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 Sep 2018
Apporva Arya
My heart stopped at
an early age.
When i started thinking,
What i can be?
Will they like it?
Will they like me?

My own voice got lost,
in the noise of others.
My soul was singing in symphonies,
which my mind cant compose.
No one called out my name.
Neither do I.

It took me a long time ,
to listen to my inner songs,
calling out my name.
It was a moment of epiphany,
Which warmed my cold heart,
Stirred my soul.
And elated me above my fears and scars.

My MISTAKES and ME from my yesterday,
My SCARS and ME from today,
And the WISER ME from tomorrow
are now making up the brightest stars
in the constellation of my life.
Despite of my fears,mistakes and imperfection I am gonna embrace myself as hard i can and i am starting to love myself gradually little by little.
 Sep 2018
dandelionfine
I have a perfect lunchbox mom
Crusts cut off
She leaves me love letters on my napkin
So that when the bathroom stall became my cafeteria
I wouldn't be so lonely
I have a perfect marathon mom
She runs to the beach and back just to show that she can.
And when she says she's all gross from her run, she somehow still smells like fresh air
My mom is fresh air,
She fills my sister's lungs with life
And every exhale is love
My mom is fresh air.
She is a sanctuary, she is a nest
She is rest
I have a perfect lunchbox mom,
A "Honey, what's wrong?" mom
An "If you're not here, the day's too long", mom
A "Wonder if God knew what He gave to Earth" mom
I thought God kept track of angels
She is everything
 Sep 2018
Tessa Marie
This girl doesn't care that it's August. She will wear her snow boots because she likes that they light up.

This girl doesn't care there is no music. She will dance where she wants to the music in her mind.

She doesn't care who is watching. Or who disapproves.

I wish to be more like her.
I wish more were like her.

I hope no one stifles it out of her.

No, "Sit still"
No, "Calm down"
No, "Be embarrassed"

Be you.
Be like her if you're inclined to.
Be a dancer in the street.
My daughter has autism and doesn't care what you think of her. she lives life to the fullest.
 Sep 2018
Dominique
Sometimes, I am a paper girl.
I look in the mirror
To judge my blotches and creases-
I am a pale, thin tissue
That bows to the howling wind
Transparent for anyone who cares enough to look.

If you like pretty pictures, I'm the one for you-
A roll of film scratching laughs
On curious cinema screens
That could run into infinity
Just to fuel your smile.

I soak up your messes willingly:
All the colours that bleed and mix
To form the specks of sadness
In your eyes at 10.p.m
And the grass stains that roll
Down your bare gypsy feet
And the sunflower seeds
That stick to your inky lashes-
These things give an echo of the flavour
I miss.

I am vain
I regularly conjure up poetry on my skin-
Do not give me yours.
I will recite it to my last paper breath
So I can kid myself that paper is power.

I am not the phantom you teach to play piano
Under the helter-skelter moon,
I am far too fragile for that-
My paper cut fingers bend
And bleed light all over the keys.

My hands are a canvas
For anyone's ***** details
For if enough titles are painted on my body then perhaps
I will learn the complex trick
Of gaining depth

And maybe the world will look as full
And real as I read in books
And dance with in music
And maybe my edges will stop being ripped
Or my corners cut
Or my pages burned and tossed aside.

Sometimes, I am this tiny
Vulnerable
Origami creature
And my cream card bones tremble like feathers
A bad caricature of life.

Sometimes I am full of wonder-

But right now, I am this.
I tried to put this awful blurry feeling I get when I'm lacking in creativity and motivation into words, and this is what I got.
Sometimes I feel so alien.
 Sep 2018
Lakshmi Narashimman
In the midst of sea, we scream
Where are humans?
Where are super humans?
None to respond to our desperate scream,

In the midst of a sea, we are
A deserted island
One that can most likely be submerged or
Reach shores unlikely
By the events, we remain helpless
Being human less and with inhumanness



We, at the brink of death & last inch of hope
Expect miracles and wonders
Nature fails us
Kills our expectations, fills more sorrow

Nature fills our body with
Slow approaching death,
We remain as a secluded mass of useless disposed waste,
On a world that has a place for all the flora & fauna


Modern nations-the epitomes of peace
Wash their hands away remain
A hopeless, useless, helpless puppet

Ostracized from our ancestral land
Vehemently opposed and reluctantly accepted
We remain a displaced alien
In their eyes.

There are nations,
But where are humans? Where are humans?

A hope puts us to survive,
Where we leave a message,
As we get back to the graves.

