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I have
been sober
for about
8 months.
Go me.
A caw-
ing of birds
with blunt
-ed beaks
and clip-
ped wings
that can’t fly
or sing
worth a lick
-ety split
ing and peck
-ing a-way
at the best
ing inside
a chest
-full of
ing Blue
felt art
songs in-
of sing
-ing along
ing they
know better
-   the rest?
This in response to the deletion of a great and true HP Poet’s account tonight as a result of constant harassment by at last count 13 dumbass, iealous, couldn’t write a decent poem if the male har-ass-ers tripped over their stupid pricks and the idiotic wagging female tongues who all took part in this. You know who you are. This harassment was reported to HP and to Eliot directly without the courtesy of a reaponse, and without action to curb it. The creation of monitors was a total waste of time. Many of you know her as Vicki. I’m sick of this kind of shit done by supposed adults, and sickened most of all by HP’s allowing this to continue even after multiple messages. As far as I’m concerned, the Guidelines and the so-called monitors aren’t worth a fucking dime. Which is exactly 10 cents more than I’ll ever again contribute to HP.  Go ahead and lock me ip, put me in the corner for awhile, or expel me. I don’t care. Maybe  we will see if the monitors are paying attention at all, or just another silly myth. If you’re a monitor and reading this, I would like to hear your thoughts after you wake the fuck up.
Most Sincerely,
The Non-Poet
life is like
when you're
a little kid
and you
discover that
there is more
than twenty-four
crayons in the box
that there is
the possibility
of forty-eight colors
of sixty-four
of one-hundred and twenty
that there are
so many shades
of love and anger and peace and despair
and absolute bliss
and the ability
to express them all
are now
in the palm
of your hand

life is
and absolutely wonderful

every day is
a new sunrise
a new chance
to transform into
the butterfly you
want to be

go out there
and change the world, kid
Ashly Kocher
My name is Ashly (yes spelled without
the E)
I was born without a windpipe and was 3 months premature.
I underwent surgery for a tracheostomy and died on the operating table.
I was revived.
I was hooked up to many machines and my parents were told I wouldn’t live for more then 3 days...
If I would survive more then 3 days I would be hooked up to machines my whole life and be in a “vegetative state”
Doctors told my parents and family “I would never live to see my 18th birthday.”
I lived in the hospital for almost 2 years.
At age 2, I myself, ripped out my tracheostomy (which could have killed me)
My family rushed me to children’s hospital and the doctors decided to let the hole in my neck close and see what happens.
My doctors don’t know how I made it through the night or days after.
I went home after a couple weeks and that’s when I started living my life as a “normal” child.
All of my sisters were involved in dance classes, my parents( doctors didn’t agree) enrolled me in to classes.
Dance became my passion, along with gymnastics and musical theatre.
Something my family, doctors or even myself never thought I would EVER do.
On my 18th birthday it was a mixture of emotions.
I made a milestone that no one said I would ever see.
I competed in dance and gymnastics until I was 19 years of age as well as did over 60 musicals at my local theatre company.
I never thought I would ever have a boy love me because I had “too many problems” or even get married for that matter.
Fast forward, I am now almost 33 ( June .11th is my birthday)
Married for almost 8 years to my best friend.
Happy doesn’t even cover what I feel everyday waking up next to my love.
We may not have a “family” of our own but we are happy and in love over the moon with one another.

So why did I just ramble on with this?
Because I’m a MIRACLE and a SURVIVOR.
Even though I don’t remember much from my childhood and what I and my family had to endure, I have been fighter since my first breath.

Just a little insight to my story. I left out some details but y’all get the idea. Hope this helps to feel why I write and my story.
unspoken words,
years of silence

it is time
to spread my wings

to embrace;

i am transgender
Strength in the way we invent,
   To splendour in our achievements.

No longer the reaping of belief!



                     The insecurities fighting

The fire inside,
Mightily spinning,
Flooring expectations.

          Following our own set of rules,
                      Becoming the true truth.

Transcending out of your youth,
Travelling miles,
In moments travelling mentally a lifetime.

