LETTER FROM A MOTHER TO A DAUGHTER:

"My dear girl, the day you see I’m getting old, I ask you to please be patient, but most of all, try to understand what I’m going through.
If when we talk, I repeat the same thing a thousand times, don’t interrupt to say: “You said the same thing a minute ago”... Just listen, please. Try to remember the times when you were little and I would read the same story night after night until you would fall asleep.
When I don’t want to take a bath, don’t be mad and don’t embarrass me. Remember when I had to run after you making excuses and trying to get you to take a shower when you were just a girl?
When you see how ignorant I am when it comes to new technology, give me the time to learn and don’t look at me that way... remember, honey, I patiently taught you how to do many things like eating appropriately, getting dressed, combing your hair and dealing with life’s issues every day... the day you see I’m getting old, I ask you to please be patient, but most of all, try to understand what I’m going through.
If I occasionally lose track of what we’re talking about, give me the time to remember, and if I can’t, don’t be nervous, impatient or arrogant. Just know in your heart that the most important thing for me is to be with you.
And when my old, tired legs don’t let me move as quickly as before, give me your hand the same way that I offered mine to you when you first walked.
When those days come, don’t feel sad... just be with me, and understand me while I get to the end of my life with love.
I’ll cherish and thank you for the gift of time and joy we shared. With a big smile and the huge love I’ve always had for you, I just want to say, I love you... my darling daughter."
- Unknown

To all my dear friends
who may cut, gag
or even self-harm
I want to let you know
that you're more than just
a pile of bones
a layer of skin
and
a body of blood
You
have a soul
A wonderful soul
You might have
heard the saying
Every cloud has a silver lining
And yes,
you are beautiful in
your
own
special way.
To my darling friends,
life may be tough
but it is these tough moments in life
that give you thick skin
The skin of resilience
Good things become good
memories
And the not-so good things
become good
experiences
Words have the power to ****
So use it wisely
Use it wisely on yourself
Use it wisely on others
You never know when those words will
come back
to haunt and to hurt
Look at the bright side of things
You are one special entity
with so many beautiful things about you
Through tough moments,
you develop skin
you develop
your mind
your soul
your body
That little rock
Becomes a diamond
And you become a very very
beautiful person.
If there's something I've learnt,
remember to cry and to laugh
Tears are not a sign of weakness
Tears speaks more eloquently
than ten thousand tongues
of power and strength.
And laughter is the best medicine.
Remember to smile
Be kind to yourself and to others.
Don't run away from your problems,
face them
head on
like a strong warrior
Do something about your life.
Time runs
and many of us walk
To keep pace with time,
and thereafter,  your life
RUN.
Yes, run like the wind.
Do something you love.
Do it with passion.
Work hard.
Enjoy life.
Well, saying all these,
I look at myself again.
You know what,
I've decided to do all that.
And this poem is the start
A mark of the day
I've started to run
I've started to see
A bit more meaning
In everything I do
And everything I will do.
Most importantly, I
can't wait to
see what my future holds,
cuz' everyday is a beautiful day
and tomorrow is going to be
an
even
MORE
BEAUTIFUL
DAY.

I really
don't know
what to feel anymore.
Frustration, Anger, Sadness
Happiness, Shock and Surprise
That's what these past few days have been.
And things are just building and building up.
And I honestly don't know what to feel anymore.

you sit.
you watch.
you work.
with headphones over your head.
community service.
work.
family??!
dinners only.
not much talk.
meetings
meetings
meetings
your daughters don't listen to you?!!
your wife is funny.
a boring life.

To both of you
Your paranoia has taken
a totally new level.
By checking my phone,
or my email accounts
or my Facebook account
is not going to be doing you
* any form of good. *

My friends and I
called that conversation
a heart-to-heart
the kinds I've never had with
both of you.
There are overwhelming feelings
that need to be poured out
And with that someone you know you could trust
That's pretty much
good for my mind.

Academics come second or third
When you are having a mid-life crisis
I'm sorry sir
but
get
YOUR
priorities right.

The one hour that I would have
to spend with you on Sundays
is the most unproductive,
stupidest things
I've ever done in my entire life.
It's not helping me.
And if you haven't gotten the signs already,
you should just stop,
and not care too much about anything.
Yes, it may be your next-of-kin's future
That you're worrying about
And I'm worrying about the exact same thing
But there are some things i don't show or tell you
So please, keep quiet.
If you're going to be strict with me,
let me tell you one thing.
It's not going to go the way you want it to be.

