Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Melody Jan 2011
He reads and watches.
When he gets this phone call.
Wife in the ICU.
His mirrored face is shattered on the sideline.
Hair matted against his forehead,
From the same dream every night.
Let his mirrored tears falls to the ground and shatter on the sideline.
Watch everything live on.
Let him not let go.
Will he come around to watch the game?
Will he ever come around the right corner?
Falls to the ground.
And we all listen to his screams be shattered on the sideline.
Sean Flaherty Apr 2014
You weren’t worth the
Hundred dollars it cost to
Keep you in my car. 
Princess got poached by the
League of Losers with Pedestrian Ideals.

I’d spit venom in your direction, if 
Poison meant anything to you. But
Akin to most things, so sub-human,
You miss the world moving around your
Ever pulsating veins, and repel these
Toxins with a slip of the tongue.

Around you I could line
Bodies of those you’d loved and left.
Each clasping hands with one another,
Privy to a specific type of pain, only you can
Deal out. And

In the center of the circle you’d
Stare, stunned by your state of
Affairs, and flings. Collectively concerned
For the safety of your
Rotting consciousness.

One by one, I could set these men
On fire, and hand you a place 
Where your head could be danced off.
Drunken and diving heart-first into
The burning lake of a 
Surfable crowd. Since that’s
All we are, serfs.

I hope the fire gets too close to your
Gorgeous face. I hope the
Love you receive is no more likable
Than a few more licks from the flames.
The scars couldn’t sideline you.
No one can stop ****.
I was mad. I'm not anymore. But I was so mad. And the result justified the reasoning.
Alyssa May 2017
Dear Ex-Best Friend,
Remember all the times we spent together,
everyday started with meeting before classes started because that was the only
time we could talk until lunch,
remember all the times we laughed so hard we cried?
Do you remember all the times we had to hold one another in times of the need
because we thought all we had was each other?
Yeah.. Me too.
We spent all the time in the world texting and calling each other.
Things changed a little since I got a boyfriend,
but I never replaced you.
You always had a special place in my heart, and I think you always knew that.
We drifted apart, like two boats at sea.
You switched back to the school you came from,
and it felt like my life had just sunk.
Suddenly I was all alone in the hallways,
Coming in to school was like hell,
Seeing the spot we used to stand in,
Occupied by another set of best friends,
Or maybe two high school sweethearts- Making out like there's no one around.
It was so lonely without you.
You seemed happier where you were though, and at that time, that was all that mattered to me.
I walked the hallways with a sad, sorrowful look.
Teachers frequently asked if I was sick, or if I needed to lay down.
Suddenly I was that one kid that everyone wanted to pick and beat on. (Again.)
I was incredibly lonely at school, I couldn't even sit with anyone at lunch because I was so hated by so many people for reasons I didn't even know.
Come upon my junior year I got a month and a half into the school year before
I switched to the school that you went to.
I was reunited with my best friend,
Life seemed so good.
I was with my boyfriend, and my bestfriend.
It felt like nothing could stop me from gaining happiness.

You began going through boyfriends,
They would come,

and they would go.

I was put second to all of them.
There were days I was so depressed I didn't function correctly,
and all we would talk about is what you and your boyfriend did the previous night.
I was so happy that you were happy,

but I think I forgot the definition of "Happiness."
Everyday was full of being ignored and having guys' push past me so they could hug you while I sat in the sideline just waiting there, tears filling in my eyes because I realized that I wasn't significant to my best friend any more.
I couldn't help but wonder what I did wrong.
I got tired of feeling this way,
I grew up, and realized that highschool isn't meant for gaining the love and affection of people.
I proceeded to end the friendship because it wasn't making me happy anymore.
I understand that a true friend stays there through everything but in no way, shape, or form did I deserve to be kicked to the curb like a diseased puppy.

It hurt, It hurt like a *****.

But ultimately , I'm gonna be okay in the end.

