Rejection is hard, rejection is tough,
Rejection has a way of making you feel like
You’re just not enough
If someone doesn’t want you
Don’t feel second rate
Because inside of us all
Lies something great

I’m not an art critic
So what I say may not matter
But I’ve seen it all
From oil to paint splatter
And I’m not a book critic
So others may argue
But there are no words I’ve found
That justify you

When I was young
They thought I was a girl
My hair was curly
A head full of whirls
I grew up
Happy and naïve
Until others
Said there was something wrong with me
My hair was something that made me feel ashamed
I was a curly haired ******
And it was my fault, I was to blame
As I grew up, I learned about others
About those who weren’t me
My friends or my brothers
Not everyone had good fathers and mothers
They were hurt, too. Sometimes worse than me
Broken hearts, homes, and trust, sadly.
They were hurt by the ones they held closest
Not some passerby or stranger
The one that held them, raised them, and kept them free of danger
Who would sing to them by their bunk bed
Breathing lullabies, soft eyes, young soul to be fed
They were now broken, forgetting what it was to be loved
I learned it wasn’t my fault that they pushed
Because they too were being shoved

Take my money
Take my keys
And if you could
**** me, please.

I love reading poetry on this site.

The most common used word is love.
Well, actually ambiguous is used a lot. I guess it makes people feel smart about themselves.

Anyway, everyone uses the word 'love', but has anyone experienced it or are we all deluding ourselves?

Besides the point, I've learned that if you want to succeed in writing on this site, you have to make sure you write about how you 'fell' in love and then follow it with 'heartbreak'.

You can be dark, and probably get some 'acclaim' from the broody broods.
Or you can not be completely pretentious and write something genuine.
Good luck, though. They'll call it cliche or cheesy.
So you deal with that...
But first thing is first: You must get artistic.

                                                    ­                                                       Do this
                                                            ­                                        because
                                                                ­                              it some how
                                                                ­                 makes it look like
                                                                ­              you
                                             ­                                        know
                                                                ­                              what
                                                                ­                                      you're
                                                                ­                                               doing.

Make sure
you seem like you
DO THIS
for a l
          i love you more than i can take
            vicious words cause my heart to break
               in god we trust our love forever
                 never be gone from me, oh no, not ever!
                    good bye my love i'll cherish you... ambiguously


Now let's get wordy.
Let's use some words entirely too much like...
AMBIGUOUS
Then after that, it'll be time to crack open the thesaurus and write words that you're not entirely sure that you're using correctly.

The ambiguous alligator bit with a fervor as the metamorphosis of his analysis changed what he thought (DID YOU SEE WHAT I DID THERE). He was chased by hunters, but was devoid of a cwtch (yeah, that's a word. Maybe he's a welsh alligator. I don't know. Parts of this poem are meant to be...wait for it...ambiguous).

the
     alligator's
                   father
                            died
                                   in
                                       the
                                            great
                                                    alligator wars of 1
                                                               ­               9
                                                ­                              7
                                 ­                                             2012 was an okay year, though.

what a tragedy it is to be abstentious at a buffet...(end it ambiguously)
                                                                ­                                              end

Then we have some depressing stuff on this site. Not that there's anything wrong with writing something depressing, but usually it's kind of stuff that you'd read at a seventh grade poetry slam sponsored by Hot Topic and Van's Warped Tour in partnership with AXE Body Spray and Monster Energy Drink.

We'll call this one....

'pain, pain, and more pain'

I knew this girl
name was elle
she rang my heart
like a ******* bell

i was fourteen
she was fine
we had assigned seats next to each other
but her seat was inside of my mind

we talked about deep stuff
like really deep
she told me she had nightmares
and i said i had them too
BUT NOT ALL OF THEM ARE IN MY SLEEP

the real nightmare was that
she had a boyfriend
he treated her really well
but he was a ******* FOOTBALL PLAYER
**** **** **** LOVE IS A ******* HELL

why not me
why the tool
i can play six songs on the guitar
and my parents own a pool

i could have given you everything
i could have given you my heart on a string
but you cut it with your knife
and ******* did it sting

my heart is black
my emotions in a whirl
i'll be like this for two weeks
AT LEAST
until i talk to another girl


I just love some of the poetry I read on this site, and I hope you like mine.

Thanks, guys!

I miss my stupid perfect girlfriend.

With her stupid cute face.

With her stupid nice smile

that makes the pain erase.


And I miss her stupid lovely eyes,

so stupid pretty brown.

And I know I’m stupid in love with her

because for some reason,

when she’s feeling stupid or unpretty

I feel ****** and down.


I miss her stupid laugh

full of joy and wonder.

