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Mar 2015 · 697
dangerous disappointment
Rose Mar 2015
gasping quietly,
stumbling on his feet,
down the hall

tears burn his eyes,
cheeks hot,
face set aflame,
he turns the corner
and slams the door.

headphones jammed into his ears,
cranked up high, he does not want to hear,
the sounds of their shouts.  

he is aware as he keeps quiet,
crumpling to his knees,
mouth open in a silent scream.
he is a screaming boy on his knees,
set on mute.

he feels heavy,
a weight sitting upon his shoulders,
everything negative,
all at once whispering their cruel thoughts to his ears.

headphones jammed into his ears,
cranked up high, he does not want to see,
their disapproving glares.

his fingers curling,
hands pulling into his sides,
they will not go away.

those little voices telling him,
everything negative,
about existence.

headphones jammed into his ears,
cranked up high, he does not want to hear,
their disappointed voices

he is suddenly very small,
insignificant,
the feeling weighs heavier,
than his backpack.
it weighs on his chest.

suddenly he is weightless,
launched off the bed to the waiting floor,
he falls with a crash,
woken from his worst nightmare.

headphones jammed into his ears,
cranked up high,
he can still hear their disapproving tones,
he can still see their disappointed stares.

as he wakes from his worst nightmare.
also written for my creative writing class, its a re-edited version of one of my old poems.
Rose Mar 2015
There once was a girl
who loved more than enough,
she loved books,
running, playing,
laughing, dancing,
writing, she loved life
with all her heart.

But she did not receive enough love
in return.
She received berating commands,
harsh, disapproving looks,
not enough love for a little girl.

There is now a girl
who loves not at all.
not her books, running,
certainly not playing, laughing,
dancing, or writing.

She works to the bone,
hoping, wishing, praying,
for the love she no longer has,
but craves.
The way flowers crave the sun,
a diva craves the spotlight,
a child attention.
With pleading eyes,
and a proud smile,
she presents herself,
but yet,
the looks remain,
the commands more stern,
her smile falls,
her eyes darken.

The love does not come,
she must learn to love for herself,
but how does one attempt this
persistent fate,
when they are not shown it?
I wrote this for my Creative Writing class based upon one of the characters I wrote.
Dec 2014 · 935
Procrastination.
Rose Dec 2014
There is a certain feeling that erupts in my stomach when I push it off. The deadline is passed but I can’t bring myself to do the work. I italicdon’titalic want to do. So I italicdon’titalic. I’m ashamed, the shame sits on my shoulders, making me slump forward, heavy with it. It hangs on my eyelids, they droop and sag wanting to close and block it all out. It’s heavy in my lap when I sit down, it’s like a twenty pound backpack when I stand up. It sits on the corners of my lips dragging my mouth into a frown. But yet I can’t get rid of it. I hate the way it makes me feel, but I keep getting in my own way.
Not really poetry but this has been bugging my about myself.
Dec 2014 · 845
deep, dark, and dangerous
Rose Dec 2014
it starts slowly,
brought on by something simple
like a television show.

and then it spirals,
downward,
upward,
out of control.

no longer crying over a television show,
I am standing now, hands grabbing at my chest,
the neck of my shirt.

I am gasping quietly,
beginning to breathe heavier,outh wide open,
stumbling down the hall towards my room.

tears burn my eyes,
my cheeks hot,
my face is on fire,
I turn the corner and close the door.

my headphones jammed into my ears,
cranked up high,
for I do not want to hear,
the sounds of my own unhappiness.

I am still aware that I keep quiet,
crumpling to my knees,
mouth open in a silent scream,
my features contort,
I am a screaming ******* her knees,
on mute.

no one hears a thing as my throat aches,
to scream,
to wail,
loud and clear,
for all to hear.

I am sad all of the sudden,
it hits like a ton of bricks,
an avalanche,
it frightens me.

I feel heavy,
a weight sitting upon me,
I cannot rid myself of it.

everything negative,
all at once whispering their cruel thoughts to me.

as I tip over,
my fingers curling,
hands pulling into my sides,
mouth still open in a silent scream,
I cannot make them go away.

those little voices telling me,
everything negative,
in my life,
about my existence.