                         Today is where it starts,
                                Authentic to bloom.

Swaying away from the others who stray.

                                            The boxers,
                          Lost in a world of labels,
Disabled from what they've remained,
          To continue the lacking game.

Sprung free,
This life is not what you need.

           No satisfaction to this slippery
                                  A body growing old,
     A mind misdirected and betrayed.

In your way,
Divert your gaze,
Away from the same.

          Accepting the strange ways that
                          But once you get in gear,
                              Let your soul appear.

A complete,
A connection to the right direction ignored.

     To be what you've always meant
                                                             to be,
                                            A controversy,
                                                The heat.

Beats living a life in which depletes,
Creating defeats.

                             Take hold of destiny,
                            An essence not in grief,
                But retrieving what it seeks.

© 2018

Abigail Sheard
About being yourself no matter the expectations of life you shatter, be what makes you happy.

Wrapped in silk and satin
she has been waiting
She doesn't expect him
not anymore, but habit
She nor grins,nor frowns
standing at the end of her lawn
The day count lost numbers,
lost many days and slumber
Hope faded, love went,
only she stayed
so far
You can pretend
That the black gloss
On my lashes
Will glue my eyes shut-
Make me blind to truth;
To ‘true knowledge.’
Go ahead.
Tell yourself
That my red-painted lips
Only spout nonsense.
It will only make it sweeter
When my wing-lined eyes
Give you whiplash
as I walk past you
To get my degree;
My award;
My paycheck.
Maybe if you’re ‘nice’
I’ll buy you an ice pack.
feminist makeup
© KMH 2018
The voice
I stand in the middle of the room
My classmates are commanded to listen to me
I am the 14th person to present and so far, everyone has done a good job

I stand in the middle of the room
I begin to saw the name of my project
“My Poem”
I cannot remember what it was about
I do remember, what I felt

I stand in the room,
Hoping that everyone feels what I felt when I was writing it
I felt excited, my stomach had ‘butterflies’ I think
I felt the heat in my heart and the cold on my shoulders.
I felt the tingles all over my body, and the air escaping me

I stood in the middle of the room
I stand in the middle of the room
I was in the middle of the room and said
“My poem”
I heard a chuckle.

I ignored it because the ‘in love’ heart in my chest was more excited than It should have been
I continues and my voice began to play tricks on me
And the r’s rolled and the words were suddenly in another language
My mind still ignored it and continues
Because I felt I could write, and read this and everyone could love it

I stood in the middle of the room,
I waited for the, applause, the smiles, the congrats, or even a simple ‘good job’ like everyone else
My teacher said, work on pronunciation. She said it again. Pro-noun-ci-a-tion
Ok. ‘Work on grammar.’ ‘Work on sentence structure’
“Work on being American” the chuckle said
Or the person who chuckled?

It didn’t mean much, you know
I loved writing so much that it did not matter
I would be a writer, I would continue to
STAND in the middle of the room and share my talent
And when I did, he chuckled
She chuckled, I was Mexican

Not a writer. Writers can’t be Mexican
Unless you write in Spanish and in Mexico
But I was too American for that at this point…

SO the next time I wrote I was ashamed,
Maybe if someone else wrote my writing?
But it didn’t matter,
When the teacher began reading,
The chuckle reminded the class it was the ‘Mexican’ who wrote it

“Mi nina” My mom would say
She reminded me that no only was I Mexican
I was a woman,
Only men thrive in this world
I believed it
And that is why my name is ‘The Voice’
Not my actually name,
Disclosure: I accept criticism on how to better my writing
NOT on what to write or on my background
Thanks, for a lesson I will never forget:

I make my own destiny!
It snaps,
It bites,
All whilst the body tightens

Alarming how it frightens,
Loosing sight of what is right

Hit by delusion,
Creating at times devastating confusion

At times it subsides,
In these moments the sun can rise

A week,
A day these normalities drift away

Unable to display the faith or usual insight.

Lucky these moments do not dominate,
Refusing for this to be my fate.

Anxiety attacks,
But with force and practice it retracts

Days are needed to submit,
Loosing a few battles to score and overall win the war.

