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 Jan 2015 Anonymous
randoughs
Alive
 Jan 2015 Anonymous
randoughs
What's up with all the depressing poems young people are writing on this site?

Go out, take a deep breath of the fresh mountain air or the salty sea breeze
Talk to people, have a laugh, look someone in the eyes
Read a book,
You're alive!
 Jan 2015 Anonymous
SG Holter
Going home to the country side for
The weekend, where
The snow is twice as
Deep and prestine.

I've promised my girl we'll put
Winter clothes on and trek through
The woods; play children.
Lay flat on our backs

On soft whiteness between naked
Trees, just listening to
Winds like the ghosts of whales
Swimming the skies singing;

Calling to the echos of
Their echos' echos.
Then, red cheeked and sniffling,
Brush January from ourselves,

Stump snow from boots, and head
Inside for hot showers.
Her wet hair slowly drying
By an open fire. Wine, and either

Music or just the whispers of
Winter playing with the ancient
Wood in the walls between
Silences.

Candle light catching the white
Flashes of flakes falling outside
Ice cornered window glass
In complete, quiet darkness.

She calls it camping in the cabin.
To me, it will
Always be
*Home.
when you go to that lane
where the houses are graves
their rooms only pain
shadows' dark waves

where winds pause morose
light is barred
closed doors and windows
keep sunshine debarred

where walls are deadened
reeking of moss
the way is a dead end
weighed with cross

you would meet a hollow face
covered in hood
who would ask *all these days
you did what good.
 Jan 2015 Anonymous
Nomad
A mirror hangs
upon the wall over there,
and as all the boys and girls go to ask,
"Mirror Mirror, art thou fair?"

As they all worry about the looks,
of their precious hair,
they do not see the beauty
that is truly standing there.

When they look upon
that reflection of lies,
they continue to hide
behind that perfect disguise.

Behind the clothes,
the make-up,
and the brand names of them all,
they buy all the lies
the lies that call.

They call out everyday,
that they have no worth,
saying they were born ugly,
ever since their birth.

They say that you can't fit in,
because misfits as they may be,
they aren't cool, if they can't do a little bit of
sin.

Names used to be unique,
appreciated as it was for who they were,
now it's about those "Apple Bottom Jeans,"
and the "Boots. With the fur."

Can't you see dear children?
The corruption before your eyes?
When will you BREAK the mirror?
When will you be free of those LIES?!

God! I can't tell you enough,
all the cuts, burns, bruises, blood and tears,
that I've felt and seen,
I keep asking myself as I ask others,
"Why do you have to be so mean!?"

What is the purpose!
To make others become like you?
Why can't you let them be,
let them be free to do as they do?

Is it so hard?
Is it such trial,
as to call a human for what they are?
I wonder, but I already know, that they always push the limits,
just way too far.

Mirror, mirror.
On the wall?
Who's the fairest,
one
of
All?
 Jan 2015 Anonymous
Joshua Haines
Pale body, blue eyes
Dark haired WASP;
adopted.
Cigarette burns
Cigarette breath
Black nail polish;
worn like her gaze.
Plump lips;
Tastes like
*******
and
"he left."

Milk body, brown eyes
Blond haired voice;
accent consumes.
Diseased brain
***** like a parasite
Blood-shot red nails;
scratching at life's surface.
Chapped lips;
Chews on them
like a blown tire
dying between metal
and the road.

Our bodies shifted in and out
like an ameba.
Suffocated by lost teenage years
and daddy issues.
Riding my knee.
On my face.
I want to disappear
into outer space.

Skeleton ***;
our corpses mix.
Sweat stained smiles.
Soap smothered tiles.
Showering with two souls
as lost as mine.
 Jan 2015 Anonymous
Joshua Haines
I'm a white, male,
American dreamsicle
who says "****"
way too much
to not be cool.

I read about my father issues
on my mother's face.
I hate things and people
because the news told me to.
Art is ****** and ****** is art;
when Billy killed Sue,
my heart raced.
Do drugs with me
or do none at all;
promise me when we're high
we won't fall.

There are ******* on the street
and the cops are shooting them.
There are ******* kissing
and old, white men are scared.
There are mentally ill people
and they are "seeking attention".
There are women with voices
and old, white men are scared.

I am an American Dreamsicle:
cold, unhealthy, and killing your kids.
You can buy me for 40% off
and I promise to take 60% of your ideals.
I am what my parents don't want me to be
and that is the appeal.
Little do I know, I am every thing you are
and that is my cancer.
Me trying.
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