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66.8k · May 2014
gay 10w
Margaret May 2014
If no one
Knew what gay was
Who'd be gay?
36.4k · Jul 2014
Irony of Water 10w
Margaret Jul 2014
Water is complex
gives you life
But can drown you
22.6k · Aug 2014
first kiss
Margaret Aug 2014
16.7k · Jul 2014
the beach
Margaret Jul 2014
The beach
Whoosh swoosh of the waves
Cute boys in the water
Whoosh swoosh
Of the water.
In my towel
Whoosh..... swoosh......
Hanging out at the beach today.
No matter what happens at the beach the water stays moving consistently
12.2k · Nov 2014
Boys in the mall
Margaret Nov 2014
Hey redhead! Redhead redhead! Cherry!
He likes you!
A day in the mall with friends yesterday.
But teenage boys though... :) haha
10.7k · Aug 2014
Margaret Aug 2014
Singing in the car
Windows rolled down
Guy rolls window down
I look at him and sing
He smiles
We go on
And I keep singing
9.9k · Aug 2015
bicycle boy
Margaret Aug 2015
He wears a Beanie
Aviator Sunglasses
Stumble over wheels
Eye contact
I smile
You blow a kiss
I want to wink
I don't
I smile
I like you
I'll never see you again
Bicycle boy.
An exchange in my car with a cute beanie boy on his bike.
6.9k · May 2014
May Flies
Margaret May 2014
Mum spilled wine on the patio
*The may flies are going to be drunk tonight
drunk flies haha
6.4k · Jun 2014
Margaret Jun 2014
I've gotten in trouble before
          though it hasn't been for awhile
For a shirt too low
                  or a short too short.

And I took time out of my day
For boys who couldn’t stop staring.
6.2k · Jul 2014
I yearn
Margaret Jul 2014
I yearn to put my head
On your chest
And inhale your delicious old spice.
You smelled good.
5.5k · May 2014
Hipster Poet
Margaret May 2014
I liked that poem
before it was trending.
Just a little humor to add to my seriousness!
4.3k · Jul 2014
Margaret Jul 2014
The puzzle is never solved.
They are looked at and pointed at
by children who don't know
that we're supposed to pity them.

Oh Son, Oh Daughter
they have Autism!
Oh, I feel so bad!

The straight jackets and shocks
have turned to stares and mocks.

They didn't to choose to be born this way
a piece of a puzzle that doesn't fit.

We look at them and thank God that its
not us.
Its not me.
But the indifference doesn't work.
We thank God that its not us.

But do we ever feel any empathy?
If you could imagine having a retardation
never really fully understanding anything

A chromosomal abnormality that would
affect your whole life forever.

Having to be watched
always having someone taking care of you
you would never have any independence.

Autism seemed to be their name
"he's Autistic"
It wasn't their name.
There is much more to them.

These people used to be tortured
people thought that they had a demon inside of them
that we had to get out.

What we never realized was that
the real demon was us.
The puzzle metaphor is a symbol for the "Autism Speaks" Foundation.
4.3k · May 2014
Yoga pants
Margaret May 2014
Once I wore Yoga Pants to school
That day I got asked out 3 times
All nice guys
All nice people
But I said no to all of them
Because something about those
pants made them see something
they hadn't noticed before
And I didn't like that.
I didn't like the fact that they didn't
see who I was in a **** dress
or in jeans
or in other clothes
All they noticed was how my ****
looked in Yoga Pants
I wanted them to ask me out
when I wasn't wearing tight pants
*Is that too much to ask?
I hope you all know what i'm trying to say :-)
4.1k · May 2014
Margaret May 2014
He moved away in 5th grade
A few towns down
Never saw him or heard of him
after that
the news.

Taught me how to write my number 9's
Fancy like they did in the text book
We joked about movies we liked
in 3rd grade

But he was hit by a car
and killed at age 13

1/3 of our middle school
hung our heads like a
rusty sign
on a graveyard gate
and the other 2/3 chatted
about not knowing him

All he is known for now is his ending
The news advertised his life
as "Hit by a car and died"

The obituary sums him up
but only we know the real him
and what lies behind that title
4.0k · Jan 2015
Margaret Jan 2015
Everyday come
                             Fill me
Reflect off of me, please
                             Days go by
                             Day after day
You used to worship me.
                             Worship my truth.
You came to me like a
                               sinner and
                               spilled all
of your secrets in
I reflect my truth faithfully
                                         back at you.
And you act
                      like i'm
From the perspective of a Mirror
Inspired by Sylvia Plath's "Mirror" :)
3.9k · May 2014
Margaret May 2014
My school work has prevented
Me from being able to do
Any yoga lately
And I feel like crap

A long day of school over
Then volleyball. Piano lessons
Or voice lessons
Or a recital Or an audition or a festival
(Which I should be having fun with
But I don't because all I can think about
Is the work
I have afterwards.)
I finish late at night
Try to cram in some social medias
I go to bed wicked late.