We send the waves of final message; we fall,
Not as a disposed waste,
But as a Phoenix that falls as a nutrition,
For the soil,
To revive an infinite and eternal humanity
That stands tall as an undestroyable banyan tree
Unshakable on any crises

For humanity, we give ourselves
As dare-doers and daring self-killers.
Let's harvest the human hearts
With the ever rising flames
And give back
Our future generations the homes.
We lost and dreams we wished

With a thin ray of distant hope,
We dream to give our future generations
A world that has no,
Hopelessness of being helpless.
We assert
We are helpless, but not hopeless
This is a poem written by me on refugees, who struggle to live their life. This poem is written as a mind voice of the refugees, who escape from their home nations due to war, to save their life. They get to other nations through sea. Other neighborhood and distant nations do not give them a place to live, naming them as the terrorists and a threat to their national security. These refugees utter these lines being struck in the midst of a sea, travelling with a damaged boat. As the damaged boat further gets deteriorated, they start dying by slowing submerging into the sea. Their voices on humanity and desperate screams to save their life, fills the sea. Final lines display that they are helpless, but not hopeless.
 Sep 2018
Lydia
being in love with him is the most natural thing in the world
he told me the first time we hung out,
that "he just felt comfortable with me"
and I knew exactly what he was saying,
because his arms felt like home the very first time they wrapped around me
and honestly still do
To my sweet man who is always my inspiration
 Sep 2018
Bom
There was a boy with the eyes of the sky
Blue as the sea with a tint of white orchids

I see him on the bus to school
He was the social boy
The innocent sunshine, sitting with his friends
I sat behind him, and hear his light laughs
I look out the window,
Pondering, ‘I want to be his friend’
I would look at the windows and see his blue eyes
Wherever I look, I found him beautiful.


There was a boy with the eyes of the sky
Blue as the dark sea with littered seaweeds

I see him on the bus to school
He was the funny boy
The gentle and soft gal, sitting with his friends
I sat behind him and see his neutral smile
I look out the window,
Pondering, ‘I want to be his friend’
I would sneak looks and see his blue eyes,
Wherever I look, I found him beautiful

There was a boy with the eyes of the sky
Blue as a polluted sea with the death of sunken ships

I see him on the bus to school
He was the quiet boy
The introverted and fragile kid, sitting at the back beside me
I look at him and see his eyes, reflecting a broken soul
I look out the window,
Pondering, ‘I want to be his friend’
I would look at him and see his hair hide his eyes
Wherever I look, I found him beautiful

There was a boy with the eyes of the rain
Dark as brewing storms and dying flowers

I see him on the rooftop at lunch
He was the anti-social nerd
The sad and crying student, in front of me
I look at him and we made eye contact,  a strained smile
I look at the railings, where he stood
Pondering, ‘What happened to his shine?’
I would look at him and see his beautiful eyes

He told me, ‘Wherever I look, I found you beautiful’

Wherever I looked, I found him beautiful. Even after his body fell and bled against the grass.
 Sep 2018
Jenny Van
Other loved me

For what I show
For what they see
For that what I
Pretend to be

You love me for the person I hide
That I hoped always
No one would find
 Sep 2018
Melissa S
My son always surprises me...
and is way more brilliant
than I ever was... especially at that age.
Out of nowhere the other night he says
"You know we are all connected" and I say
"How do you mean?"
I can see the wheel just a turning in his pretty
little head and he says "we are related...all brothers
and sisters in this world." I agree with him and say "so
why do you think everyone fights so much?" and
without missing a beat he says "because they haven't
figured it out yet" <3
Happy Friday to you all!! :)
 Sep 2018
Brooke P
Am I a strong woman?
if I weep every night
and sleep into the afternoon
because I can never seem
to get enough rest.

Am I a strong woman?
if I'm constantly
absorbing the traits of others
consuming myself
with who I am not.

Am I a strong woman?
if I don't know myself
as well as I should,
and more often feel lost
than found.

Am I the woman
that would make my mother proud
after she's spent half of her life
teaching me
and modeling
the one that I should be.

Am I a strong woman?
if I can't stand to be
alone with myself
with my thoughts
and let my insecurities win.

Am I a strong,
independent woman,
if I have to question it at all?
 Sep 2018
Spruha Dhamange
In the world of lines and curves,
I was questioned at the doorstep,
"Are you a line or a curve?",
I decided I was a curve, and they let me in in the group of curves.
Somebody asked, "Why is your curve not curvier? You must go to the lines instead."
I said, "Fair enough", and moved over to the group of lines.
Somebody said again, "You are too crooked to be a line. Go away!"
Disappointed, I realized I had nowhere to go.
There was no group for me. I was a curvy, crooked line.
I was a "******".

Then,
Along came a curve, and a line,
They were curious of what it would mean to push their boundaries.
So I asked them to hold hands.
And suddenly I realized I was not alone.
I held their hands too, and we were transformed,
We wriggled and jiggled, and broke our molds,
And formed a perfect circle.
From our imperfections.
Now I belonged somewhere.
And I am not a "******" anymore.
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