Anxiety you will not absorb,
The bubbling cannot afford to control or to continuously floor the inner core.

The tactics at command,
Each corner to surprise and end the Reign in defeat.

You may attack,
But a warning I'll always fight back.

© 2018

Abigail Sheard
Since I've recovered/my PTSD has subsided, anxiety has played a large role in my life.
With mindfulness and a lot of coping mechanisms, I've been able to manage the flares. Turning flares into a few days or a week at max, instead of being dominate for months.

It may not seem much, but feeling in charge and seeing the improvements offers so much hope.

My hope is that everyone finds a way to tackle and fight their inner demons.
Anything is possible, just takes a lot persistence and hell of a lot of strength.
I've found one of the greatest joys
In life,
Is finding ourselves and pursuing
Opportunities that seemed IMPOSSIBLE

The aftermath and the struggle in
These revelations stings and throws
Life temporarily through utter

But isn't that how true growth

This is how we learn to conquer,
Creating a future safety to enthuse
Your whole with resilience and

The mindset to question
Even most importantly OURSELVES.

A path which sets us on a course to
With a lifetime of satisfaction.

© 2018

Abigail Sheard
More of a long winded statement, than a poem.
I am now braver than thee,
Not a frightened coward anymore.
My heart has turned into an oak tree,
Rigid enough to deal with a carnivore.

The nightmares are friend of mine,
Building power in me after every wake.
More adrenaline is now secreted by my endocrine,
Making me ready to fight even with a venomous snake.

Wanna know secret to my rejuvenation?
The answer may turn you blue.
Still, listen to my citation
I am brave cause I've dealt with a predator like you.
This is just a fictional write...
Thanks for reading ❤
Brianna Love
You think you’ve broken me down
that I’ll never stand again,
you think with hateful words
you’ve landed the big win.
So you think you know me…
I’m a pushover because I’m kind
don’t underestimate,
I actually have a powerful mind!
You don’t know the whole of it
and never, you truly will,
unlike you, I could never hurt another
out of hatefulness or thrill!
You are powerful with judgment
and you think you give a great show,
so go ahead, pick up that rock
give it a good hard throw!
But, remember this sweetheart
actually, it’s something you should know,
karma pays back in triple
I’d tread a little more lightly
if I were YOU,
all that hatefulness you put out
well, eventually darlin,
that bills gonna come due!
This Is Dedicated To My Troll With Love!
Merry Christmas!!

           No more time spent to react.

Now the drama is clear,
The poison lingers in your fear.

                      No longer to keep near,
                             No longer attached.

Now the facts are apparent,
   The lies now transparent.

             Peace in the space in-between,
                           Happiness to truly see.

This is my final goodbye,
Time to go and live my life.

              No longer stuck in your rife,
      Now finally no longer consumed by
            Your knife.

Now the wound is healed.

© 2018

Abigail Sheard
Ugo Victor
I can't sleep
Everytime I remember your words
They snap and recoil
And hurt me awake
Next time when someone
Promises me forever
I'll just smile
Look them in the eyes and ask
How long is forever to you.
Stella F
I do not fear the darkness that reside inside of you.

I have sat outside the gates for years listening to the whispers, the screams

I, your fearless warrior queen, waiting obediently for you to open the gates

Hear my war cry, and when the time is right
you can let me in to fight
I always try and explain this to people,
I am not a break down the walls to come and save you type of women,
But I am always there waiting and ready when you need me to fight alongside you. In a sense this is what I want as well, I don't need someone to save me, I want someone to fight with me when the time comes
A mystery,
Originally dressed in catastrophe.

Always reaching for peace,
To see,
To believe,
To find the beauty in everything seemed.

Now finding hope in everything dreamed.

Now the past which passed you will not destroy!

For my whole is now deployed,
Evoking opportunities and joy!

The strength remains from the pain,
Pushing to appreciate each and everyday.

© 2018

Abigail Sheard
Will I find you
in the shadows
looking over me
Will there be you
or it is just the continuation
of recurring hallucination.