I am suddenly very small,
insignificant,
I cannot shake this feeling.

it weighs on my chest,
as I rise,
and climb into bed.

laying flat on my back,
I wipe away the tears,
I realize,
this is what scares me most.
Dec 2014 · 364
i'm here.
Rose Dec 2014
my hands run circles around my body
sliding roughly over the surface of myself
feeling the warmth of my being under my skin
fingertips digging into myself
s my hands roam the surface of my being

my stomach, neck, hair, legs, behind, arm, *******, sides, hips

I watch myself in the mirror as I do this
the feeling of my rough skin sliding across itself
hands to body
a reminder that I am here
I am alive
and I hurt
I ache

but I am still warm
so I am still alive
and breathing.
Nov 2014 · 635
Quiet
Rose Nov 2014
have you ever felt so content in the quiet that you couldn't find the will to open your mouth?
it happens to me a lot.
Rose Nov 2014
you can't hold others to the same standards that you hold yourself. you'll be disappointed.
I find myself saying this more and more often now. Maybe I am more pretentious than I thought...
Nov 2014 · 2.3k
Untitled
Rose Nov 2014
generation me,
the selfie generation,
lazy,
selfish,
going nowhere,
mean,
reckless.

but what the 'great generation' and those who came before us don't understand,
is that we are a generation all our own,
akin to the hippies,
and radical youngsters in the 60s,
fighting against our parents in our own way.

we are owning ourselves and our bodies.
we are breaking free from their grasps
through our sexuality
our selfies
our words and our actions.

we are a generation who is owning ourselves and how we feel
we are revolutionary ourselves.
I say power to the teenagers and especially girls. Empower ourselves and take no ones ****.
Nov 2014 · 452
10w - Generation ME
Rose Nov 2014
we are the me generation, and we own that title.
Nov 2014 · 691
toxic love
Rose Nov 2014
in the way that I see love created,
through television, books, fan fiction,
I crave something different.

I find myself wanting not
teenage love,
holding hands
and cute kisses,
they make me gag.

I find myself wanting the dirt
grime and filth that no one talks about.

I want to yell and scream,
gnash my teeth,
and bare my soul.

I want to gasp,
shudder, gulp,
hate you and make up.

I don't want cute,
and I don't want to be coddled.

I want to be challenged
and I want angry tears
and stupid harsh kisses.

I want to know that you are more than
nike elite socks
white tshirts
and stupid smirks.

I want to be more than a teenage girl
in a sweater
and boots.

I want the *****,
harsh, awful love that people look down on.

I don't want Prince Charming's love,
I want Heathcliff's passion,
I want to feel our passion and our love.

but I don't want presents and flowers.
I want intelligence and arguments.

I want hands and skin,
sweat and scratches.

I want your passion,
your words and your gazes.
I really have no idea where this came from. I'm feeling dark and ******. However I feel the need to make it clear that I don't actually want a Heathcliff, he was ****** up.
Nov 2014 · 651
my soul aches
Rose Nov 2014
my body aches for the touch of another,
my mind aches for the conversation of another,
my soul aches for the company of a companion.

someone like me,
someone a little different.

my eyes ache for the sight of another,
my mouth aches to smile at another.

yet I pride myself on independence,
or at least that's what I let on.

when I crave dependence.

my attitude puts off people,
sending them negative signs,
while inside I ache for another.
Nov 2014 · 995
Looking at You
Rose Nov 2014
Hand placed over my eyes
"You can't see! You're blind!"
You sang in my ear playfully,
I was laughing too hard to speak,
trying and failing to remove your hand
from my eyes,
so I could stare at you.

My small fingers prying your large ones from my eyes,
your other hand clamps down on my eyes again,
I don't care,
One of my hands still enclosed around yours,
I don't want to let go.

I finally pry your other hand from my eyes,
we're laughing uncontrollably staring at each other.

The first thing I see is your neck,
the first part of you my eyes land on,
I lick my lips,
tearing my eyes away,
laughing again.

My thoughts are somewhere else,
still lingering on your neck,
and the attack I would love to launch there.

I bite my lip,
thinking of the kisses I would lay upon your skin,
the way I'd pull myself close to you,
fingertips pressing lightly into your shoulder,
as you writhe under me,
kisses from your collarbone to your ear,
your jaw to your temple.

My mouth leaving my ***** thoughts written across your neck,
my nose trailing along your skin,
taking in the way you smell,
the way it makes me feel.

You make my fingers shake with a thought,
you make my mouth go slack with a simple,
you make me simple with your gestures
and voice.

