I came to your house that day
My first sleepover since that may
My mom was upset
But let me stay
I slept over at your house that day.

We played games on pixilated screens,
You weren't upset when I accidently screamed.
Your dad called me by my name, and I almost cried
Your mom hugged me and my tears dried.

Your brother was sweet, one of a kind
You sat there stuck
Trapped in your mind
I pulled you into me
We cried

You told me you were selfish
I didn't think so
I don't

We told each other nearly everything
Our sadness and woe
I wish I had told you everything
Before she made me go

You showed me your songs
Your sweet poems
Your stories
I loved to listen to you

Then you stopped talking.
Asleep
While I lie silent
Holding your shaking body

I don't know if you remember that night
You had a panic attack
I held you while you cried
You told me I was like her
And I think inside I had died

We aren't allowed to have sleepovers
I keep getting myself in trouble
I miss your house and your welcoming family
I miss your smell and your snuggles.

I hope that you aren't mad at me
I wish I could re do it all
I hope that your happy
I wait for this fall

It was the night of the concert
My very first one
My lips were cracking
From being bitten and chewed on

I was excited, you were too
You loved the band
And I loved you

You lent me the ChapStick
It smelt like ****
It tasted like you
It filled me with need

Need to be closer
To hold you
To taste you
Gods you tasted good.

I kept it
I'm not sure why
Maybe I forgot
Or my lips were still dry

Maybe it was conscious
I stole the **** thing
It tasted like you
I ignored the sting

We realized our feelings
You're my best and closest friend
I dont have that ChapStick
I lost it in the end

It smelled like ****
Tasted like you
I hope you still know hon
I love you too.

I know a boy who sits under the bridge at night
Looking dead inside such a gangly sight
He told me he wishes he could sleep but it never comes,
And the bridge at night is where he runs
"Its nothing new..."

I wait for you.

I know a kid that smokes and cries in their sleep
They get high and then cry themselves to sleep
Told them "you should quit or you'll never heal"
He said "I hope that one day I can feel real"
"Its what I do..."

I wait for you.

Hello poets,

My name is sunny, and I'd very much like to propose to all of you:

A Challenge.

It is quite a simple one really, I want to see just how many are willing to help me.

Recently I've found out of a group of poets that are using AI to create their "art" for them.
I won't give names unless it continues to worsen. They know whom they are.

We cannot stand for this.

AI is not art, its thievery, its not creative, its lazy, it is awful.

Poets, true poets, their words come from heart and soul, their voices are powerful. It disgusts me that AI is taking away the magic that drew me to poetry in the first place.

That's why I ask of you, true poets, to create. I challenge you to make a poem that damns AI even farther, using the #AISucks .

I encourage any and all of you whom see a poem in the challenge to repost, heart, and spread the word.

And if you see any other "poets" using AI, please report them. That isn't creating, its borderline stealing.

Thank you all, and I wish you the best of luck.

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                   “I am Going to Call for a Major Investigation…”

                             -Our Red Queen on Truth [sic] Social


In Wonderland a new oppressive conjuration -  
His name is Major Investigation
Sent at our screaming queen’s instigation
To drag us all down to her police station

Beginning with Kamala, Oprah, and Bono
For somewhat disapproving of him – oh, no!
The Major will punish their laissez-majesto -
In the name of freedom their heads must go!

(But of course the irony in all this biz
Is that their heads are even larger than his)

Garbs woven of silken stars and leather sewn in with gold
Stories of the past and future stories new and old
Stories tell of green laiden pastures those stories never told

I'd been said to rest but why shouldn't I go out and put it to the test
A dress, stitched with star dust, comet on my neck
I will go out there.

I cannot stay up here.

Gardens evergreen and fields lain with soil I thought that I would be keen
But now the fields are empty, barren, and the ravens scream.

I run home to the moon and sky begging to come home
But when I attempted to return
My comet was gone

Et tu, Domine, iam non es sacer.