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i just turned 17 and i bought a ****** e-cig
off some guy in venice.
it squeaks when i try to use it
and the vapor scares my cat,
and i’m in love with this girl who tried it
while she was tangled up in my sheets —
she said she hated it but hey,
i just turned 17 and i can’t be the only kid
in this city who doesn’t need a nicotine fix.
on thursday nights i stand outside coffee shops
with the ones who smoke those reds
and blues and velvet blacks
that come in wooden boxes like fine cigars.
i hate that scene but i’m addicted to it
because i just turned 17 and everything
about me is being reshaped like play-doh.
my mom calls it impressionable, i call it fearless.
i just turned 17 and i’d like to think i’m not as insecure
as i feel, but i had to move the full-length mirror
out of my room and nothing i do counts
unless i put it on instagram.
i just turned 17 and that’s the age all the
songs are about, the year of dancing queens
and cheap red wine and sneaking through
the suburbs to get to your girlfriend’s house.
i used to think i wanted to see the world but
i just turned 17 and i can’t stop falling in love
with the city i live in —
you can’t see too many stars here but it feels
safer that way, like i’m less likely to float into space.
tethered is a good thing to be,
at least until all the different parts of me
finally get strung together.
i just turned 17 and i’m scared the nicotine
can’t hide that i’m just a work in progress.
I'm sick of the disappointment that sets in when I realize you're over it.
Over me.
I don't care how long ago it was. Can you really look at me and not feel anything?
Guilt? Regret? Even the tiniest bit of want?
Because when I see you
I miss it.
The late night texts. The hour-long phone calls. The daily 'I love you's'
Can you really tell me that you've forgotten those feelings? Or don't at least think about it when you see me, passing by?
I don't know whether to find that hurtful or impressive. Because when I see your smile,
I think of years ago; hair curly, ear pierced. When we went to that cafe and you wore your red shirt because you knew it was my favorite.
How you gave me your hat and I took it off, embarassed and blushing.
I've realized that day is over. A mere wave in the endless ocean of time.
I need to learn how to swim so that one wave does not consume me.
 Jan 2014 Molly Gooderham
Alex
Oops I did it again,
I tried writing measly poetry,
Now I did the next thing again:
Oops I did it again,
I held my hopes up to the light like a moth with it's wings
So I got burned and this next thing happened:
The internet was down, again
The perfect punishment to my wishful crime
Reload, submit, publish it in public
And oops I see the error: wonky sad face icon, 404
My poem and my words are now Internet trash, debris
Goodbye old prose, goodbye sentimental meaning
What do I expect from the digital, the temporary?

Oops I did it again
I let my heart feel sadness, the madness of gladness and
Now I have Irish cream,
Drinking, stylish, from a coffee cup it seems.
I tried submitting a poem, freshly written, when to my shock and disappointment, the wifi went down and could;t load the page. The poem got deleted and now I am sad.
Dear last meaningful kiss,

It's hard to start this,
because long ago I was in such a bliss,
I dont know what to write,
but this cigarette in my sight,
is counting down the end of our night
The guitar is playing its final thoughts
and I reflect on the what to do and not's,
as I start to write the script again.
People stare at me as I write this aloud,
for I want everyone to know, I am not proud,
that this even exists,
but it does.

Your face is what haunts me the most.
When I stare at the coast,
fantasies of memories arise,
but vanish as I feel the falseness of lies,
creep upon me,
like a villain in a play,
but these thoughts I must put away.
They won't get me anywhere.

Except a lonely stare,
into peoples hearts that I seem to try and confide,
but in this rule book I'm writing I must abide,
and leave your side.

I dont think you get what this hurts like,
to ride a bike,
into nothingness of blank words,
that I reflect upon in past writing.
But back to the script I keep fighting,
there is no shading or lighting,
just another poem that I follow.



Dear the love that was never true,

I wonder if your writing too,
or if you even know you,
cause you like to dance around this heartbreak,
like an old soul tries to avoid youth, just for the sake,
sake of wondering what to do next.

As I write this script on my invisible paper,
I have to remember too add the hooded caper,
that's nestled in the shadows, that I frankly never see,
and add reluctantly.
I will look back and think that part wasnt necessary,
but my heart and eyes are wary,
of knowing when to put down my pen.

This will be a sad thing to write,
because night,
is sadly ending,
with the stars starting to fade,
I must abide,
with the fears that reside,
that I must tap onto this screen,
and make sure in this last hurrah, you dont seem mean.




Dear the one who use to be the spark in my nod,

I hear many applaud,
but I wont let myself smile, for this love story shouldn't have ended,
or maybe it hasnt just yet, and just has bended.
Mind is amended,
the wrong doings of past fames,
I can remember the actors I write, but not their names.
As I put my script into print,
and watch the masses on their screen,

"I must say I hate the ending myself,
but it started with an alright scene."


From the heartbroken kid,
with love.
So I wrote this when I was a wee teenager going through heartache...I always really liked tthe title and some of the lines *straightens tie* are most badass....If I ever do a compilation book, I'd split it up into sections, and my heartbreak/ache poems would be called...you guessed it, "the heartbreak letters"...I hope you enjoyed it :]
I want to write a masterpiece,
that puts my ego and drive to peace,
I want to make something that gets the masses to stammer and quake,
feeling oot the true humanity and delivering nothing fake,
something to make them feel love and heartache,
to give them a rise,
by building them up with beautiful lies,
and tearing them down at their peak,
making their own head and heart something deep inside,
they have to seek,
but brick by brick I'll build them back up to my side,
they will feel consciousness spread across the great divide,
when I do this master work,
I'll give them each a piece of my soul to lend,
and then the poem will end.
Long title that I thought would sound cool...I think this poem is a badass one...hopefully you will too
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands
Humanity i love you
because you would rather black the boots of
success than enquire whose soul dangles from his
watch-chain which would be embarrassing for both

parties and because you
unflinchingly applaud all
songs containing the words country home and
mother when sung at the old howard

Humanity i love you because
when you’re hard up you pawn your
intelligence to buy a drink and when
you’re flush pride keeps

you from the pawn shop and
because you are continually committing
nuisances but more
especially in your own house

Humanity i love you because you
are perpetually putting the secret of
life in your pants and forgetting
it’s there and sitting down

on it
and because you are
forever making poems in the lap
of death Humanity

i hate you

— The End —