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Cheyenne Yacono May 2017
She came to him after 10 am
Sitting at the foot of his desk
She put her secrets to rest

"Is there any way to push past this cracked road?"
He chuckled, "Most likely, No"
So she broke down, like an old motor

She never likes to cry
But her dam was cracked
and emotions flooded her desert eyes.

"Tell me, child, what causes you pain?"
"I have troublesome tied to my name"
And she told him her struggles
How the only way out was a road of troubles
She couldn't promise to do well
But she intended good
And she said "I have to do bad things"
Which he understood

He looked in the desert storm that was her eyes
And his constant question was
"How could a child so open keep so many things inside?"
With so much potential her biggest issue was mental
But even geniuses lose battles against the mind.

She told him her back was against a wall
With only one way out
but that way was nasty, with a broken bridge
Persuading to jump with empty promises
With hopes, you can reach the other side
He smiled, "If there's no other way, we'll climb."
It may be bad but you don't have to go down that path
Cheyenne Yacono May 2017
Down where the river flows
   This is where the old souls go
Where water dances in lustrous blues & bright yellows
   Some died old & others were young fellows
They play jazz & R&B tunes
   Drowning out their gray moods
Each one shows up sad
   Then leave with a smile worth a grand
But none are here for money, no
   They're here to forget the ones they let go
Heartbreak hurts indeed
   But having a broken soul, nothing competes
Down by the swaying willow tree
   Old souls become free
Dressed in the hues of their stories
   Sneaky eyes have tried to read
Careful! Don't be seen
Humans shouldn't intervene
For there is a soul from the past
   A boy who's last breath was a laugh
Still young & naive
   He craved a new world to see
The sight of a girl led him to the town
  And his laugh became an alarming sound
All souls searched and seeked
  Braylen Otto Oakley
Whizzing past familiar places
   And seeing grieving faces
They shouted his name
   Wanting the pain to go away
Rummaged through their past
   Hoping these feelings wouldn't last
"What is it you look for?"
Where did he go?
   Nobody knew
Till then they scream out Boo
Ever wonder why ghosts say boo?
Cheyenne Yacono May 2017
Click clack click*
We left the comfort of the amethyst curtain
Onto the stained wooden stage
The room is wide and filled with echoes
I stare into the red seats where identical faces sit
They show no emotion and I want them to feel
Feel anger, joy, sadness, something
My instructor paces across the stage towards the microphone
Suddenly the words that were to follow turn into muffles
All I can hear is my heart beat
They sound like quarter notes
The muffles end once my instructor is back in my sight
He exhales and smiles
The burning lights make him look like a god
He raises the baton and I forget everything
We play the keys robotically but we breathe humanity
The notes trace our fingers and play your heart strings
Our slurs curve your lips into a smile
We want you to feel joy
We want you to remember childhood memories
It's not just kids with instruments
There are stories being told
We put our life into the instruments
We remember being called fools
And how we were wasting our time
We tell you our stories through these notes
Hoping you will feel what we felt
But we'll never know until the final note
When the baton goes down and we bow to the crowd
It's exhilarating
Cheyenne Yacono May 2017
The grass is the perfect shade of green
Delicately accessorized by flowers
Each strand lays crisply in its place
Wading through the strong wind
The smell entrances those that walk by
Sending hints of your childhood up your nose
The chickadees' whistle as the trees sway elegantly
Every once in a while an acorn will fall
Rolling onto the pavement wanting to root itself in soil
A squirrel sneakily but sporadically greets it
Jumping around the helpless nut
It drags it only four feet until it is once again distracted
Crawling up the tree, perching itself
Staring at a wooden bench where a young lady sits
With her woven brown scarf wrapped delicately on her head
Writing in a blue book that is filled with experienced drawings
She has a paper bag of safflower seeds in her lap
A nearby dove purrs at her politely
The lady sets her velvety book down
For it is no longer interesting
She spreads the safflower seeds precisely around the off-white animal
Smiling as it gazes suspiciously at its food
Inhaling the powerful smell of the grass and dandelions
She gazes at the field in front of her and tucks her brown curl behind her ear.
Turning a page in her hardback book and writes:
*"The grass is the perfect shade of green"
I wanted to challenge myself in this poem and try to use less first person. I noticed a lot of my poems were quite depressing and were always in the first person. With this poem, i decided to take it to a time many people are familiar with where it almost seems like they are at  a park or lake or something like that
Cheyenne Yacono May 2017
Flashy lights, fancy clothing
Tightly hiding our insecurities
Ah, Yes, in this darkness we are safe
A perfect night filled with impurities
The friendly space between us closing

We lost control but didn't chafe
Some call it living others infidelity
But neither had a title
In the music, we found our melody
all while our heart strings interlaced

Our thoughts went spiral
Losing control
Both belonging to another
I'd rather be in your hold
And the slowing moments were vital

How could we make such a blunder
We must've forgotten our places
How could we slip
Seeing their heartbroken faces
We ruined our potential lovers

Well, aren't you an unlikely pip?
So many things that were untold
Everything was so bold
Our emotions unrolled
And we carelessly locked lips
Maybe we were meant to be something more?
Cheyenne Yacono Mar 2017
I died drowning
Drowning like the rest of America
Trying to breathe under the numbers
All of them telling us that we're failures
I died drowning

It was more so a ****** than an unfortunate event
I blame society
Piling papers and statistics on teens and the to be's
We're shoved into school at the age of 3
For that I blame you

I blame you for my death
The air was extracted from my lungs
All 78% of nitrogen and 21% of oxygen

Geometry fried my brain at exactly 112 degrees
Physics pushed me off a cliff and I accelerate by 9.81 m/s
World History murdered me with every war and battle

English killed me just like every author
Band beat me to death like a drum
Weightlifting dropped 225 lbs on my throat
The play acted out all of my deaths

I didn't die just drowning
I was beaten, burned, shot, choked, mocked and everything in between.
I was murdered and I  am still living

I am here to convict the killers
They say it takes a village to raise a kid
But what does it take to **** one?
What everyone in school feels
Cheyenne Yacono Feb 2017
I was going to do my homework
Then the washer went off
And the clothes reaped of daisies
And all I could think of were flowers

Sooner or later my homework will be done
Then a deer interrupted my thoughts
Grazing on the grass
I gazed from my window
I haven’t seen one this close

I meant to be productive
Till a woodpecker pecked
And a mockingbird sang a verse
While a hawk belted the chorus
They formed a little bird band.


What was I gonna do again?
Welcome to the mind of ADHD/ADD, or even a procrastinators mind. I wrote this poem for my English class because I had loads of homework and in all honesty, i didn't wanna do it and I continuously got distracted, so I wrote this poem on why I couldn't do the homework for my homework assignment.
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