Slashes of the cane may never leave their mark.

Well, both of you might as well keep quiet.
I probably wouldn't go to Harvard
And that's well none of my concerns
Because I know
Few years from now, I
will
try my best to get into a good uni.
But till then,
I beg of both of  you
Just keep quiet.
Both your voices
Neither soothing nor reprimanding
Is what I don't what to hear.
So if you could just care on some important things
Maybe my health or my study?
I think I would study even more
And do better
Just help me clear my doubts once in a while
I don't need both of you.
All the time.
You might say,
Oh you are so ungrateful
But let me tell you,
deep inside
I still care, and I still worry about you.
So I'm not that ungrateful
Just care when it looks like if you have to
Until then, don't talk
keep quiet
Cuz' I only feel worse and worse
when you do.

Seriously sometimes my friends
would be able to empathize more
And they understand
And one more things,
if companies search through so much data,
they would be very very very
disappointed to know how many people
do it every single day.

In the inside,
I'm almost at breaking point.
There's so many things I don't tell you.
Problems only get worse
Your advice doesn't make much of a difference.

So just keep quiet.

Oh dear Villanelle, I tried, I tried, I tried
To cure you of a stubborn disease; a form
So onerous, it hurts both my eyes

To see you bleeding tears out of your sullen eyes
Words would always have their power to ****
Oh dear Villanelle, I tried, I tried, I tried

My closet holds no aba aba
If I’ve only known better medicine, there seems
No cure for you , so onerous it hurts both my eyes

Iambic pentameter you say, NO
Such remedy I say
Oh dear Villanelle, I tried, I tried, I tried

Your crumpled form, my eyes cried
Tears that I’ve never known
Dear Villanelle, I tried , I tried , I tried
This villanelle, so onerous, it hurts both my eyes.

The little gold
Shines beautifully
Under the yellow light
Shimmering faces
With a cheeky smile

Come four years
A little older
A  little dirtier
But that same cheeky smile
The same little gold

Come another 8 years
The same little gold
Inside
Layers and layers
of dark, black
dirt piling up
No more cheeky smiles
Only masks, masks and more masks

Come another 16 years
The same little gold
More and more
More and more
More and more
Layers piling up
The little gold
No more to be seen
Black, coarsened gold
Masks, masks and
more masks
A heart of gold
But not
a mind of gold

Come another 32 years
The little black gold
ceases to exist.
Under the thousands
and thousands
and thousands
of other layers
But a new layer of gold
forms.
Twas not the gold
formed first
Formed last
Old is gold.

2 deaths in
3 days
I don't know what to say
or even what to feel anymore.
A close friend, first
then
a friend's father
Gone from earth
to the golden gates of heaven
A close friend;
she was
A beautiful soul
A listening ear
That was all she had.
So many moments filled
with laughter
So many emotions
God bless her soul

A friend's father
Oh pain engulfed him
The last of his days
were not the easiest
Pain, blood, torture
Never a day
Had he not brought his daughter to school
Supported her through thick and thin
God bless his soul

Both into the golden gates of heaven

Swords are drawn in soundless night
Above the walls of gold
The winged angels of death descends
A thousand from above
Now Heaven is in its last throe of death

Winged angels of death
Embraced them both
Into its cozy wings
God bless their souls.

September rain falls on the house.
In the failing light, the old grandmother
sits in the kitchen with the child
beside the Little Marvel Stove,
reading the jokes from the almanac,
laughing and talking to hide her tears.

She thinks that her equinoctial tears
and the rain that beats on the roof of the house
were both foretold by the almanac,
but only known to a grandmother.
The iron kettle sings on the stove.
She cuts some bread and says to the child,

It's time for tea now; but the child
is watching the teakettle's small hard tears
dance like mad on the hot black stove,
the way the rain must dance on the house.
Tidying up, the old grandmother
hangs up the clever almanac

on its string. Birdlike, the almanac
hovers half open above the child,
hovers above the old grandmother
and her teacup full of dark brown tears.
She shivers and says she thinks the house
feels chilly, and puts more wood in the stove.

It was to be, says the Marvel Stove.
I know what I know, says the almanac.
With crayons the child draws a rigid house
and a winding pathway. Then the child
puts in a man with buttons like tears
and shows it proudly to the grandmother.

But secretly, while the grandmother
busies herself about the stove,
the little moons fall down like tears
from between the pages of the almanac
into the flower bed the child
has carefully placed in the front of the house.