Then no time to even be clean
Until today I swear I hadn't taken
A shower in at least 3 days

And in the morning
In so tired I can't even
Get ready on time and I'm late for school
Or miss the bus
Or have to Sprint to the bus

There's no time to do my yoga
Or anything else for that matter
Because of school
And it goes like this again
Everyday during the week...
Too much homework :-( tgif
3.2k · Jul 2014
Old Spice
Margaret Jul 2014
I saw you for the last time
before you left for Georgia
we hugged in the hotel hallway
people walked by, we didn't care
what they thought of us.
It felt like it was just you and me.

I mumbled into your chest, "You smell good"
"It's Old Spice" you said "now whenever you smell Old Spice you'll think of me"

Now you're gone, and I probably won't see you again ever in my life.

I'll see you when I stand in the aisles
In the store looking for Old Spice
So I can smell you again.
I miss him so much.
3.1k · Aug 2014
music man
Margaret Aug 2014
Strum chords
Very urban

Hair in bun
Strum strum

music stops
Forehead creases

I have to go now.
Says Into microphone
If Jillian is on the street, I am on the street. The music man is on the street.
Message me If you want clarification on the meaning of this poem.
2.9k · Dec 2014
Margaret Dec 2014
Chaos at lunch
I study
A tap on the shoulder
"My friend likes you, can he have your number?"
An older boy

Shake my head no
You sure?

Walks away
Minutes pass.

Should've said yes.
Should've said yes.
2.6k · Apr 2014
Scents I love: Haiku #2
Margaret Apr 2014
That Axe cologne floats
as I await patiently
at the green locker
I love that cheap Axe cologne
2.5k · Feb 2016
Margaret Feb 2016
In a cloud of smoke you mask
At the bottom of a bottle she masks
2.4k · Aug 2014
it makes sense
Margaret Aug 2014
The love poems make sense.
The songs make sense.
They always made sense.
But they never made sense.
2.2k · May 2014
Margaret May 2014
Escapes my lips when I have nothing to say
Gives me compliments when I'm good at nothing else
Lifts me up when I'm down
Moves me when my heart is still
Loves me when no one does
And I love it back
Music is beautiful
Margaret May 2014
I have eaten
raw cookie
that was in the freezer

and which
you were probably
saving for a party

Forgive me
it was scrumptious
so sweet
and so cold
Inspired by "This is Just To Say" By William Carlos Williams' Note poem about plums.
1.6k · Jul 2014
Fear of Unknowing
Margaret Jul 2014
Fear of unknowing
Is what consumes us today
Every little piece of knowledge we need
Is at our finger tips
Just ask Siri
Google it
Look it up

But we fear the unknown and never do anything about it
When people were unacquainted with the rest of the world
They sailed to find it

When people didn't know a word
they picked up a dictionary and found it

We fear that God exists or doesn't exist
In truth, we really don't know
We fear the unknown, so we pray to the unknown.

We are scared of the dark
Not seeing and knowing every dot of dust
Not knowing what may lurk

We don't know when the world will end
The idea that it could happen, but we don't know when scares us

It scares me, as I am no exception to this fear.

We don't know what will happen next

Maybe instead of fearing the unknown
We could find curiosity in it.
Something I've been thinking about.
I met a first love a few days ago, on vacation. He lives in Georgia, I live in Massachusetts. I don't know what's going to happen which scares me.
I think we will have to move on... which is undesirable, my parents probably won't let me see him again. Even though I've been texting him, I yearn for him to hold me in his arms again...
This unknowing is my fear.
1.5k · Jul 2014
our hands
Margaret Jul 2014
On that tipsy floating dock All of us ran to the side
Trying to get as far as possible without tipping it or
Falling off.
Even though we were in our bathing suits...

I remember screaming

Then you reached
Your hand brushed my forearm
Your fingertips tickled my palm
And then intertwined with my fingers.
Then as we fell off
I grabbed your bicep

Why did you do that to me?
I'm a girl.
So I played that moment
Again and again and again and again
Like a song
That you don't hear anymore
After you listen to it too much.

