Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
I don't wake up in time
My mom is yelling at me
Loudly
But she doesn't even notice what she's doing
Or she doesn't care

I can't be yelled at by her
My eyes are beginning to water
My chest is getting tight
My tired cold body gets tense
I can't go to school like this
Not now at least

"Mom, can I go to school a bit late today?"
"No"
She says
She yells some more
I still think she doesn't know that she's yelling
"Mom, you're yelling"
I say calmly as tears leak out of my tired eyes
All I hear is anger and
Disappointment because her daughter is acting like someone her age and not someone who seems especially mature

"Liana, if you need to go to school late
You need professional help"

She means a psych ward
And I know it

No, no, no
Fear spreads through me like a virus
It takes control
It makes me power off
My screen is glitching
I don't work anymore

If I want to act like someone my age who got 3 hours of sleep I need to go to a mental hospital where I won't go to school at all?

As I get up out of bed
Run to the bathroom
To cry

I brush my teeth
Wash my face from the tears
But new ones spill out
They won't stop coming
It's a thunderstorm
It's been brewing for a while

Come back to my room
My mom in there doing something
I step into my closet to change

What am I doing?
She's your mother
she's your sane parent.
So many would wish for one like her
I think

After arguing
Crying
Explaining
She says
"I'll take you to school after my shower"
And now I'm writing

I can't go to school like this
I'm a thin plate
Just waiting to break
And school likes throwing things like me
So I'll split into a million little pieces
And maybe never put me back together
(this note was written by duck tape)
i’ve taken up journaling.
spilling my feelings between thin lines and smudged ink.
although, my words are not articulate enough.
i don’t describe my feelings in a way that is poetic or neat, it is only human.
who am i preforming for?
if only my soul is to read these pages,
why must i put on an act?
why must my words of melancholy, rage, and hopefulness be reworked.
a beautiful home, without a foundation.
i’ve been writing a lot and no matter what i do i can’t stop telling myself that my journal entries could be better. i go back and fix them, reword them. its strange.
When you don't play basketball,
That is a social downfall,
When you don't play fortnite,
People tell you to play every night,
Why can't I relate,
To my fellow guys who talk about a date,
All they do is talk about fights,
Roast each other without rights,
To whom can say what,
About girls and buts,
I feel bad for some girls,
Who have guys after them in swirls,
I try to be nice to them every moment,
She is a sweet friend,
And even though I have feelings for her too,
I don't want her to be my boo,
Will she start hating me?
Am I showing them too much glee?
Some guys are just nuts,
Others get into ruts,
I don't like how they act,
I am annoyed by both genders sometimes,
But that's not why I am writing these rhymes,
What I want to say is be equal,
And compliment good people.
One more thing...Is it okay to not like watching sports?
Have a semi-racist joke but not be racist?
Read books and do work,
But play games where gamers lurk,
I am white and not cool?
Why do they not believe!
I am Puerto Rican!
I only got semi-popular,
By winning roast battles,
I hate when they boast,
Because it rattles,
I don't want to be friendly.
All I try to be is nice.
But when people annoy me it will suffice,
With hyper and random actions,
Messing around with friend groups and factions.
On myself I need traction,
I wish I could stop,
No I don't want to be on top,
Of the game or fame,
That's mainly fake,
Like the rake,
Plastic cake,
For God sake,
Shutup.
Another long poem you may relate to.  This a lot of my opinions and problems.  You maybe might feel empathy.
I always get up early. Early, early, early and it’s Saturday morning. So I scooted over to “Donut Crazy” and got myself 12 sugar donuts (and a selection of treats for my suitemates - I’m NOT suicidal.)

At 8am, I’m in the suite common area, on the couch, binging “Ladybug and Cat Noir” on my iPad and I realize that Leong, one of my suitemates, is sipping her coffee and staring at me like I’m a bad pet. I look around to find myself sitting in a shower of confectioners’ sugar speckles.

“In my defense, I was left unsupervised.” I disclaim.
donuts, YUM, donuts and coffee yum+, donuts, coffee & Cat Noir = heaven
Its 2:54
My mind is racing
My eyes are fighting so hard to hold back tears
Morbid thoughts
Scary thoughts
Rain into my head
Flooding it,
Drowning the joy

It's 2:57
Getting late
I should go to bed
Why I am so scared of it though
While I long for it
What is wrong with my head?


It's 2:58
Getting goosebumps
Shivering for no apparent reason
My head hurts
My brain hurts
Why can't I sleep?

It's 3:00am
Officially the "devil's hour"
The only devil I see
Is the one messing with my head
Making me mad
Making me sad
Making me just feel plain old bad
(This note was written by the pillow that threatens to ****** your loved ones)
Why is this tragic?
"We reap what we sew"
Even if it ended in failure
Did you not see your face glow?
As you held that fabric
And then started to weave....
You made that suit
Not only that, it's cute
That's why you became a Tailor
You must believe in your own sleeve
Tailor,Tailor
weave your spell
Harken groans that
dwell beneath

Smell the fragrance
of her tomb
I left there a
bloom of dew

Light me please a
path to dead
Hollow are the
years herein

Since she left a
wail for tune
Seals do chant the
lament's rhymes

Foggy days are
now live in
Gulfs and shores the
phantom's lair

Groves are emptied
fays have gone
Nature strolls in
grief alone

Tailor,Tailor
weave your spell
Let me go to
her again
A 1,000 sailors have nothing against a few well groomed tailors
However a rich man could not last a second in a pile of quick sand
The call to sea is the same as that of a call to a tree
They are both living and dead, Their growth is the giving bread
One serves their master at the bay, the other spends time selling hay
The water is fresh in both cases and both men have seen many faces
A sailor never retires, but a tailor does as such
For when he is no longer a tailor, he considers himself a failure
Yet he continues on, looking for a cause, never taking a pause
Until one day, walking by the shore he sees something so beautiful his eye begin to sore
So he takes his riches, buys a ship, summons a crew, and plans his trip
Heading to nowhere in sight, only to see the beauty so bright
And so the man was once a tailor, he is now a sailor
i drove down this road today
a road that’s tainted with your smile
your laugh
your eyes.
i drove until my eyes were blurry
and my lungs were aching.
even the trees sing your name,
throwing it around on a winter breeze.
you’re everything.
you’re everywhere.
Next page