And I hope she ends up okay, too.
But, just be okay without me.
not really a poem but eh.
jeffrey conyers Jun 2018
Cameras mainly become witnesses too many events.
Yes, the best-sealed evidence.
When protesters get abused?
For using their legal rights and others just look on without intervening.

Remember, you stood on the sideline.

When slaves was whipped, torched and more?
And many hanged from a tree during those days?

History points to those that did nothing and to those that did something.

When Big Bull and doggers of enforcement turned dogs upon protesting youth and others during the height of civil rights rage.

Remember, you stood on the sideline.

For better words, you acted highly blind.

When the highest courts passed laws against segregation?
And THEY  protested their racist ways.
Like now as then.

You stood on the sideline.
Juvia Cecilia  May 2017
Juvia Cecilia May 2017
I want you to be happy but why does it hurt so much to see you happy with someone else
It hurts seeing you look at her with loving eyes because I know you'll never look at me the same way.
Those looks, smiles and touches will never be mine because I'm just the friend on the side line
It ***** because I know we'll never be more then just friends.
AzealAngel  Apr 2012
AzealAngel Apr 2012
There’s two sides of being on the side
The reason that makes it all worth it
The reason that makes you feel like dirt
So here’s the reason it’s (almost) worth it
When I’m with you I (think) know love
I get beautiful whispers in my ear
I have times when I just know we’ll be together
I get that feeling that you do love me
That I’m of some significance in your life
I (almost) get love
Now here’s the part that makes you feel like dirt
When we see one another in public and look away as if you didn’t just kiss me and tell me you loved me
When we have to plan our time together around hers and yours
When the whole world only knows about her
When I’m in the shadows
When I feel like dirt
When deep down…
I just know I can or at least deserve better
But my heart loves you
Why? I wish I knew...but it does
Maybe because you where the first one I ever fell in love with and now my heart feel as though it is indebted to you eternally
What a stupid, foolish heart
Your a liar and a cheat
And so am I…
But I’m going to stop
I am
This time
I swear
So to you I say this
I will always love you...and
F* you darling
Soccer season arrives, you’re excited until you start waking up at 6:30 a.m. every day during the summer. As the first game is on, you arrive expecting to play just to realize you’re warming up the bench. It’s not a big deal, it’s still August and it’s easier to tan while sitting down. It isn’t until you’re laying there camouflaging between the soccer bags; laying like a lizard taking the sun in that your coach yells for you to jump in. You scramble up and trip between bags and *****, making your way to the sideline. You do the final stretches and make your way in awkwardly lifting your hand to high-five your teammate coming out who misses it completely. Then it’s game on, it is time to start playing. But that is not how it goes. 15 minutes into the game you realize you have roamed the same 15 square foot area all this time. I got the ball once, I controlled it on my feet. Yeah, I know. Unfortunately when I turned the ball found it’s way between my legs and fell into the opposite player. ******. I’m getting a good tan though; I think I was supposed to get that pass, I slowly jog towards it. Should I? Well now the ball is gone. Let’s go back to my 15 square foot area; my legs are tired. I see the ball coming from up in the air, I’ve never done this. I’m running, just keep running. No, that’s the sun not the ball. There’s the ball, jump, jump. jump. I jump and a 200 pound guy crashes with me, I’m on the floor. Done.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2016
understandably the english language over-uses
the pronouns per se, but it's not conscious of it,
poets can become conscious of this strategic
blunder without the language ever realising.*

over-usage of pronouns in poetry
reveals ambitious & amateurish quillsmith
crafting: not enough nouns; i bet the narration
concerns are but a way to sideline casual politics,
a lack of the english sense of personal space:
fickle eroticism of teenagers when it was only
an intended handshake.
Duane Kline Feb 2014
She's on the bench now,
Our gift to rec soccer...

"Two touches and a pass, Hannah."

I remember when rolling on the floor,
Tickle-induced laughter peeling
Was our Sunday joy.

