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Darby Nov 2015
September is never my month.
My life's been at its worst every single September for the past 3 years.
Threes years ago in this month I found out we would be moving by the end of the school year away from the house I had lived in for 5 years of my life.
I was 11 when we moved.
I lived at the house for a little under half my life.
I slowly watched all of my childhood memories being shoved into boxes and taped up just to be found 10 years later in the attic of the mysterious new house we would move into and that tore me to pieces.
We moved in may and I felt okay about it but then we started school the next year in 6th grade and then September came along and he went out with the cousin I hated the most, the girl that treated me like ****, and even my best friend.
I still loved him and that ripped me to pieces.
He realized how amazing I was in February and We started dating in March that year.
It was perfect all summer.
Then September came along in 7th grade and he broke up with me on the 19th.
I didn't cry.
But I wanted to.
Oh, I wanted to so bad.
I still loved him and that tore me to pieces.
I held on to hope that he would realise he still loved me until March that year.
My cousin was born on what would have been our one year anniversary and that ruined that day for me.
I stopped waiting for him.
He came back to me as soon as I got a boyfriend in April.
We went out for awhile until I realized I didn’t love him the same.
Through all of that there was one person that was there for me and I had the slightest crush on him because I was so focused on the other boy.
I realized I loved him the summer before 8th grade.
When school started we didn't have any classes together and didn't have time to text as much as we used to.
One of my friends Told me how she saw him in the hallway and I started crying because I never saw him during the day.
September started and I decided to tell him that I liked him and he handled it okay.
It turns out that he was actually going to ask me out, but one of my closest friends gave him the whole “what if it ruins the friendship” speech and he changed his mind. He knows that I knew everything and now it's different.
Septembers a *****
and I think now I understand why Greenday wanted to sleep through it.
sorry it's so long
Emily Jones  Nov 2015
Used to be
Emily Jones Nov 2015
Im that same little blue eyed girl who walked into walls before you knew I was blind.
That same jaggle-toothed imp who got busted for staying outside too long.
The crazy tomboy who hit a home run, sliding so fast she skinned her elbow, knees and arms.
Winning and grinning that victory smirk

Im the same punk *** teen that razored her hair
With blackebd eyes to old for her face.
The same lonely girl trying to make some space.
The sweet hearted goth with sarcastic smile.
The Greenday ****** against it all.

There was a time where the music stole my soul.
Only to return it shattered over a boy I didnt care to know
But it came back with a vengence.
To play rock band with the strings on my heart.

Now tattered and tatted I stand before you now
All all grown up the early phases of my life set free
Shifting like a camilion I am all these things and not.
But dont confuse me
Im better than ever before
Im not searching for it anymore
I am free of what used to be me.
Em MacKenzie May 2017
The first time I walked into my home was when I was five,
My mom and her best friend Louise signed me out of school,
we ate McDonalds on the hardwood floors and looked at the bare walls,
they were actually blank canvas's, waiting for life's pictures to be painted upon them.

When I was eight, my sister and I got into a fistfight,
in our shared room, a mere five feet away from my parents.
They knew it was time for us to have separate rooms,
and they turned an old den into a makeshift room that night,
where my sister would sleep until her teens.

I remember Sunday mornings,
stumbling down the stairs with sleep in my eyes,
and hearing oldies playing on our stereo,
smelling a big breakfast cooking.

I remember Monday mornings,
procrastinating to come downstairs and face the Canadian winter weather,
my mother getting ready for work,
but not before making us toast even though we never had an appetite in the morning.

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

I spent countless days and nights in my first room,
always an introvert, always alone with my imagination.
It went from playing with Star Wars action figures,
to playing guitar, to writing poetry,
and eventually when computers were the big thing,
I spent my teen years playing xbox and downloading music.

Some nights I drank in that room.
Most nights I smoked countless joints and cigarettes.
A few times I even did mushrooms,
paranoid the entire time my mother would open the door and question me,
but usually she was more concerned about the candles I lit to cover the smoke,
100% certain I would light the house aflame.

My sister eventually moved into the basement,
the same one where we would sit on the rough carpets,
far too close to the TV,
playing Legend of Zelda, and Greenday's "******" blaring in my ears.
I'm still half deaf till this day.

I remember falling asleep outside,
rocking back and forth on our cushioned swing,
surrounded by greenery and sun,
bird chirps intermixing with my mp3 player.

I remember my modest above ground pool,
and my sister teaching me how to swim at six,
only taking breaks when she would attempt to drown me.

My sister moved on and I moved into the basement,
and spent an entire weekend painting and making it my home.
Bright green paint with lilac purple,
and posters of Sid Vicious, illuminated by lightsabers.

My mom got sick with Cancer,
and I remember sitting in the living room while she cried,
telling myself she would be ok,
that she would live even against impossible odds.

I remember coming home from overnight shifts at the women's shelter,
lying on the shaggy carpet and watching her with half lidded eyes.
"I'll go to bed soon."