It is getting trickier
to place you between
the imaginary and real you
both out to mess around me
your madness is catching me
the shady creature
filling my head space.

Manipulative ways
simply tracking my businesses
connecting into the web
stalking at all time
triggering an all kind

Invading in was easy
but the red light is on
between the scenes
the mask flew away
true colours will come out.

Holes in your plans
aren't as visible to you
the green figures
through the night vision
has come to play too
this exposure to the truth
keeps me sane
you got a new player
in this game.

I am counting the days
waiting for you in the shadows
to watch you
fall into your traps.
September Rose
Once we were on fire
Young    rebeliouse   free
We stormed the castles and took to the skies we flew we dreamed
We were ablaze our light setting raging screaming fire to the world around us
When our thoughts could not sit in silence any longer
When the kids were engulfed by a wave of fury of the injustice done by this world before we were even here
We screamed and demanded
But now it rains
Now the cold heavy water blankets the restless
The fire has been drenched in worry and stress
The brutal downpour has distracted all with false life or death
The blaze once 100 feet high now nothing but a charred soul

And all the ones put out by the rain
to tired to fight again,
pray on the generation next
That their fire is enough to best the storm
You’re not a poet because you know those ‘fancy’ words
You’re a poet because every word you write comes straight from your heart

You’re not a poet because people admire your work
You’re a poet because you write for your own contentment and not for people's consent

You’re not a poet because you feel alone
You’re a poet because pen and paper are your biggest companions

You’re not a poet because you understand emotions better
You’re a poet because you let them flow freely

You are not a poet because you’ve failed in love
You’re a poet because you’ve been in love deeper than anyone else

You’re not a poet because you are strong
You’re a poet because you don’t hide your weaknesses

You’re not a poet because you can heal hearts
You’re a poet because you know what it means to be broken
Dedicated to all the poets here. I feel happy to be a part of the community.
Life is not free,
it comes with a cost just to breathe.
The expectations not to be emplaced on the seed.
Judged for how they choose lead.
Punished for how they believe and chose to breed.
Marked and abandoned,
for choosing to see and to move away,
to reject disgusting displays.
To be shown disdain for following their own way.
Blamed when they choose not to stay the same.
Cost of the invisible chain,
placed on the terrain of birth.
Dependent to the pain,
to the mother who reined.
Tossed away when finally mirrored the destructive game,
patience snapped and apologised for the same way the birth-maid acts.
Distanced to detach,
to move away from the shame.
A promise made when a little babe,
to never be the same.
Shocked on the way,
they pushed patience down the drain.
Enacted by refusal to be the slave,
to take the blame and defend the endless plague you enrage.
Expected to be thankful,
guilted to stay in line.
Manipulated every time they attempt to  fly.
Co-dependently wrapped,
to give meaning the way in which your life lacked.
An ear to smear all your hate,
fear and tsunami tears.
Flooded in your pain,
you  the victim and to take no blame.
Born a parent in the early days,
cleaning and protecting you from the dirt you spurt.
From the countless monsters in which you learnt.
that you ever witnessed that level of madness.
Not to be kept to your past tense,
to swallow and drain with your inner hallow.
To clip their wings,
as for only you they can sing.
To demand,
offended when the glove is on the other hand.
To not poison others land or be offended when they flee.
When the hunger to find serene,
suck dry for too long.
Came to a point,
grief hidden within the earthly core finally exploded.
No longer naive,
willing to adore or ignore.
Needing to breathe,
to speak,
to burst out what has been hidden underneath.
To truly breathe,
to find reprieve.
To heal from the demons which deceived.
To unfreeze the mind,
from all the other monsters you missed slip by.
Not to be told that I lied,
because it breaks your god damn pride.
Not to be hissed at or dismissed,
for what you missed.
Life has been,
was what I owed,
for being brought up and given food.
The basics to accept the rudeness and being clueless.
Don't give birth if your child does not come first,
don't let them bleed to feed your own needs.
Recognise they're a child,
not a friend to take care after you've gone wild.
Not to be confined in places they seem wise.
A child is a gift,
not someone to heavy lift.
Not to manage your whims.
As a child do not owe,
no entitlement to treat them low.
Rid of your countless rules,
the one's incredibly cruel.
Those only practised by the few,
the ones who spread the blue,
to those who surround.
Unable to find stable ground.
Life should be free,
in this way you see,
it cannot not be.
Children deserve to breathe,
not to have them mentally disciplined onto their knees.

