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Kayla Hardy Apr 2019
Today marks 133,920 minutes and
the answer still isn’t clear.
Unfortunately, it never will be
because poetry doesn’t have one.

No rhyme or structure
nor 14 stanza song
can make it easier to
solve this meddling art.

Only 336 hours to go
maybe you’ve got an idea for
what all the math in this poem
actually signifies or -

The message it might have
and the meaning rooted in
this 23-year-old brain
who is struggling as well.

Still, after 106 days
when the final day is here
we’ll all scratch our heads with a shrug,
and say, poetry is never clear.
Kayla Hardy Apr 2019
I remember when I asked you,
October 2, 2017
what if something happens tonight?

I remember when you,
rolled your annoyed eyes
there is zero chance that something will

I remember thinking,
anger flooding my brain
I bet that no one ever thinks it’ll be them

I remember mourning,
the 50 people who died
they never saw it coming

I remember the anxiety,
following me to every concert
maybe tonight someone snuck through

I remember praying,
looking around at all the strangers
I shouldn’t have to fear for my life

I remember shaking my head,
wanting you to listen
we need stricter laws

I remember our fight,
your exhausting arguments
guns don’t ****, people do
We had to write a political/protest poem
Kayla Hardy Mar 2019
The loving, vibrant life I try to give you won’t be fair,
finding your ground won’t be easy on this never-ending, spinning orb.

Although I keep you safe and sheltered in this, hand-made dome,
it can’t protect you from the damage of natural disasters.

Rules aren’t meant to be broken because if you break them,
you’ll end up tumbling down a steep, rocky cliff with nothing to gain but pain.

Sticks and stones may break your bones, and other words can break through your innocent, fluorescent bubble and leave you with a litany of tiny scars.

Crying under the secure, warmth of your home won’t lessen the blow from that whirlwind of turmoil and heartbreak.

Drowning in a burning elixir and fading into a cloud of toxic smoke will only numb the aches and it will dim your glowing light, killing you rather than healing you.

Cutting yourself off from this dysfunctional reality will only bring you damp, cold, darkness to fend for yourself and nothing survives on its own.

No matter how much hatred bubbles up like hot lava inside of you,
remember who was your home,
remember who cared for you,
remember who gave you life,
remember me.
Prompt: Write a poem about the things you’ll tell your future children someday
Kayla Hardy Mar 2019
How can I, a source of such exuberant energy, look so startled?
Black, sunken eyes with a wide, gaping mouth that can **** you, but also bring things to life.
Hunched against the wall, I pale in comparison to the pretty polka-dot paint,
just a hard, blank shell covered in dirt, grime, and dust.
Come to me only when time is on the line, with forceful, shaking hands.
to fill my deep, dark void with a surge of passion,
only to abandon me for hours at a time, while I exert all my energy just to bring you joy.
I hum and buzz until you rip away my nutrients until I’m ****** and drained,
with my surprised expression returning to one of electrifying horror.
But still, I’m the lucky one to give you a glowing light, always full, to destroy the darkness.
I’m not one that gets lost in dusty shadows that might never be found,
who sits in silence, with that shocked face, waiting to find out his powerful purpose.
Prompt: Write a portrait of someone or something no one else pays any attention to.
Kayla Hardy Mar 2019
Budding with excitement and seemingly pointless fear,
but I held a new life in my hands shown through a *** of all my savings.
My eyes dart wildly in awe of all the different cars,
big ones, small ones, new ones, and foreign ones.
Everyone smiled at us - the dealers and the other buyers who walked out with
shiny, new vessels as if it were nothing.
Nobody knew this was our fifth dealership, even we pretended to lose count
maybe this time we’ll leave with something.
I know they can see how badly I yearn for a car of my very own
that I can say is mine,
that I worked for it,
that I can watch age through the years.
Kayla Hardy Feb 2019
Multiple eyes glisten under the scalding lights
with hooded lids like a blood-thirsty spider stalking its prey

Yelling in the spotlight where the words fail to come out
locked behind gates of enamel shaking in the cold, wet dark

Full-fledged failure alerts the signal which forms
salt soaking stains against the burning, red hot flesh

Empty and alone, unaccepted and frozen like the
scrawny polar bear that wasn’t good enough to be the mate

Annihilation takes its course through the inside
resembling a death-eating disease stealthily flowing through veins

Reduced to nothing more than a fast-fading memory
gone as fast as a rollercoaster disappearing into the loud, tight tunnel

Silence that used to be comforting now is as deafening
as a tree falling in the middle of the forest, but nobody is around
Prompt: Write a poem that scares you. I first wrote down my fears, what those fears reminded me of and then came up with this piece.
Kayla Hardy Feb 2019
cheeks fill with the fiery heat of an embarrassing fire
eyes close so tightly a pounding ache sprouts from the skull
teeth lock together and lips bleed the more they fight to stay closed
hands press and are drenched in soaking salt as they hide the guilty pain
ears strain at the sound of stupid love songs mixed with ugly cries
lungs struggle to catch a breathe feeling like they’re running faster than they should be
heart alone in its shallow shaft knowing that it shouldn’t be sad when it feels so much love

But the head knows it was better to suffer now than to bleed all over a white dress.
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