A week before Christmas my mother moved into the old den,
the one my sister moved into when we were so young,
so she'd no longer need to go up the stairs.
The same stairs we used to slide down on with pillows.

I would lay awake in my basement, listening to her footsteps,
the same footsteps that used to wake me up far too early.
Now keeping me awake and on edge,
ready to run up to her in case she needed help.

I remember Christmas morning,
how the walls echoed "she's gone" and "call the doctor."
How my father sat at the living room table, pouring himself drink after drink,
how my sister lay on the couch crying,
and I, trying to make my mother proud, cleaned the house.

I was alone for years,
in a house that wasn't a home,
my mother dead, my sister moved out,
my father taking anything of value to his new home, with his new girlfriend,
a woman who shares the same name with my mother.
But not the same heart.

I stayed in my basement,
getting high and writing poetry,
listening to music so there would be another voice but mine.

The first time my wife walked into my home,
she surveyed the damage done to the house and made it a home again.
A nice mixture of our belongings now mix with my mothers,
keeping her memory alive in every room.

We spent many nights in candlelight, inlove, laughing,
and again the house had life and love in it.

This summer my home will be sold,
and in a matter of months this little 50's house will be destroyed.
Our medium sized lot will make room for two modern buildings,
and the twenty-three years spent here will be demolished.

There is mold in the basement,
the electrical is gone to ****.
The drywall is crumbling, the paint is scratched,
and the plumbing is sketchy at best,
but this home will always stand strong in my heart.
After living here for twenty-three years my father has decided to sell my home. For the past four years I've lived here alone, with my girlfriend, and recently with my sister aswell. The next chapter in my life is exciting, but I've been feeling down knowing my family home will be destroyed. Such is life, I suppose.
Matthew Rousseau  Dec 2015
Alone
Matthew Rousseau Dec 2015
From a young age it's followed me,
with a scrunched back and a shrouded face
like a shadow
it watched me write alone behind the dumpster
cross streets when cars came,
and that time I played chicken it was there to comfort me

My life is the lamest tragedy
I walk this lonely road,
the only one I have ever known
and greenday got me through it back then
but now it all falls apart

we're apart and I don't think there's a remedy
alone through this life is the way I ride
and it may be the last time tonight

I write because no one listened
maybe I'm too emotional
my psyche has gotten out of control
tentacles reach from memories buried
and they come forth to haunt me

I just feel empty like a deflated balloon
used up, thrown out, and so **** blue
I can try to put light where there is darkness
but there hasn't been any light for me

So I will sit here alone at my desk in contemplation
I don't think it will help but I've been
my own company for far too long
so much that I stopped singing my song.
I am really depressed. More of a rant than a poem sorry for the **** quality.
as origin of **** Sapien species surged ahead,
harboring nascent predominance
   asper said primate reproductively bred
(albeit via incremental fits and starts)
   evolutionary forebears didst dread

   lock, stock and barrel arboreal cred
whence, (since time immemorial) nasty, short
   brutish, loutish, and vampish anthropological,
genealogical, and millennial report
   card found forebears

   precariously position quart
toured place de resistance purport
   head supremacy devastatingly,
   heavily, and literally bruited nearly abort
ting tentative tenacious status oft times

challenged minuscule leading edge
proto humans rendered perch
   (on evolutionary leading cusp) fund hedge
ching hypothetical bets said simians

   nearly toppled off figurative privy ledge
against being easily uprooted
   akin to one weeding out unwanted sedge
imposing fledgling breakfast of champions
   clinging to niched wedge

while serial incessant challenges nearly wrote
off and snuffed out, extinct et cetera
   clinched placed viz *** him tote
often at fateful loggerheads,
   where survival of the fittest  smote
poised dawn of dusky mankind

   viz apish creatures almost got rote
   off while chance dominance, eminence grise
   pitted, spitted, and got vetted sans un quote
   able primal screaming expletives
pitted Neanderthal progenitors note

worthy kickstarter scrum
   ump hired held dim promise,
   whether weathered brood,
which smattering population comprised
   a scattered handful of rudimentary

   destined to become
   some ascribe God's sigh propitiated
   contemporary lass hit dude
whence, amidst looming pointed danger
   confronted Geico caveman,

   and aside from external
   threatening depredations
   comprised tribal family feud
where might versus right
   the deterministic factor aye include

at undoubtedly animalistic behavior
   defied being categorized as lewd
since each monkey's uncle
   punctuated equilibrium with cut throat

   i.e. Maciavellian imprimatur
   fate didst not occlude
attested via rotogravure fledgling artistic shewed
also absence of consciousness rued

until...fast four words
   (count them) - to the present system of a down day
when carnal, feral, and integral leanings attempted
   to rope hormonal, gonadal, and banal found
   more recent ancestors (discovered
   visa vis like 23andme)