© 2018

Abigail Sheard
Poetry is my release, a place to reveal and heal.

I am very lucky that my anxiety and depression no longer fully control me, it has taken a lot of hard work though to get to this point.

Below is a link to how I moved to thriving, instead of trying to survive each day:

I want more,
all I want to do is explore.
Not letting life slip by,
to take flight and not care about getting everything right.
To really live!
Not being the person just to give!
A vision,
just a dream no more,
now to embody which is truly in my core.
To live each mystery,
not reliving each history.
Life a dance floor,
ready to host the fire inside.
Finally I'm ready!
To take charge,
let loose a riot.
No longer afraid to open the moments of the unexplored.
No longer cleaning up anyone else chores and gore.
That power is no longer a sin,
that it's finally my time to win.
My drive is more than being alive,
not to standby to have a stereotypical life.

© 2018
Abigail Sheard
When your finally ready to take life by the horns, to embrace what you truly are.
Bounce back,
You can't help in the ways your inners attack.
Find hope and joy,
In the ways you do not lack.
This is the task,
Yes some days you need to be alone.
Just so you won't blow,
I know that it takes its toll.
Life is too short to carry on such lows and woes,
Just keeping pushing yourself to grow.
Do not miss out on the wondrous show.
Remember to flow,
To walk before you can leap.
The knowledge you are not made to live the everyday,
Maybe a carnival parade.
Raiding all the information accessible,
Helping the talented and the unmissable.
This is the different person's gifts,
To find what is always missed.
Here to assist!

© 2018

Abigail Sheard
A woman who deserve an applause,
A woman who made history.
A monarch, who went large.

Cleopatra deserved a BAFTA,
with her poise and grace.
Never her make-up or hair out of place.
Her skin as silkier than pouring rain.
Her power, her reign, the way she pushed forward half of the human race.
Beauty within and out of her face.
That fire, the burning to stay strong.
To love, to lust, to move forward to what  was left within the dust.
I always wonder why, how she never let everything pass her by.
In the power of the summer sun, I feel her inside as one.
Her warm embrace, a woman who gave the race a taste of strength.
An icon above, but her beauty and mind lasting throughout time.
Leaving the world combined by natures grasp.
This leader to the rest,
loving too deeply and moving forward at her best.
Swept away from the might of life,
a legend to shine in the mind until the end of time.

© 2018
Abigail Sheard
Against the odds,
That's how life has gone along.

Trying always to do what is right,
Now without dimming the inner light.

Plagued for years extremely by PTSD,
Loosing my mind through the tears.

A time of showing strength,
Finding my feet to where I'm ment.

Keeping the urge to stretch and grow,
To move along to the inner sing along.

Anger and pain that reside,
To time set only to be mine.

The flashes have become rare,
Which at one point were difficult to bare.

Years of stripping back all the layers,
Completing the impossible cares.

By setting a steady stream,
With different compartments to sink my roots deep.

Reaching a feeling of nearly complete,
Accepting moments are needed to seep.

The opportunities to learn,
Not going on constant repeat.

Allowing yourself to breathe,
Occasionally allowing moments of grief.

Feeling of relief,
To the progress I keep.

Accepting at times needing to go in deep,
headstrong against this disease.

Days to weeks to months in reprieve,
Taken its temporary leave.

Tactics up my sleeves,
Giving choices to believe.

That the monster will no longer reap,
Destroying the insides as it leaves.

Faith in the process to succeed!

© 2018

Abigail Sheard
To dream,

To feel,

To learn how to truly deal.

To get past the point of reprieve,

To move forward through numerous


The hope to carry forward,

No longer plodding along and now

Appealing to what I feel.

No longer life is wrong,

I've found the niche,

The place where I belong.