Time to plant tears, says the almanac.
The grandmother sings to the marvelous stove
and the child draws another inscrutable house.

-Elizabeth Bishop

I shine
A little light
Within the palms of my hand

It just gets darker
and darker
the little light
losing its light
With every futile effort,
a more disastrous outcome

It's getting
darker and darker
A little by little
The light spills out
from within the palms of my hand
trying to catch it

It gets darker.


It's black now.
No more light
within the palms of my hand.

To be frank,
metaphors scare me.
They do.
I don't know how
but many poems
have metaphors so
awfully entwined in them.
It makes the comparison
a so detailed list.

From the bone for the poem
the metaphor starts
out to the skin
it never ends
it penetrates the human soul
leaves a scar,
a mark -
a clue to the human condition.

And so
still to be frank
metaphors scare me.

Sometimes,
while writing
a poem
My hand starts to shiver
And I just can't seem to continue.
like today
just now
when I wanted to write a poem
about
the lovely ties I made today
and I don't know why
Usually I don't get stuck
But today it
was
literally
brainfreeze.
And my hand started shivering.
And I deleted the entire poem
Because I realized
that I probably can't write poetry.

The poem didn't sound right.
But most importantly,
it didn't sound like
what I would write.

I can't seem to write poetry.

An afternoon breeze
expels cold air, along with
the fallen brown leaves.

Cherry blossoms bloom,
softly falling from the tree,
explode into night.


The warmth on my skin.
Fire falls beneath the trees.
I see the sun set.

Summer here again.
Music plays sweetly, drifting.
And life is renewed.

A winter blanket
covers the Earth in repose
but only a dream

An ocean voyage.
As waves break over the bow,
the sea welcomes me.

- Anonymous

I stroll along a fragrant country lane
With honeysuckle perfume on the air -
And feathered crooner's warble to revere -
Then cross a golden sea of flowing grain
In empathy - it seems to sense my pain
Of knowing all was done with my affair -
Her empty meaning now the solitaire
She cast away - betrothment all in vain.
But oceans team with many fish to catch
So I must up and hoist another sail
And seek the one that really waits for me,
For soon auspicious breezes will prevail
In guiding forth to find a truer match:
The one to take my hand as wife to be.

Mark R Slaughter

a connotation of infinity
sharpens the temporal splendor of this night

when souls which have forgot frivolity
in lowliness,noting the fatal flight
of worlds whereto this earth’s a hurled dream

down eager avenues of lifelessness

consider for how much themselves shall gleam,
in the poised radiance of perpetualness.
When what’s in velvet beyond doomed thought

is like a woman amorous to be known;
and man,whose here is alway worse than naught,
feels the tremendous yonder for his own—

on such a night the sea through her blind miles

of crumbling silence seriously smiles

E.E. Cummings

Imagine me
to be the
ground.
No matter how much you seem to dig,
you will only get past that one layer
and so you say mightily,
" Aha this is you"
Well,
let me tell you
Another thousand layers to dig through.

so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens

William Carlos Williams

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

Shel Silverstein

Oh dear villanelle
You seem to be the death of me
Trying to write you, all seems unwell

Stubborn mademoiselle
You are, only wanting a very specific rhyme scheme
Oh dear villanelle

Why can’t you be kinder, my voice yells
Word play seems a challenge
Trying to write you, all seems unwell

All lines to end with an –elle?
Why not a –eek, or a – yike or an -ouch
Oh dear villanelle

What a villain –elle
You seem to be
Trying to write you, all seems unwell

I do wish that villanelles
Will never be confined to one specific form
Oh dear villanelle
Trying to write you, all seems unwell

Wouldst thou not be content to die
When low-hung fruit is hardly clinging
And golden Autumn passes by?

Beneath this delicate rose-gray sky,
While sunset bells are faintly ringing,
Wouldst thou not be content to die?

For wintry webs of mist on high
Out of the muffled earth are springing,
And golden Autumn passes by.

O now when pleasures fade and fly,
And Hope her southward flight is winging,
Wouldst thou not be content to die?

Lest Winter come, with wailing cry
His cruel icy ******* bringing,
When golden Autumn hath passed by;

And thou with many a tear and sigh,
While life her wasted hands is wringing,
Shall pray in vain for leave to die
When golden Autumn hath passed by.