   on a greenday rolled in the hay
under natural predilection to lay
naked, especially frisky comb early May
procreative force
   engendered the writer of this poem,
   when his parents coaxed fore play

unbeknownst, that their singular heir,
   would be afflicted with countless
   mental ollie ollie oxen stinging ray
obsessive compulsive mailer to slay
ritualistic controlling psychic threnody
dominated favored holistic paradigm oye vay.
Katlyn N Tester  Oct 2014
Memory
Katlyn N Tester Oct 2014
I close my eyes at night, and everything fades to the memory of her and I in the bathroom at our high school.
Awkward silence fills the bathroom as we stand in front of each other.
Her in her greenday shirt, blue jeans, and converses looking stunning.
I was in my usual NWHS hoodie, skinnies, and my black op's.
She was biting her bottom lip and looking to her shoes as if she were begging me to touch her but too shy to say so.
She wasn't wearing her glasses that day and it made it so much easier to see how the light reflected off of her dark green eyes as her red hair slipped down the side of her face.
I slowly pushed it back into place behind her ear, she smiled her sideways smile that stole my heart the first time I saw it.
I walked closer to her and placed my hand on the cool tiles above her head trying to act all smooth, but she knew better.
I gently pressed my lips to hers as she quickly backed away after our lips made contact.
I stepped back thinking that I'd done something wrong.
When she slipped her hand so sweetly up my arm to my neck and leaned in once again as our lips moved up and down against each other.
Her lips were as soft as satin and yet so heated like the sheets on a bed after someone has slept in them all night.
She tasted like sweet melons, but blamed it on her gum.
I made my way down to her neck as she cringed begging me no no not there as if she knew I was starting something that I couldn't finish... at school.
I bring my attention back to her lips when the bell rang for me to go back to my third block.
When I walked away and turned the corner I had to stop and lean against the wall to catch my breath and realize I just kissed the girl that I fell for back in fourth grade...
And she like d it... my dream.. became a memory that will soon be reality again.
Freedom from onset of pervasive gloom
(attendant with profusely perspiring palms,
hut tree men duh us aggravation), would be
a dog send to this melon collie bow wow
wing **** sapien aging baby boomer.

I already attend weekly counseling (no
weeknd) in tandem with experiencing
alleviation linkedin to severe anxiety,
depression, obsessive compulsive disorder.

Courtesy of father's litte helpers (Buspirone
Hydrochloride Tablets 15 mg twice daily,
Clonazepam 0.5mg tablet once daily,
Clomipramine 50 mg once daily, Fluoxetine

HCL 20 mg once daily, and Fluoxetine HCL
40 mg twice daily), prescription medications
considerably diminish disabling severity to
function, which afflicted yours truly soon
after being borne circa January thirteenth mcmlix.

Beset with psychological distress manifested
by physiological symptoms nsync with Inxs
adrenaline triggering heart palpitations, irritable
bowel syndrome, nausea, and vertigo said
unrelenting panic attacks considerably less

immobilizing prior to readily assenting to rely
on synthesized biochemical pharmacologically
manufactured as the next best option verses,
(no gallows humor pun intended) "magic bullet"
triggered by presed firearm.

Despite medicare coverage to acquire manufactured
selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors, as a benefit
long since being deemed eligible to receive social
security disability, every now and again mine
mental health state pitched into abysmal despair,
an emotional nadir fraught with greater predilection
to inflict permanent self-harm possibly...premature demise.

Ah...without cloud crowdsourcing doubt, this mortal
man would hanker to plead within his genuine schizoid
personality disordered body to become free and clear
of life figuratively weighed down with bajillion pound
millstone gravely dark shadows synonymous with edge

of night prevalent with outer limits of twilight zone.
While awaiting (with increasing anticipation), which
salvation I can never ketchup with will find me
steadfastly, (albeit grudgingly) popping pills.

Plus, this holistic hombre resorts to transcendental
medication and physical exercise incorporating two
(one for each hand) dumbbells.

Meantime...an effort to seek succor availed sought out
by The Wizard of Ozzy Osbourne (waiver place he lives).
Hmmm most certain, he would be most accessible
upon a Black Sabbath.

If not him...this schlepper will trod along the boulevard
of broken dreams, yes - most definitely on a greenday.

Ever the cautious optimist, aye hopefully stumble across
an antiquated lantern pleasantly surprised when (after
carefully dusting off accumulated detritus), a garden
variety genii unexpectedly appears.

She/he, (perhaps after transgender reassignment
originally a him/her), would bewitch and spellbind
me after asking "wiccan I do for you," and deliver
immediate coveted ampoule, essentially a placebo.

Peace at last, plus long and fostered relief from
agonizing mental torture.
    
Without doubt, a greater probable chance more
favorable for this luckless male to win lottery (even
just a paltry million dollars), despite steep odds,
as opposed feeling akin to Atlas bearing weight
of world wide web!

Please feel free to toss pennies, nickels, dimes...
into virtual Fountain Head.

— The End —