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Tilda Oct 2018
Cheeks flushed,
Heart rushed,
Words pushed
Down our necks

Force fed garbage
We don't want to hear
*******- flowing through our veins
Like mud
Chewing on bitter cud
But we need it,
We need to learn it -
Memorise the words
So white men can put us in
Sometimes I get so sick of school...
Tilda Jul 2018
She was born at 3.41am,
Neon lamps,
And mouth masks,
From a place of great peace,  
To loud,
Shambolic fuss,
Open wounds,
Not immune,
Drugs forming spirals of inaudible sounds,
Drowning and gargling,
***** and cold,
Turning blue,
Being wrung out,
Mum crying out,
Wanting to feel flesh upon flesh,
Tear upon head,
Hands clasped in prayer,      
Hoping the girl,
Innocent and young,
Was lying cradled in heaven,
By 11.41.
Tilda Jun 2018
I look up to your face,
Oblivious, you gaze down,
Every cell a brilliant shade of blue,
Eyes reflecting a greenish hue;

You don't realise were you are,
Fields of colour you ignore,
African sunsets I know you would adore,
People, places you never even glance at,
Too engrossed in adverts- adverse to books and that;

This haven you think you've created,
It's really a jungle- endless and endless,
Constantly chopping down trees,
Searching for a way out,
But forgetting to open your eyes:

Loosing yourself in an electronic jungle,
loosing yourself in your phone,
loosing yourself in your selfie- self harm; self loath; self hate;

Look up,
Get up,
Mabey you wont feel quite so...
                                                                ­              L
                          ­                                                                 ­               
                                                 ­                                                                S

Just irritated by all the people stood around on their phones, together but apart.
Tilda May 2018
Tyre marks,
The only proof she ever existed,
One black lock of hair,
A tooth on the hotel bathroom floor,
Tiny blood splatters on the mirror,
Finger print smudges on the motorway diner glass,
Boot prints on the child’s drive way,
An open window,
An empty pink coat hanger.
800, 000 children are reported to be missing each year. Statistically, that means 2, 000 children are being abducted today.
Tilda May 2018
Crouching on the mud dirt ground,
Is a child,
sweat, blood, tears,
Smudging its face,
Sunken eyes,
Sinking deeper into its face,
Of misery,
Of loss,
Of a crippled reality,
So harsh- unjust,
Its skin is paper thin,
Eyes like a nights sky,
But missing the stars,

Its 7,
Still pure,
Still innocent,
Unlike the world,
Who turned against it,
Before it even took its first breath,
It was this world that killed its parent's,
Siblings, Uncles and Aunts,
Killed its soul,
Cut out the love,
Pushed forward the pain,
This world seems to think its funny- a game,
But it's not,
It's not,
It's a boy,
And nobody ever learned his name.
I think that this poem is for all children in the word who are in terrible, life threating situations.
Tilda Apr 2018
Perfect smile,
Flowing dark hair,
Staggering grades,
Nice house,
She's a single child;

As she leaves school,
Her mates say goodbye,
Walking home alone in the rain,
Open the door,
Sit down,
Homework and bed;

The next few days go by the same,
Until after one walk in the rain,
Her Mum is on the floor,
Mouth bloodied,
Tears flowing;

A test the next day,
Where teachers say,
'She didn't do good today,
Obviously no revision';

Walk home in the rain,
Text books under her arms,
Open the door,
Cook dinner and kiss Mum on the head,
Revise and bed;

Yeah Miss, sorry Miss,
'But you knew homework was due in today',
All the goody two shoes in the class,
Laugh at her weak excuse,
She turns her eyes down,
Teachers now frown,
Upon her;

Walk home in the rain,
Open the door,
Don't sit down,
Cook dinner,
Help Mum do math for the bills,
As she lies in bed relying on pills,
To keep her alive,

Detention now,
All former friends fled,
Writing lines,
wishing she had time,
For revision,
For homework,
For fun;

Walk home in the rain,
Tears joining the race,
To the ground,
Puddles wrecking her shoes,
Lost the keys,
Mum lets her in,
Fainting as she stands up;

Teachers heard the news,
Of the death of the Mother,
She had to move away,
Didn't want to move in with the father,
They say;

Now in a care home,
With no one who cares for her,
But she can do her homework now,
With no bother;

After school she gets onto the bus,
Missing the lonely walks in the rain.
Thank you for reading my poem, I hope you enjoyed it ;)

— The End —