Edmund Gosse (1877)

I step out of my house
Look at the path
In front of me
It's *****
Mud, Insects, Dead Leaves
The path is already a mess
What about bigger things?
Like life?

Her eyes spell green.
She is a monster.
Behind my back
she breathes our her green fire
onto people so fragile
Consumes them with so much
Satisfaction
Sadism to a whole new level
Her strength grows
The weaker  
I strive to fight
Who are you?
Green monster

But it's not just her
Today I realised
It's all around me
I pull out my shield
To protect myself among the
Many green monsters
But one against many
Is a black piece against a hoard of white
Every white piece
Comes forward
Attacks
The little black piece
becomes weaker
and weaker
It's start to feel the monster's breath
Near its eyes
Down to the throat
Sooner or later
At its heart

So when this green monster
Finally
Breathes
The green fire within her
Along with many other monsters
I see myself
Drowning
In a green sea
where not even a single person
would care to take a look back at.

Sometimes
I think I'll
never get anywhere in
life.

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost
that their loss is no disaster.

- Elizabeth Bishop-

Hey wallflower
So this is a poem for you
It's fine to reply back in a poem
Yes, it is?

Call me
Text me
Means a lot
Really

It shows that someone truly cares about you
And you know what
It's a nice feeling
I just saw the poem you wrote

And you said that
call me
text me
were just words
not actions

But they are words
With meaning
Words to show
that you truly care

Thank you for the note.
I love you.
( In a friendly way)

When the days are cold
And the cards all fold
And the saints we see
Are all made of gold
When your dreams all fail
And the ones we hail
Are the worst of all
And the blood's run stale

I want to hide the truth
I want to shelter you
But with the beast inside
There's nowhere we can hide
No matter what we breed
We still are made of greed
This is my kingdom come
This is my kingdom come

When you feel my heat
Look into my eyes
It's where my demons hide
It's where my demons hide

Don't get too close
It's dark inside
It's where my demons hide
It's where my demons hide


By Imagine Dragons



It's true
The darkest of thoughts
will be the ones
always inside us.  
{ Myrtille}

I come here
To spill my emotions
Out of an overflowing cup
Sometimes
It's just too much
It's like a large sack of rice
On my head
When I sleep
I feel the burden
I try to spill the little
grains of rice
Trying trying trying
It's an imaginary sack of rice
I walk
I think
I spill
I walk
I think
I spill
Over and over again
I come here
And spill
You see my
thoughts
become words
full of meaning
But if you see what I see
Everyday in a
Panel of glass
I don't seem to be
that person
I am tired of
trying
pretending to be nice
to people who don't deserve it
I try
I really do
To juggle things in life
But people like you
Like you, yes you
Your words pull me down

And that sack of rice just
gets
bigger
and bigger
heavier
and heavier
And  one day I
will collapse
That sack of rice blinding my thoughts
That sack of rice
On my head
On my body
Hands, shoulders, legs
And you might never see me again
Under that sack of rice

So I come here
Hello Poetry
To spill those grains of rice
before something happens
and
I
collapse.

Pain
Pain
Engulfing everything in my bones
blood
I cannot
I cannot
I cannot
take
this anymore

Every ounce of my energy
draining
and draining
Life being ****** out
****** out
I feel like a body with
no life.
Zombie

I am trying to smile
Smile from core of heart
But what's a smile
if you
don't want
don't feel
don't think
of that smile?

It's rising within me
Sooner or later
I will explode

Gratitude:
It pays to be kind
It pays to know
that something's not gonna
be there forever
I'm serious

When that lovely lady passed away
this monster ****** all
the life
out of her
I couldn't help but think
why hadn't i treasured you before
Why oh why

So here is my gratitude poem
I love you mummy
For all the things
From sacrificing your sleep and time
To make me a good breakfast
And ironing uniforms
Which you've always hated to do
But did that all for me
So that I would look decent in school
To Staying up with me
To do homework and revision
before terrifying monsters called EXAMS
For kissing me goodnight and
telling me good things about life
Doing so many lovely things
So that I would have a better life
I love you mummy

I love my dad
No matter how much I seem to argue with you
on math or science
I really love you too.
Deep down I really appreciate your help
but you've got to dig deeper to see that
I hope you talk to me more
About your life
It's always been about my life
my studies
my health
my friends
And our talks
never about you
I never known a genius like you.

