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Nightingale74 Sep 2015
When you're dead inside,
you need something--
or someone
to believe in.
So believe in yourself.

Because you are made
of something great--
something so...
incredible.
So believe in yourself.

You can accomplish
anything and
everything
if you just try.
So believe in yourself.

When your world falls down,
only you will
be there to
pick yourself back up.
So believe in yourself!
Nightingale74 Sep 2015
Eighty years
to love,
Twenty-nine thousand, two hundred days
to leap,
Seven hundred thousand, eight hundred hours
to learn,
Forty-two million, forty-eight thousand minutes
to laugh,
Two billion, five hundred and twenty-two million, eight hundred and eighty thousand seconds
to live,
One lifetime
to leave…
Nightingale74 Sep 2015
Angry words and vengeful tones
dripped like poison
from our lips.

We were both to blame.

But you said you're just human,
so it's okay.
What about me?

Aren't I human too?

You said it was all my fault,
but then you said
you loved me.

I don't understand.

Your words are salt in my wounds,
so I'll just say
I'm sorry.

But are you sorry?
Nightingale74 Sep 2015
I believe there are angels.
They live among us,
hiding behind masks
so effective
they fool even the wearer.
These masks aren't pretty
cause life's not easy,
even for angels.
I know an angel.
The cuts on her legs
make her think she's
a mistake.
Cause if she weren't,
then why would people hurt her?
They toss around insults
like candy.
They speak in angry tones,
hardly ever kind ones.
They brush her off
like sand.
No one pays attention,
no one really knows.
No one knows the pain she's forced to go through.
But I do.
I see the way they treat her.
I know how it makes her feel.
And it kills me.
She's haunted by demons
night and day.
They torment her.
They scare her.
They push her closer to the edge.
And I see it in her eyes...
alive but dying.
I can see through her eyes...
it's how I see past her mask.
Her eyes say the words
her lips will not.
They plead for help,
they yearn to be saved
from the darkness
closing in...
too fast...
But what she doesn't see,
is all the strength she needs
is within her heart already,
hidden behing the mask.
And though she may seem broken,
she's still an angel.
She has a purpose...
something only she can do.
She has her mask to help her,
cause though it seems a burden,
one day it'll lift another's.
I know someday she'll find her wings.
One day she'll understand.
But until then,
I'll be with her,
I'll give her strength,
I'll lift her up.
Cause she's my angel,
and she always will be.
Until the very end
  Sep 2015 Nightingale74
Poeticatheist
Cliche: The world is yours for the taking--
       The last poem in a purple notebook--
Creative (possibly): The world is yours for the making--
       150 degrees--
where Africa is the continent placed
       UpSiDeDoWn
and North America,
       against all logical sense,
is in the south.

       Little boy in sixth
grade.
       Go to the man who painted the walls white,
dropped textbooks in every teacher's lap,
       and taught them how to
babysit.

       Tell him that we
need more than one flavor
       to splash our palette.
A subtle flavor so small
       that it's dust-like.

Make him give us something
to change,
to express our love,
to make our blood dance with passion,
and permanently graffiti the walls
with our heart's emotion.
This poem is in response to the principal at my old middle school's attempt to do away with the creative writing class. To this day, it is my favorite class I've ever taken, and one of the few places I've truly felt welcome.
  Sep 2015 Nightingale74
ln
effort;
ˈefərt/
noun

to her, is studying during the wee hours of the morning
to him, is the time you spend asking how his day went
to her, is the lovely pair of shoes you got for her that flatters her dress
to them, is the days you showed up despite being ill
to him, is the admission slip into an ivy league university
to her, is the work you left behind to attend your uncle's funeral
to them, is the messages you send out, asking how they're doing

to you,
is to get out of bed each morning, even when you don't want to
is to accept that it is, by God's will that you are where you are
is to understand that your body is a gift and you will cherish it
is to learn that you don't live to please everyone
is to stand up for yourself, even when you are too timid to speak
is to fight for what you want, and never backing down
is to pick yourself up every time you fall, and come back stronger
is to fix yourself, piece by piece
is to unravel your mind &  live with the memories, even if they **** you

effort to you, isn't effort to her
effort to him, isn't effort to you
effort to them, isn't effort to him

but that is okay, we know you're trying

*we know
  Sep 2015 Nightingale74
Nikki Giovanni
poetry is motion graceful
as a fawn
gentle as a teardrop
strong like the eye
finding peace in a crowded room
we poets tend to think
our words are golden
though emotion speaks too
loudly to be defined
by silence
sometimes after midnight or just before
the dawn
we sit typewriter in hand
pulling loneliness around us
forgetting our lovers or children
who are sleeping
ignoring the weary wariness
of our own logic
to compose a poem
no one understands it
it never says "love me" for poets are
beyond love
it never says "accept me" for poems seek not
acceptance but controversy
it only says "i am" and therefore
i concede that you are too

a poem is pure energy
horizontally contained
between the mind
of the poet and the ear of the reader
if it does not sing discard the ear
for poetry is song
if it does not delight discard
the heart for poetry is joy
if it does not inform then close
off the brain for it is dead
if it cannot heed the insistent message
that life is precious


which is all we poets
wrapped in our loneliness
are trying to say
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