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Apr 2020 · 204
what do we know, after all
Victoria Edwards Apr 2020
poets write with care
as if they have control
as if they know something
when they know nothing.
we know nothing.

and that's why we create.
Sep 2019 · 449
a bit strange, is it not?
Sep 2019 · 207
Victoria Edwards Sep 2019
I can't find the words
No matter how hard I try
I've scanned the yard, I've looked outside
I've even looked to the sky.

Where did they go?
I know I saw them
Wrote them, took them, found 'em, catched 'em
Why, why, WHy?!


Escape my grasp!
**** those words, they're too fast!
They astound, create, they flabbergast!
My brain can't catch a sight!

Fine, leave me!
See how you'll do!
Even though you've got nothing to lose
(and I've got an assignment due).
I'm stumped.
May 2019 · 344
Victoria Edwards May 2019
I walk through Hell
To heal the fallen angels
Because halos shine brighter
In the glow of the underworld

They've abandoned God's light
In search for another
For within a sinful plight
The hater becomes the lover

And perhaps I'm them
trapped beneath an expression
Because in place of my God
I am stuck in depression
May 2019 · 74
Ode to Math Class
May 2019 · 181
Victoria Edwards May 2019
the first word I searched.
an idea now purged.
as the whisperings merged.

not insane, simply choices.
as my subconscious rejoices.
for many are voiceless.

so melancholy, so loud.
too soft, or too proud.
one person, or a crowd.

not deafening, like quiet.
or hungry, like a riot.
a lull hum, near compliant.
May 2019 · 487
Victoria Edwards May 2019
the paper, torn
old garments, worn
faces, forlorn
ancestors, born
towns, dust
forbidden, lust
crime, just
metal, rust

these days were sepia
like everything around
the trees, the grass, the lovers
even the cobbled ground
trapped in torn parchment
in a long forgotten attic
in a colorful world
more theatrical, dramatic

sepia, sepia, sepia
and only still
forgotten, denied
only a cabinet to fill

and soon, you and I too
sepia will take
our faces drained of color
nothing left to make.
May 2019 · 556
is this it?
Victoria Edwards May 2019
is this it?
the life we were promised?
we look past the present, we say that we're honest
is this it?
the great romance novel?
a happy ending sappy ending a villain who's awful?
is this it?
our legacy? our time?
the hate the love the good the bad the justice and the crime?
if this is it
where did our time go?
fast and then slow, fast, slow, fast, slow
is this it?
May 2019 · 185
Victoria Edwards May 2019
dangerous is the mind
when you let it wander
sit and contemplate
but the more you ponder
the less you will find
like a lake drained of water
we do not control fate
we just push it farther
away, pesky thoughts!
i don't want you anymore
i want you few and naught!
nothing left to explore
and as i sit here shivering
on the cold bathroom floor
why, oh why, can't i escape this war?
Feb 2019 · 237
an inky blue tattoo
Victoria Edwards Feb 2019
An inky tattoo
Was crawling up his neck
A newfound taboo
For I, was a wreck

What had happened
His nails were sharp
I could not tell
Each arm apart

Exposed was I
Helpless and hurt
Couldn’t look to the sky
Couldn’t utter a word

Weak and broken
I hated myself for
I was a token
I looked to the floor

And shouts were near
But I shut them out
I couldn’t hear
Those I cared about

In my head
To escape what’s real
I might have bled
But I couldn’t feel

No, I haven’t moved
Since I fell that day
Nothing to prove
Nothing to say

So I’ll stay silent
For no one can hear
The world is violent
The world I’m near
this is the perspective of the character Maribel from the Book of Unknown Americans.
Jan 2019 · 277
Victoria Edwards Jan 2019
the line is blurry, for
one day you look at me
the next i disappear.
You laugh with her,
then we shed a tear.
you're hot and then cold
and i need stability
the ability fragility mobility
of another person
i need
a touch a rush a crush
i need you, with your boombox
standing outside my window
i need you to concentrate
on me
for i am conceited, indeed
but i think you love me
Victoria Edwards Jan 2019
this is a risk
for I’ve been discovered
In a world of anonymity
My tracks were not covered

I fear I may have said it out loud
To the wind, which carried it fast
I may have given it a bit of fuel
so the journey it would last

Fine, I confess! I threw it to the winds
I knew what would come of it
But I’ll put on a face and gasp and cry
When the words take their hit

No I’m not fake, and this is not me
But I think perhaps it is
I know what I’m doing, I’m no fool
Sanity I do not miss.
After I caught myself saying something just to stoke a fire, and to intrigue people and quickly denied doing so, I decided to make this poem to explore what I was doing.
Jan 2019 · 210
Goodnight Moon
Victoria Edwards Jan 2019
was a story I read
When I was young and glittering
Four steps ahead

That book started my love
For the night sky
With foggy breath on my window
I open my eyes wide

The bright lights, city lights
Red lights from cars
Target lights across water
Shining from afar

When I was a child
It was the boats
The dim bathroom glow
Across the field, mild

No matter how far I go
Every night, without fail
I know the moon and lights are there
And they each tell a tale

So I lay my head to rest
Goodnight, Moon
While nostalgia takes over
I’ll see you soon
When I was younger, my mom read this book to me almost every night. It was my favorite book. The idea of that bright, beautiful light in the sky looking down at me and wishing me goodnight was a wonderful fantasy, one I loved. As it nears midnight where I am, I decided to write a poem about a lost childhood love.
Jan 2019 · 673
right now
Victoria Edwards Jan 2019
right now:
I'm on the floor

right now:
My eyes are heavy and tired

right now:
Sleep seems distant

right now:
I feel nostalgic

right now:
Emotions overtake me

right now:
I feel alone

right now:
I know I'm not alone

right now:
But sometimes it feels that way

Especially right now
Victoria Edwards Jan 2019
quite a melancholy song this is
the life that we live
but our saviors are

nostalgia comes stronger
with someone else
looking at the stars
wondering afar

the broken moments are those
i remember
the street lamp that flickered
i remember

we sense emotions and
there's no limit
to how much we share
and what's in it

the more times you shatter
the better you rise
when you finally fall
well, everyone dies

we're stuck in a cycle
but our energy stays
a childlike hope
the endless days

it's late right now
through my window a wonder
of stars i see
i'll sit and ponder

i think i feel the emotion
of every person
and it hurts but it feels

it feels. it feels.
we need to feel
where else would we be
without a heart to steal

no one so sad as
the person who doesn't know
how to be happy
how to glow

a stream of consciousness
is the best form i write
i'll share my love
and with that, goodnight
i finished watching The End of the F***ing World on Netflix and I used the last sentence of season one to inspire this poem. Or, as I like to call it, a stream of consciousness.

— The End —