"Keep your head up--Look! Hannah!"

Even in her shady sideline spot
She has more grace than the others.

"Hannah, you have to work on speed!"

Now a long-legged beauty
Running in the sun.

"Shoot. Shoot! Hannah! Shoot the ball!"

Unaware of her dad


As if these days were all for me.
Ramon Yanez Sep 2012
No matter no matter let's just all hear the Pitter-patter
Pitter-patter of the rain from the sky up so high
crashing down oh so low to the ground just to tear apart
fall apart and fade away, wash away.
No matter no matter
its all just going to fade it's here to stay,
but surely it isn't the latter because it all decays it all decays and not even I'm here to stay.
No matter no matter just stand here and be in the moment and feel the ever growing torrent of pressure just assume it'll pressure you to drop
and drop to the floor or stand in the waves and feel the soothing motion wash over you and cause no commotion
I'll be on the sideline just patiently waiting. No matter, no matter it feels like I just flatter and flatter no matter no matter the words have lost their glimmer their shine, no matter no matter
Selena Grace Dec 2014
When someone you love
Loses someone they loved
And they don't talk to you
Because you and him are through
And you reach out a hand
to no one
And they lose who they are
And you watch as they disappear
From the sidelines of a suicide

You catch glimpses
of what you used to know
When he calls you to feel again
Feel you again
And nothing else
You pray he'll change

You move on from him
But still feel too much
He can't move on from his loss
You lose him to the cost
Of a suicide
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2019
I get her, she writes me,
so eloquently,
”the nub of me; gist, manifested poetic”

one of the many poets I have never met,
one of the many poets, by whom,
I have been suchly, justly, richly and correctly

this mesmerizing judgement,
her-over-easy, mini-essay so succinctly
assaying an accidental ability mine

a happy passageway to my brain,
a new aperture, the neurons firing at will,
the tormented inquisitor’s unasked question,
how did this happen to me?

rocking the Sunday morn cradle’s calm,
ok, ok, write me, write me,
demands my no longer free will,
utilize the free wi-fi of we fidelty

the bay, surgically barely treading water,
its surface of multitude of small waves
but now an entire ****** expression bidding welcome

the breezeways genteel,
invites and push us into its
directionless & tideless soothful embrace,
to the shoreline we goeth,
to watch the occasional crossing vessel intruder,
woking the waters gentle

its white path residual wake foam-formed,
then almost instantaneously absorbed, bubbly bursting,
a history of a million moments awakened,
then, instantly returned to restful sleep,
akin to a newborn’s gurgling happy dreaming,
wiped clean away off to
Peter Pan’s it-never-happened-land

this carnival trick sideline of deep tissue knowingness,
sensing the essence of the who and the whom within,
with no data to go on other than their poetic collection,
the hidden meanings of the spaces and places between
the gene sequencing of their wondrous word-fullness
DNA poetic children, freely given,
and well taken
by me

I cannot explain it well enough, but then
a strayer thought breakaway,
a prehensile comprehension insertion
proffers itself as an explanation
and here,

the perfect world exterior before me observable
thrusts itself through picture windows onto my demeanor,
a ****** addiction of mine, my soul enslaved,
cannot bear to be taken away from

this vista,

which begs me,
bring all those you know!
here, to share, this precious precise nook
where eye insightful incisions elicit poems-by-command

but I cannot, bring you here,

so I see~imagine it better through
your eyes, then
is in my stubbed pencil nub, it is
poem’s destiny manifesting,
penciled through my scruff edged fingertips,
which-when-then transcribed to paper, to history,
‘tis all you
who writes,
not I

for now
are the solitary vessel waterborne,
are the captain and I

but a
Samson-nite, burdened, baggaged and blinded stowaway,
hopeless, yet still see-worthy,
with your guiding eyes,  
keeping me to keep
your copyright righted,
onto its course true

7-14-19 9:43am
in shelter, on the isle
she’ll ken her authorship by the title

— The End —