*****
You are a *******
Really
I wish you were 5 all again
When you didn't have sarcastic comments
And the I-grew-up-already attitude
I love you all the same
You stay up to help your big sis
With her art work
( I **** at art)
Or type for me in tamil
You do great things, girl
And sooner or later
You are gonna be a great young lady
Just like me

I love all my friends
The ones that hurt me
The ones that love me
The ones that like me
All of you gave
me
experiences
words
advice
stories
that I've never known
What is a life without stories?

And lastly,
my grandpa
You were a great man.
You may have died
When I was one
But I'm telling you grandpa
I love you all the same
I remember your wise words
All the famous people who came to
Shower their blessings on me
And your lovely lap
Which I used to take as my personal bathroom
I'll never forget you
You have an indelible place in my heart
You have been my greatest inspiration
and strongest supporter
I love you all the same.

The things I am grateful for
It's an endless list
But I love each and
every single
one all
the same.
I will treasure you better from now on.


I love you.

I want a world
full of rich people
who fulfills their every needs
not
succumbing to
pregnant egos
consternating sadism
******
terror
inferior complex
I want a world full of happy people
With great big smiles
That comes from deep within
And off their faces
People who
genuinely care
genuinely loves
If we had a world like that,
I would never be in a
tangled spider web
where every direction I look
I see terror's menacing eyes
And opportunities' menacing glances
Into the
scary
impending future

Ever wondered
if the finger in my
photo
was my third finger
No
it
isn't.
It is
my
fourth finger.
My lucky fourth finger
With my lucky line
It throbs
Oh no

Have you ever wondered
that your dreams might
one day
one faithful day
come true

I've wished and dreamt of
so many
and so much more

I love the feeling
of dreaming
You enter a world of unreal
and do the impossible
This is where
this is where
you reach dreams that you can't
seem to even see

I lay down every night
In my bed
Darkness all around me
I weave dreams in the darkness around me
A light
I see something beautiful and
burning bright

I want to reach for it
But I can't
I weave those dreams
I close my eyes
I want to do this
I want to do that
But my dreams are faraway
I want to reach for it
But I can't

So I told my friend
something I wouldn't have done
In a thousand years
I told
A secret
I gave away my
power
of anonymity
So now I'm known
She knows
who
Myrtille actually is.
But but but
we talked about our poems
we talked about many different things
about poems
about hello poetry
about everything
but we failed to
ask each other
why we came to this place
in the first place
what did we do
since we found out
that secret
My heart aches to know
But my mind fails to
let my thoughts become words
words
words words
out of my mouth
Maybe she feels the same way too
Perhaps there is this fear
A fear so
terrorising
scary
that we fail to acknowledge
the existence of
that powerful secret
That secret
that draws the border
Between life and death

J'aime le français
Il est
difficile
Vocabulaire
Très difficile
Tous le monde
Difficile
J'aime le français
mais
tous le monde est
difficile

My lovely girl
Velohomme
Behind that mask of yours
are you really that person who
writes to cut
" chop chop chop"
are you really that girl who sheds tears at night?
and sleep open-eyed

When I see you
I sense a spark of inspiration in me
to be a better person
But behind that mask of yours...

I don't know anything anymore velohomme
You were someone I 've always wanted to be
The girl full of smiles
Odd jokes
And
Laughter
but in your poems that
you
authored
You don't seem
to be that girl I've known all along
You seem to be a girl
Who sheds her tears in the dark
Let the blood pour out of her open wounds
Worry about the problems that I've never
Imagined that you had

You seem
To
Be
Confused
With your own emotions

You don't seem to know why you are happy
or why you are
sad
You sit in that corner of the classroom
Sleep with a peace that I've never known or seen it
In anyone else
Yet in your poetry
It is filled with
Dark meaning
Blood
Fear
And sheer terror

My lovely girl
Velohomme
Behind that mask of yours
are you really that person?

Black and White
Black and White
Black and White
Those seem to be dull colors
Colours suggests something
The color that proliferates
this
entire
website
says something to me
this place
is a mask
and this is not
what
it seems like
A place full of poetry
Poetry can have dark meanings too
This place seems dark.

Exhausted and tired
I am
but
I don't seem to know why
10 hours of sleep
3 hours of sleep
I still feel tired
Sleep
doesn't seem like sleep
anymore.
Oh oh
something is
wrong.

take a step back
look at me
if you would do that
let a million thoughts
rush through
your
mind
look at me
destructive
tears
blood
melancholy
help
but you turned away
walked away into
a darkness that you will never come
out of
to find
me
see
me
ever
ever
ever
again