she collects thought
like seed pods blown
into untidy hair
by the four winds
that whisper her silenced name.
her thoughts are
precious black pearls
in forgotten oysters, washed
up on a beach somewhere-
and sometimes just as dark-
shining in the heat
of Summer Sun's
reflecting glare.
not unlike a
deer in the headlights
of an absent father's
old station wagon.
and she is as
broken as the
hoof-cracked windshield;
spider webbing
radiates through the glass
as sharp on the edges
as her mind.
coke bottle specs
with glass unbreakable
hide brilliance
or perhaps underscore it.
existence is itself
division from everyone else.
she reads Tolkien
by the empty light of
the distant moon
and words fill up
leftover spaces.
in her face is
the great face of
flower children and
sunlight muted
in the evening hours
spent dreaming up
a life better spent
lost lauren Mar 13
I am made from

the perseverance and kindness of my mother,

and the knowledge and patience from my father.

My mind tangled with

overwhelming emotions that I try too hard to suppress,

and memories that light up my eyes with wonder

filling my stomach with warmth and purpose.

Experiences that shaped a heart of empathy

having been far down in the pit of despair

once strangers that are no longer, helped me find clarity.

Chapped lips and a quick tongue

I fear to say something too fast,

without a second thought

having unintentionally stung.

Inside are taped up cracks and stitched holes

knowing all too well I could have helped myself

out of a toxic relationship by just taking control.

Inside are bones and bad blood circulation

all the caffeine, drugs and nicotine consumption

coping mechanisms acquired over the years for a fix,

a pleasurable sensation

to balance out the losses, betrayals, deaths, and depression.

Passions, soul, and substances all churning and rumbling mixed about

I used to be good at self-sabotaging

now I’m trying to pace myself so I don’t get worn out.

I am made from

every kind encounter I’ve had with a selfless stranger,

laughter from my friends and lovers

sounds of sweet nothings but the wind in nature.

My ears filled with

the first time you told me you loved me

and the voices that allowed me to overcome tragedy

songs that carried me away in bliss

with only a simple tone or melody.

My eyes deep and dark like the color of soil after the rain falls

squinting through thick glasses trying to see clearly past life’s pitfalls.

I’m constantly inspired by the world around me

Always wanting to try it myself so I can experience it all.

Jack of all trades, but a master at none.

I feel like there so much to learn and so much to see

it’s hard to pick just one thing to be.

I can barely even attempt to fathom

what else life has in store for me.
if we would've met at 16 our lives as teenagers would've been worlds different. we'd meet in the parking lot after school and we'd drive for a little, then hotbox in front of the pacific ocean. i'd play you all the stuff that i played on my weekly radio show and i'd bitch to you about how i was done with the world and every single lululemon wearing, frozen mocha drinking girl who thought i was inferior to her because i wasn't conventionally pretty, listened to anti-establishment punk rock of the 1970s and refused to straighten my hair even if my curls wouldn't quit that day.
i didn't know you four years ago. you were the exact opposite of me, and honestly you probably would have avoided me  - you put gel in your hair and you played sports, but you seemed like you might've been angry and sad for no apparent reason too. you were the same as you are now in some ways, you had the 24/7 off-duty model thing, you were smart, you bumped old school tunes, you knew old school sitcoms. i would've 100% been in love with you but i never would have done anything about it. all i wanted was someone that i could tell everything to, but nobody cared. knowing you could have eased the pain of the period of time in my life where i spent all my money on dime bags and twelve dollar packs of cigarettes and stability was the last thing on my mind and all i really wanted to do was dig a grave for myself. you probably would have never talked to me, but we would have been the coolest kids in the parking lot.
and can i tell you like, the cheesiest sounding thing in the world? yeah? okay. i can't wait to run into you on a beach on the north shore of kauai in 50 years. "shawshank redemption" style. i hope we're friends forever.
I'm grinding
and the dirt
I'm grinding
and the dirt
I'm grinding
and the dirt

And I don't


please help me,

"The clawed hand is not for shaking,
although it has amazing grip."

"Eat a pork shoulder
dusted in granite powder...
dash of cumen, a salty pinch
you'll get over it."


    ­                                              "He is a porky one isn't she?" -ᴱʳᶦˢ

Betty, uh, Ms. Page,
didn't it bother you?

"Bother me?"

Well you know,
being a person of God,
-doing those things for money?