But our hands I still
Our hands.
Our hands.
Recalling a moment with a crush two years ago.
1.2k · May 2014
T shirt Band: Haiku
Margaret May 2014
Please, Let me know When
You actually listen
To the band you wear.
A girl was wearing a Nirvana shirt at school, so naturally I got excited, and I tried to talk to her about Nirvana. She had no idea what  I was saying about Kurt Cobain. She was just a poser, pretending to listen to music that was *Cool*.
1.2k · Jul 2014
ocean love
Margaret Jul 2014
His hair was Sandy red
His eyes were sea foam green
His heart was as deep as the ocean
His love was like buried treasure
His soul was an aquatic beauty
His friendship was like a pearl

But his departure drowned me and heart sunk in the sea
The metaphors are relative to the ocean, that's were we met.
1.1k · Nov 2014
He wasn't always this way
Margaret Nov 2014
He wasn't always this way
A life  of smoke and ash.
He's A burned house
Only ash remains.

" He wasn't always this way"
I declare.
Not knowing his past.
But knowing no one starts like ashes.

No one starts like the ruins of his old home
Which was burned down
While his mother was still inside
No one starts like his mother ended.

He wasn't always this way.
Now he lives in ashes.
He lives for smolder. Lives for smoke.
Lives for ashes.

With every cigarette he has
Every drug he sells.
He lives in smoke.
Smoke and cinder.
His teenage lungs up in smoke.
His brain fiery addicted.

He said he didn't care.
A life in smoke.
A young life... tossed before the flames

They lick up his soul
He is.

Cindering, smoking


Cauterize the wound.
Obtain life again from the ashes
That were the death of you and your mother.
Like a Phoenix be reborn from the rubble
Smoldering and roaring
You are a beautiful flame.

Obtain beautiful flame.
Not searing flame
So I then I won't have to say
He wasn't always this way.
1.0k · Nov 2014
Things Change
Margaret Nov 2014
When I was in 4th grade
I wanted to be beautiful
So I put on eye shadow when
My mum couldn't see
In 5th grade, I wanted to be thin
Have long skinny legs
And a flat stomach
And pretty hair
So I curled it
and I straightened it
In 6th grade
I wanted to be popular
and all the popular girls were pretty
So I tried to look like them
So I could meet the new kids
At middle school
In seventh grade
I wanted sleek shiny hair
and a smaller
and pretty eyes
Whiter teeth

And in eighth grade
I wanted to be me

And in ninth grade
I wanted to be free
Margaret Jul 2014
What  are the morals  of today?
This morning I woke, and my mum told me that in my sleep I asked, "what are the morals of today"
I wonder what  I meant by that.
990 · May 2015
God, Joe, or Tiffany
Margaret May 2015
Are you there?
Prove yourself to me.
Is your name God?
Or is it Joe, or Tiffany.
God. Are you there?
765 · May 2014
The Summer Jam
Margaret May 2014
The day was hot and anticipating
We got ready all day
I got ready all of a month.
Because you would be there.
You, that boy who could rock a guitar
You, were the best drummer I'd ever seen
You, I'd had a crush on you since 6th grade
We sang songs and talked about music

All four of us went
my friends and
I in an aqua tank and shorts
I straightened her hair
and left mine natural

We listened to music.
Beautiful music.
A night of sticky
picnic blankets
and warm clingy grass
and peace and harmony

And ever since the end,
of that night
I've been preparing myself
For this years
Sweet anticipation
I can't wait to see you
at the
Summer Jam
I can't wait to see you again
736 · Apr 2014
Weaknesses and Strengths
Margaret Apr 2014
If my jealousy was water
the glass would be full
If my laziness was a lawn
It would be green
If my beauty was an ocean
You would see only sand
If my devotion was a bird
It would soar
If my happiness was a bell
It would ring
If my hope was a glass
It would be full
If my Passion was a spark
It would turn into an inferno
If my love was a waterfall
It would roar
And If my peace was a song
It would sing
681 · Dec 2018
Nail Polish
Margaret Dec 2018
Late one night
walking home
I felt a long pink
finger nail
touch the
pad of my thumb finger
and it was my own
and somehow

I thought
to my grandma

how many bottles
of pink nail polish
collected in that
far from antique
white plastic container
and at visits
the rummaging
I would do
inspecting each color
and she taught me how
to paint each nail
one on the left,
one in the center,
one on the right,
for each nail

and when they
were drying she
would tell me
to blow
I would sit
so tall and proud
for not having smudged them