I'm pulled back by you saying something,
I recover in record time,
shoving you in the shoulder,
"I hate you,"
the words tumble out before I think about them,
I'm still smiling.

"No you don't."
you say with that stupid smile of yours.
I shake my head,
because I don't.
I really don't.
Sep 2014 · 845
Untitled
Rose Sep 2014
My mouth waters,
My fingers ache,
I gasp,
Bite my lip,
My hips buck,
My legs lock,
I am stricken for a moment.

With want,
Need,
Lust,
Hormones,
Fire,
Desire.

I ache,
Beg,
To touch you
With my fingertips
Mouth
Palms
Teeth,

To explore every plane of your
Body
I can get to

Allow me
To savor
Every bit of you

For I will treasure you,
And every way you make me
My body
Feel.
Sep 2014 · 4.1k
Touch - 10w
Rose Sep 2014
I've grown used to my own hands instead of another's.
Sep 2014 · 345
Mother pt. 2
Rose Sep 2014
you make me wonder why
i have to beat you off with a baseball bat
when you want to pluck the
"unwanted"
hairs on my body

i am sorry,
Mother,
but i am trying to defy societys norms
and let them grow
before craning my neck to try to see these hairs
i know i wont be able too

but i am also trying to get a boyfriend,
so i shall bend and break
and pluck the ones i can see
i will want to cry when i cannot get them all
i want to slam my fist into the mirror
when i realize i can never get them all

Mother,
i will not let you pluck my unwanted hairs
i will let them sit there because they are apart of me
and they are my rebellion
they will let boys know that
i don't care
and they cannot take me down

they are my rebellion and they are my pain
Sep 2014 · 314
Mother
Rose Sep 2014
it is quite funny
the contradictions you make
Mother,

you tell me not to shave everyday
and then you say
"I can't believe you left the house like that."

so tell me why you contradict what you say
and make me feel this way,

dearest Mother,
please do not confuse me
for my teenage brain
can only comprehend so much

so when you contradict yourself
i get confused
and wonder why
you must do this to me.
Sep 2014 · 394
Untitled
Rose Sep 2014
you’ll never know the loud girl behind the smile
the big laugh
frizzy hair
the constant smile
tummy
annoyed grimace
thighs

you won’t know the young woman with a strong opinion
the condescending looks
acne
hand motions
feet
shouting
toes

you won’t know the girl who yells at you during a debate
you won’t know the girl who stares at you like you’re dumber than ****
you won’t know the girl who leans in closely to hear gossip
you won’t know the girl who walks around like she’s better than you, this place, like she should be doing something more important at that moment.

you wont know her because she cries herself to sleep
hangs her head in shame at home,
shoves her headphones on
turns up the volume
closes the door
and hides away from the world.

you won’t know the girl who uses all her emotions at school
and tries to hide from them at home
you won’t know her
you won’t ever know her unless
she invites you into
her bittersweet thought process

you won’t know when she’s shouting at you from across a table
that she dances around in her underwear in an attempt to feel good
then sits against the wall and sobs for her pretty perfect little life.

you won’t know her
Aug 2014 · 622
Hide Your Shame.
Rose Aug 2014
How does she hide her shame?
How does a girl hide her wet eyes and hot cheeks
from her disapproving mother and father
How does stop her shaking lips
shaky breaths
crumpling face
pacing feet
from surfacing at the worst moment.
How does she refine her ways
to become the best daughter she can be,
the girl she once was.
The honor roll,
never grounded,
follow the rules,
love herself,
love life,
social girl
she once was.

The question could be,
why
when she closes the door quietly,
does she not let them fall
hot and salty
satisfying and disappointing
down her cheeks without hesitation?
Why doesn’t she let her lip shake
as she curls into a ball to try to drain
the shame from her body
in the form of her tears.

Because she does not want to be
caught
red handed
pink cheeked
red eyed,
Because they will ask the question,
Why are you crying?
They will ask it in the exasperated tone,
like it’s the most ridiculous thing
they’ve ever seen
ever heard.
They will look down at her like a
ridiculous
dramatic
theatrical
child.
They will tell her to stop crying,
because it will not help.
They will shame her for crying.

But don’t they know
they’re just making it
harder
for her to rid herself of the shame
they just
dumped on her.

Because she’s only just a girl.

— The End —