"Silly, I do what I do
BECAUSE I AM a believer!"
-ᴮᵉᵗᵗʸ ᴾᵃᵍᵉ
Emily Feb 19
Today I saw a girl
She was walking
On a residential street
She looked out of place
But I knew her face
It’s a small town
So, of course, I knew her face
Of course, I know her name
She’s the Jones girl

She’s a teenager
I don’t know what she was doing
Probably doing whatever it is
Teenagers do
On a Sunday afternoon
In a small town

Platinum white hair
Piercings up her ear
Future up in the air
Scene and emo wristbands
And a graphic tee
Probably not from Hot Topic
Because Hot Topic ain’t so hot here

Here’s the thing
She’d be the It Girl
If it weren’t for her acne
If it weren’t for her height
If it weren’t for her weight
If it weren’t for her interests
If it weren’t for her hobbies
If it weren’t for everything about her
But her name
And her age

She deserves better
I don’t like her
Not personally
But she does deserve better
She deserves the city streets
There, and only there,
Can she can be who she wants to be

And if she can’t?
Then there’s no place I want to be
Not one at all
Because I want to be
Where she,
Where we all can be,
Who we want to be
Names changed to protect the identity of this poem's subject.
you're the kindest example of who not to be.
you plead it yourself: "you can't end up like me."
at my age, you were a tailor’s apprentice
but your stitching's fallen apart.
life took a pickaxe to your self-esteem.
why must i be angry on your behalf?
you promise that i’m worth everything, but fuck, do you not feel cheated? i hate your life and i'm not even you.
Valerie Feb 5
your shadow lingers
from time to time
you're especially apparent
in the twilight
when the sun is burnt
and the horizon blushes,
i think of your feather-soft hands,
how your promises once sounded
and all that blue in your closet.

by the morning
you've taken your things,
and disappeared into the ashes
without a trace,
i think of how we used to love,
like little children running down streets,
lacing our shoes and kissing our bruises,
and now we're too old for our bodies,
our souls are too weathered and battered
for such a thing.
kinda garbage but i did this under five mins so please forgive

it is the time
where we try
to find ourselves
a time
where we break the rules
or maybe just bend em'
a time where love is found
a time where hearts are broken
a time of freedom
and no one can stop us
thought this was kinda cute, so i decided to share with you guys. was also kind of in a good mood and felt like writing. might turn this into a song. idk yet.  hope you guys enjoy :)
i'm getting ahead of myself and i feel nostalgic about everything already. i swear i was just thirteen yesterday. then i fell in love and i broke my own heart and fell in love again, got caught in the end. all of it just yesterday. some of it just feels like a dream.

and i woke up like this, almost eighteen. with a belly full of worries, a heart tripping on hope, and ribcage heaving with sighs. but still we persist. no matter that i hold my head in my hands or hide behind my hair a lot of the time. no matter that i am becoming afraid to speak. no matter that i think i want to cry all the time. and i don't even try to tell anyone anymore.

but just yesterday i was a kid and i'd never truly known what afraid meant. i never used the words heavy, burden, weight. now they're always on the tip of my tongue when i taste the air and try to gauge how i'm feeling. i open my clenched fists and think, pain.

what did i do? what changed yesterday? i remember at one point i learned to take a blade to my skin. at one point i learned to change my face. i learned to stop eating. i remember making so many promises. that if lord would grant me this, i would be glad. that's it, i would say. i would not ask for more. i would not need anything else. i think maybe i never needed more in the first place.

what have i done? if i could go back, what would it take to save myself? did i ask for the wrong things? had i worded my prayers differently, would i be someone else? what is this story? could i be doomed before i even begin? i don't miss who i was yesterday.  yesterday, she wanted to be who i am today. i don't like who i am today. i don't know if that will change when i wake up tomorrow, or in a few years.

maybe everything will be much the same but i won't know my heart again. i'll be wondering what was on my mind then. and it's just this: i am scared, cold, alone, and sorry for the choices i have made which led us to this place. i think i am weaker now than i have ever been, and it makes me ashamed.
written last year, feb. 24, 2017.
I learned how to write when I could no longer speak,
Time traveled through literature and escaped into a realm of tattered pages and tear soaked ink.
I found my voice inside of forgotten words and unending rhyme schemes.
When I could no longer speak, the ink flowed easily
And the thought flowed even easier.
Releasing my inhibition on to blank pages accompanied by cold coffee and early morning sunshines,
I learned yet again that heroes I regarded sat on top a bookshelf rather than on a screen or in an album.
They gave me voice, comfort, and solace inside of my own head.
The voice I lacked for so many years, came naturally when typing away,
It was then that I finally felt free.
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