Such a childish thing
and yet how warmly
I remember this
when she died
I could have all of her
nail polishes
Wow, it has been a long time since I wrote for Hello Poetry. I started writing on this website as the only outlet for an awkward teenaged girl who was the only one in her classes enjoying poetry. Looking back, the content I was putting on the site wasn’t very good, but I loved the community here. So much has changed since then and I think as you get older you come to realize less is more when it comes to poetry. (With amount of words used at least). It will sometimes be months since I’ve written anything, but I wrote this one late a night or two ago, recalling this memory of my grandma. When she died, I lost a huge mother figure  in my life. My own mother was not the type to paint nails.
600 · Apr 2014
The Boston Bombing
Margaret Apr 2014
“I parked my car in the Harvard Yard”
People ask me to say.
My state was a
T o  r     n
by terrorists
This day.

7th grade, April vacation
on a cruise ship, I was excited
To get out of that cold
New England weather

Laying on the twin bed
Stomach churning
From the sea, Like butter that never thickens

TV said,
“Boston Marathon Bombing”
My face turned red.
I willed my friends to stay out of Boston.
Jill was in Boston
Thank god she’s alright

What kind of fame did they want?
What kind of pride comes with this?

The worst part:
We could not do anything about it.

Aged 13, 7th grade.
Nothing we could do.
Cruising past Virginia in a stark lit cabin room
I couldn't do anything.

In these months passed since the attack
I have taken the live and dead and held them like a closed fist in my heart.

They will cease to remain a number
of a statistic
of an event
5 dead
It said.

5 dead means nothing
They had lives, families, people knew them.
People knew them as more than the “5 dead”
So when you say 5 dead. Think about what lies behind the number,
1 was 1 to many.
No time for regrets.
Could we of changed what happened?
Could we of taken more precautions?
No one knows.

We can’t change what happened that day.
So if we can’t change our past,
Lets start by changing
417 · Apr 2014
Scents I Love #3 haiku
Margaret Apr 2014
Late Easter fire
Soaked up in my clothes and hair
Mixed with memories
I say Fire as 2 syllables :-)
416 · Apr 2014
What exactly is poetry?
Margaret Apr 2014
Poetry Is Beautiful
Poetry is a painting.
        Your canvas, your paper.
Your pen is your brush.
        Each word a pigment
When blending pigments in sentences
It can create beautiful things.
        People have trouble sharing them.
Because art is personal
It is a part of them that they do not want judged.
It is honest.
        Which is beautiful
And raw
        And is not always perfect.
Which is beautiful.
Poetry is music.
Each note tells a story,
Every crescendo
        A word
Each pianissimo a whisper.
        The fermata, the lines
The tempo the rhyme
        Music is beautiful.
Poetry is music.
Poetry is you.
                        YOU are beautiful.
Poetry is beautiful.
Like poems,
                You are are criticized.
And looked at up and down
                        By greedy eyes.
People search for meaning in you.
                        You, like poetry
                are complex and different.
and people have different opinions on you.
Like Poetry, some do not get you.
                                Some do not understand you.
And others have a great appreciation for you.        
        Which is beautiful.
I am poetry.
        I am different.
People judge me too.
From the curve of my thigh
        To the shape of my hips
To the swing of my walk
To the length of my lines and stanzas.
You are poetry. I am poetry. Music is poetry.
        Poetry is beautiful.
Poetry is the earth.
From the burn of the sunset
                to the ache of the old willow tree
To the rusty croak of the toad
The golden fields of wheat,
To the mountains.
         Confident and strong.
        Which are beautiful.
The earth is beautiful.
Poetry is the world.
It is yours,
        It is mine.
Like the world
It is yours.
it is mine.
        People have trouble sharing them.
Which is not good
for anyone,
But like the world, poetry can be beautiful if shared.
Poetry is beautiful
Poetry is us.
It is everything.
Poetry is beautiful.
p        o        e        t        r        y
What is this website for? Poetry. What is poetry? Everyone has their own definition. Mine is above. And to me poetry makes life bearable.
273 · Apr 2014
After someone dies
Margaret Apr 2014
After someone dies
for me after the wounds
that I never thought would heal
scab over
After a year or so
the scab that is left
is what my brain has been wired to do
I still say
they are
and everyone else says
they were
and I say
he/she is
instead of was
So I want to keep believing that
people wont notice
but they do notice
I can see that melancholy glimmer
in their eyes
when I talk about these friends
these family members
who still Are
to me
and never will be

— The End —