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 Mar 2015 IvyWithRed
eva
real poetry
 Mar 2015 IvyWithRed
eva
when people ask me 'what type of poetry do you like?'
i tell them that i like real poetry
not fake meaningless poetry with technical words that i don't even know.
i tell them poetry has to have EMOTION
and it doesn't have to make sense.
it doesn't have to rhyme, either.
poetry should be raw. it should be written when you don't think you have anything to write about
like that time you were lying in bed and thought of a single word planted onto paper to create a whole stanza, and then five stanzas.
find poetry in music. in the low guitar riffs and the drum beat. find it in the lyrics and the vocals. find words in trees. in lights. in a bottle of nail polish. in your first love and your last laugh.
find poetry when you fall and a stranger helps you up. find it in a busker at the train station. find it when you give that busker some money and find it when you see that the busker appreciates you. find poetry in poetry.
clumsy unedited rambling blahblahblah silly words formed to make something at least a bit legible
 Mar 2015 IvyWithRed
eva
Untitled
 Mar 2015 IvyWithRed
eva
once i knew a girl
whose pale skin stood out like a sore thumb in a crowd
who always wore the biggest sweaters
and had pen ink all over her palms
she fell in love with a boy who made her heart stop
and froze the circulation in her veins.
she liked to think that her shoulder blades were wings
and everyone laughed
but there was no humour
when it all came to an end
and she shattered.
 Mar 2015 IvyWithRed
eva
i was too young to see the stupidity of it
hoping and praying i would die quickly and painlessly
******* on the life i was meant to have
counting the pills that would be the death of me
never knowing what would come next
shaking, crying, i swallowed those ****** pills
i passed out on my bed with a smile on my face
and i dreamed that i would never wake up
i guess i was wrong
i was really ******* wrong
i woke up and cursed all the heavenly beings i knew
and the smile on my face turned into a scowl
now i realise the stupidity of it
i guess
i’ll just have to wish to get run over or something
 Mar 2015 IvyWithRed
eva
a hurricane in her mind,
hurtling through and
destroying all that she loved
body trembling
she picked up the pieces and promised:
**never again will i trust myself
 Mar 2015 IvyWithRed
Tiana
I don’t write to which conveys into a story;
I write to what captures an emotion,
a feeling.

I'm not exactly a poet or writer,
yet somewhere in between the two.

I feel unique and fiery,
under the cool, blue moon,
and salted and peppered under the dry, hot sun.

Fueled with anger, all my writing needs.
A new exploration through the journey unknown,
using awkward wording, unlike graceful butterflies.

I'm okay with myself when shielded from the rest.
The people that sit in the back of the room,
that don't want to be known.
The people that wear long sleeves,
that don't want she scars the be shown.
The people that sit alone at lunch,
that looks down and mess with their phone.
The people that get lost in their thoughts,
that sit there and groan.
The people that want to be skinny,
that want to nothing but skin and bones.
The people that worry about their body,
that want to be that 'perfect tone'.
The people that cry and want to die,
that no one can put them in their happy zone.

~sf/jd
 Mar 2015 IvyWithRed
Morgan
starving
 Mar 2015 IvyWithRed
Morgan
there's a pit inside my stomach
it was full of you last night
but today it's empty
and it aches

you once told me
that we all have a thin line
that separates love from addiction

oh how,
mine blurs and bends and fades
for you
It's truly terrifying how
ignorant people can be when they
make fun of others and then
wonder why that person
was found dead
a few days
later
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