6:30 a.m. you wake to see,
a lovely girl.

the type a girl,
who comes with the proper set of manners,

but looks like somewhere,
this girl lost her standards.

7:00 a.m. she wakes and sees you.
when you've never had the decency to point out her beauty,

you're so swell thinking about,
how you can get her for a second round,

never calling her beautiful,
or flawless during the round

you act lousy to her,
even though

you were really hoping to do more than to embrace her,
but you soon forget all this,

as you lie in bed,
at 10 a.m.

sleepy,
like the loath you were,

10:30 a.m. your fast asleep,
while she feels the ever growing solitude,

11:00 a.m. she stands in front of the window,
beams of sun on her like the angel in heaven planned it,

as she sips the coffee she made for the both of you,
11:30 a.m. the coffee is cold, and she contemplates her purpose here,

by 1:00 p.m she is wondering if this relationship,
will ever evolve into something more,

1:30 p.m. she realized he doesn't care about her presents,
and wonders if any man would.

2:00 p.m. she fears no one could ever love her,
she's found herself filling notebooks of flaws that are too great to love,

it is now 2:30 p.m. on the dot, and if someone was to walk in on her,
it would be as if she was omit from the world for years..

a minute passes and he walks in,
pours some coffee,

he drinks, and swallows the cold coffee,
puts the mug down,

he looks at her with disgrace almost,
and walks away,

to who cares where, because at 2:36 p.m.,
she wrote one more flaw,

my coffee was cold and he left me again,
and that was enough to tell her she was worthless.

and he sat in his chair,
not once getting up to say,

or tell her,
how he thought she was beautiful,

flawless,
or the fact he loved her,

my second most read poem.
recording over 1000 reads.
with 0 likes,
in 3 collections I added it too.

the title.
is the reason there are no likes,
and the fact someone can't like a poem about *******,

when I talk about how they had lost their respect,
compared to any girl out there,

makes me feel less and less confident about the fact,
someone acted on my body like that,

for someone to be not only ***** but then physically abused,
and trying to spread the news

to show you what it does to a girl,
how gross you feel to look at yourself when ur mom wants to hurl,

where u lie when people ask you about your burn,
because you feel the torture will come back.

where you let anyone grab them.
because your blessed with triple D cups,

and at least you feel like you're not worthless,
and  because I named it grab my *****,
I dont Care,
I got no likes,

Like a boy gave my body,
No respect,

I think thats as fair to say as what he did to me,
as it's as fair to know I have a little over 800 views on the poem below,
and 20 likes.
about trauma too.
I don't get how this all adds up,

I got poems written about the same exact thing,
with 2, 3, 4 likes, not even 400 views some barley 200!
all about being ***** and abused,
but how come this one,
had been ignored,
and overlooked,
a ******* name,

thats cowardly
like a ******,
like an abuser,
were not one person could give someone respect after it was all taken from them,
and they wrote about it.
I just..

even though they hurt
they refuse the hand of the father
rolling around in dirt
then bathing in rusty water

was it the dream that recurs itself even during the day
the love I once held & lost quite inexplicably
the prince charming I lost
the thoughts that haunt me .....
I wonder
I only wonder....was I still dreaming when everyone was
up making their dreams come true......


**NIGHTMARES

And Maybe we started off loving each other,
Or maybe we Pretended the hate we had for each other,
wasn't what Begun.

But Maybe the Lust
was just Lost
in our Hostility,
Because we only showed our true affections,
though our every aggression.

Maybe Obedience on my part,
Led you to your obsessive,
Threatening tendency's,
Some that led you throw your clammy fists at me,
But you Threw Terribly,

Sometimes I think you were being Empathetic to me,
When you didn't really force your fake Expression of love on me.
Because sometimes,
I just had blow you,
To prevent our blow outs,
But Every time you Exposed me,
You Excuse yourself,
by saying you love me.

Sometimes,
Love and Hate
Start off the same,
But we wont see it,
Until the ending letters,
end with E,
for Ending.

My film class,
Is my favorite class

and the class I hate the most,

I love film,
I have a passion for this art,

this medium,

this class is my soul and bodies passion,
and like a job,

like my job,

it fits me,
but like all jobs,

there's things that just ******* ****.

and it's not over the normal things,
like time and money,

its the people you work with,

or in my case,
my class,

and they are all *****,

when someone makes it their point,
to upset you and hurt you everyday,

because finally you are good at something,

when you **** at science,
and allowed your math skills to fall behind,

your life is filled with lies and you find,

a reason to live,
worth all your effort and time

but the same people calling you stupid and dumb and a **** up,

in math and science,
are in this film class,

forced to take a smile,

and sarcastically say,
"good job,"

when your film gets played in class,

and even when you ask,
no one give you advice like you give when asked,

and every frame seen on the projected screen,

gives me anxiety,
and the rude, unhelpful reminders from my bullies,

don't ******* help me,

when I want to run out of my favorite class daily,
and scream  in all their faces,

"*******"

"for once..."
but I don't

I sit,

I bit skin off skinless lips,
hold back tears,

the urge to leave,

take all my insults
that are directed at me,

with a head tilted down fake half smile,

when they should be directed to my film,
but everyday, I do get to say;

*******,

because this year,
I make it to all my classes,

even the next one,

history.
period 11/12

with my dignity

Poetry by Pablo Neruda is something I was just forced to read,
for english class,
and maybe I could enjoy his poem,
called Poetry,
if the soul less bodies around,
could mindlessly stop! saying;
"this is pointless,"
"his poem is about poetry because of the title,"
"his poem has no meaning,"
and If I could focus,
I would of known the meaning,
or at least found meaning in it,
besides the one my stupid classmates found,
"just another ****** forced assignment"
"we will never get the meaning of"
but I know the meaning of his poem now,
"It was about the struggle to write,
and understand poetry to start with,"
and in a room full of people,
who don't get poetry,
maybe they could of gotten something from this lesson,
but, "we will never get the meaning of a forced assignment,"

I feel nothing but dead,
with every ounce of strength left in my head,
so ******* **** me,

so my body,
can match how I've been feeling,


feeling that never seem to go away,
no matter how many petty wishes you make,
on stars and dreams you know in the end,

all are just ******* fakes,
but you still wish,

because sometime you hope and pray,
that one of these times,
that one ******* day,

you wish at the right moment,
and the **** you need happens,

but I still live by everything happens for a reasons,
so I am not supposed to cut my cord,
but you could cut it for me,

thats the loop hole,
in the death tolls system,

I want to take breaths,
so peaceful,
a single feather,
will float up and down from my lips,
and silence will be as common as oxygen,
and you will only hear me inhale,
and exhale,

like it was when I took my first drag,
I took it,
as a loud world went quiet,
and all focus went on your hand,
you forgot about the simple things,
simple things that really where so uncontrolled,
you just forgot,

and with a clear head,
you take the most peaceful breaths,
as your smoke,
acts as a feather,
and floats,