As now ambition is in gear,

To the new path,

To home.

© 2018
Abigail Sheard
Jamie Riley
Why didn’t you lose, when it was on the news
And hundreds of thousands of people accused  
you of scandal, and incompetence?
You never revealed your conscience
or any remorse for your play boy antics
so far removed from your pedantic
stereotype as a political leader
more like a sleazy wheeler dealer
pervy old dirty geezer
over cologned and greasy heavy breather,
machinating falsifier
misogynistic paedophile,
machiavellian Italian stallion;
Faccia brutta o sfacime no?

You prized a Ruby above the rest.
Bunga bunga what a pest
she leaked your private fetish fest,
poor Silvio you did your best
to hide the bribes, the bets,
the whores the drugs the threats.
But you never really did care
what was right and what was fair
You got all the attention all the fame
and made the liberals look like philistines
by shrugging allegations that would define
and force any other politician to resign.
You waited until Italy was sucked dry;
for her wallet to exhale a defeated sigh
When you decided to resign.
How could the euro ever survive
with you wanting to prioritise
Your fucking sex drive?
I popped a bubble of reality,

the one you made me breathe.

Moving away from delusion and the

way you deceived.

In which you felt,

it was your right to make me bleed.

Viewing the unseen,

which led away and continued my stray.


each and every day,

exploring deceptions and perceptions

in array.

Learning new realities will stay,

until my dying day.

Whilst stagnant you remain.

© 2018
Abigail Sheard
Mind, body and soul,
that is the way to go to become whole.

Making the best out of every test,
but remembering to take a rest.
Not to arrest your woe,
as that will trigger lows.

To love oneself,
by not putting yourself first, you react a curse.
Only to blast out your worst,
blurting out distain.

These our ways in which I've found gain:

Nutrition to brain,
keeps the swelling away,
lowering anxiety and pain.

For the mind research and unwind,
remembering to be kind.
As everyone has a fight inside,
never actions aimed to make you blue.
Understanding oneself prevents the whole world being blind,
pity for those who hurt and you left behind.

Exercise for the body,
a place to release,
finding inner peace.
Away from frustration and anger which disallows you to sleep.

For soul love thy self,
letting go of those behaviours which you replay.
The ones which scare everyone away and cause you further pain.

As not everyone is to blame,
it gets to point where you become responsible for every choice.

Remember to give room for your own voice!
As it will give you opportunity to rejoice and move away from those who repeat.
Those who beat your whole away.

Though there will be rain,
a promise these things urge change.
Maybe months or years,
you will no longer dominated by tears.
Loosing the fear,
looking forward and holding onto those who are dear.

© 2018
Abigail Sheard
Finally I have a drive to do more than survive.

No longer riding along with the tide.

To live,
to be equal to the way I give.

To always say what I want each day,
without being afraid.

To be engaged by each day.

To be my best,
even if it creates a mess.

Never to be less than I perceive.

To always have something up my sleeve,
to never again be so naive.

Not to be expected just to please,
to learn to lead.

To make magic happen to those who I surround,
as now I am truly found.

To be the one standing on the tower,
no longer the one bowing down.

Ready to prove myself now!

To create throughout,
to stand out from the crowd.

Compelled to rise up high,
to spread my wings and fly.

Now the sky is finally mine!

© 2018
Abigail Sheard
Welcome to the group,
Call us the forgotten troupe.

Hitchhike our way to victory,
Write down dreams of royalty.

Paint stripes on a horse, we better spice up our act.
Sorry we're not rich enough to buy you honest facts.

Welcome to the group, call us the forgotten troupe.
Quiet down, sing aloud, the cops come after you.

Don't call us rebels, that's merely stereotypical.
Don't take what I say for granted, separate sarcasm from the literal.

You have a million dollars but refuse to pay?
Left behind in an abandoned maze.

I'd as for a penny, but you'd break it in half.
I'll have to sneak in, on the weekend, when you're low on staff.

Call myself a Robin Hood, but Locksley is too far away.
I'll stay here in my broken town, rhyming away.
Might elaborate on this in another poem, enjoy! <3

— The End —