And I miss how she doesn’t make me feel stupid, at all

And how she makes my heart feel like thunder


And I wish I was with her right now

I wish we could be stupid together

But I’ll give up a few stupid days

In exchange for being stupid forever.

I lived in a house on the hill of my thoughts; a broken home with parents with halted hearts
My blood was young but my mind so old; my body tattered but never my soul
I met her in the valley of my dying dreams,
radiant with romance running in her ravenous veins
Relating her prose to carnivorous crows;
she was as disparate as me with as many internal foes
On the grass we kissed with an appetite,
she tasted of salt water, but drowning never felt so right
I didn’t know how to swim, but for her I would dive
I had never met anyone who made me feel so alive
Soon by noon I went home, after we grew weary
I don’t know where she went, but I hope it was somewhere near me

Leaving kind eyes for bright lights; a place to live without my shadow
Digging in the fiber of the streets and the passersby;
Penetrating a future with dark brown hair and dark brown eyes
Her ******* smother my scarred breaths
Her father didn't love her
Putting my finger in her; neither did mine
Scraping lips and she tastes like summer blood
It'll pass and I'll never be the same
Looking for people in a crowd
Empty stares and broken sons, used daughters
Tearing skin and watching my past decay in hours
Bathing in painted lips, just to be born in my own eyes
Flirting with the hurt I left in the beginning;
Staying away, leaving my parted loneliness in her mouth and I should be sorry.
I'm so sorry.  
******* that make my mother and father something I forget;
Nobody loves themselves, so how could they love me?
You weren't very good to me.
And I writhe in ‘comfort’ just to feel.
Provoking searing glares because the numbness is like dry blood jarred underneath my nails.
My life encapsulates a warm goodbye.
Running to nothing to find myself.

If I want to die, I'll do it myself
I'll save a kid or some **** and make it look like I died a hero
But nah, I had a death wish.
Didn't any of you know?
I said it probably forty-million times.
It's cool the kid is alive, though.
And it's cool that this all rhymes.

Tell the kid while I convulse, choking on blood that  I said,
"Eat your vegetables. Stay in school. Being in love is really cool.
It's okay to be alone. It's okay to be afraid. Don't make the decision I made."

Then play some surfer music and have him stand in front of a projector,
projecting video waves and dreams, as they start to dance.

Honestly.
If I wanna die, it's by your side.
But you're gone.
Away.
It was too hard, and you're afraid.
I'm afraid, too. I don't wanna die.
But this isn't living, what I'm doing now.
It's survival, and it's just
blood and bone.
Eat and walk.
In a crowded room, alone.
Smile and talk.
I can't feel. I can't feel. Keep saying it: I can't feel.

But I feel it all, and if I want to die then it's by your side.
If I wanna die, then I want to talk to you before I go.
If I'm going to die then it's because it's hard to cope
knowing that I love you, and you love me, but you don't wanna anymore.
So I don't wanna anymore, anything.
I don't wanna be here.
I don't wanna be anywhere.
I don't wanna be.

I dream a lot now, more than before.
Reality has become the compass to a draining nothingness,
and I don't want to stick around.
Either way, I'll dream or think of nothing, and it couldn't be that bad.

"No one is worth taking your life over."
"It gets better."
"What if she wasn't the one?"

How do you know how I feel?
What if it doesn't?
What if she was?

Can I bathe in nihilism or is that too transparent?
Should I shake the salsa in the silver room of the Lisbeth Salander character arch or should I be in the ark, two by two, with Noah?
At least I'll be able to feel, taste, see the shine, relate to another's pain, realize a life, be next to one meant for me in the shelter of doom and eventual hope, and be with a man with as much certainty, perceived as crazy or brilliant as me.

Can you walk home to me?

To know that what I knew is what I may never know is something I don't want to know, and something I'll always know could be something I live for and by, and that's all I knew before and now I know nothing but that.

If I wanna die, then it's knowing you as I walk to you or you walk to me, in depth, in death, in soliloquy.

The crumbling clock is my hoarder as it keeps everthing I don't need like memories, future events, and times and dates for places I don't want to be.

Is it too much to want to be a fly on the wall that is smashed?

I've never been so lost.

"Don't be so dramatic. Don't be so dramatic. Don't be so dramatic."

Okay, thanks. Now I can think of that, and what else is wrong with me while I feel lost. So lost, and unlike ever before if I ever was lost before.

What do I even say on my note?

Ooops?
Whoops?
My bad?
It's never enough, isn't it?

If I could wrap your sorrow around my lungs to where I could only breathe your sadness as I give you my hopes, joys, and everlasting essence to fuse with you as you feel complete, I would, I have, and I lay empty.

Is this enough to say?
Do you get my point?