,
But too much to be nothing.

Nothing to say,
Too much to talk,
So much to do,
Nowhere to start,
But too much to be nothing.

Nothing to break,
Too much to cope,
Everything to risk,
Too little to push,
Not enough to be,
But too much to be nothing.
Take this how you wish.
266 · Jan 2018
Rock
Eleanor Jan 2018
I am a rock.
The injured rest on me,
The oblivious chip away at me,
The strong look down upon me,
The happy misunderstand me,
The other rocks ignore me,
The mad admire me.
But
This rock is crumbling.

— The End —