Tumblr taught me lots of stuff
like how to call out someone's bluff,
how bones break from CPR,
and what exactly bronies are.
But deep inside that rabbit hole,
I hit upon some solid gold.
I live in a small town you see,
and I thought things were wrong with me.
But in my dark blue dashboard space,
I found there was a thing called "ace".
I had a 5-hour googling spree,
and I found that this name suited me.
i mean, how i found out about my sexuality was definitely ****** up.
this is just a cute little poem of self-discovery
Our worth is granted to us
By the sum of our lovers,
By how many times we have craved
Or been craved,
By how much our skin longs
For another’s touch.
We are taught to withhold,
And to not take for granted
The immense altruism of company.
Where do we belong
If not in the arms of another?
How dare we for a minute
Accept our own love as enough.
How dare we seek comfort
In our own searching minds.
How dare we think of ourselves as anything other
Than a half in search of the whole.
He tried to remember what they looked like as he saw
Where her nails had sunken deep into the comforter
And where his sweat had flattened the sheets.
And felt ***** just for looking,
Afraid that their memories could see him in the empty room.
How ******* dare they
Indulge in each other when all it becomes
Is a mess for someone else to notice?
Selfish, entitled, lucky
And he was ashamed
Because he was happy that he noticed what they did
And because he felt like he was there.
Something so **** about imaginary inclusion.
Is that what they wanted?
Changing the bedding felt like desecration,
Like tearing down the set of a Broadway play.
The show was for him,
The show was for the other,
Who taught them how to act?
It hurts to think
About their hollow bodies
They’re fake-*** moans that the other customers
probably complained about to their
It hurts to think
That they whispered the moment away
In their insecurities and
Jesus, all for nothing.
And he started to cry,
Thinking about the heat that filled the room.
Letting his heaves mirror their motion, and
Their passion still damp.
I love fictional love
Love the sparks that fly
But I don't love the real love
That lovely love you must love to feel
He loves her
She loves him not
He loves her
She loves him not
She once loved him
Now she does not know what Love feels like
I don't love love anymore
I don't love anymore
Lovely love, fly away on wings of a dove
Faulty factory toys are fun to use, at first
Blue eyed girl with the white blonde curls
From dads side of the family
They coo at her
Before she learns to walk
When they built her in the baby factory
They must've forgot the little red button
The one that says
"Shut up for one single solitary ******* second and let someone else speak"
She doesn't pause to allow the other person the liberty to flit words through the air like songbirds
Instead hers land like pheasants
Shot in the skull
Trickling out opinions that were never asked for
With the brain fluid.
She's got a lot of them too
And they're all right
She knows everything there is to know
At seventeen as well
What a prodigy, she thinks
What a nuisance, say the wise men
What a delusional idiot
Bore into her skull and all you'll see
Behind the kind eyes and philosophy
Is a witch
Entranced by the enchantment
Of her own voice
A selfish *******
Who buys her birthday presents at the last minute.
At least the parents got to have a test drive
So they knew what to do right this time
Factor out whatever it was
The ingredients with the sell by date
That made this thing so near to right
But odd enough to be 'not quite'.
This time make one that's not lazy
That's not selfish
That doesn't want to be a ******* artist
That lets others speak
That can contribute and participate
Not sit on the sidelines
Heading for burnout
Heading for disaster-
Uncheck the box this time that says
Can't reply to texts
Even when friends are on the edge
of suicide, For ***** sake.
Tick the box that unveils the beauty of humanity
Fix it's eyes
Teach her to see these sacks of meat
The way others do
The way you're supposed to
Instead of like puzzles or pictures or packaging for a soul
Create a person not afraid
Of making mistakes
that can make her own decisions
This time make a mind
That can jump through the hoops
Society left behind
Fix her this time
Don't make another freak
On the fringes
Never quite fitting in
And the funny thing is
Even after this ******* perfect kid
Comes along and shows that blue eyed blonde-haired girl
Just how to do it
She's an old *****
No use teaching her new tricks
She'll shut out little miss pretty perfect project two point oh
She can't seem to help it
She thinks the best company in the world is her head
Her head?! Have you seen it
It's barbed wire and sunshine
It’s a rose choked by thorns
Do not touch her-
She will make you bleed.
This is a poem I wrote when I was in a really dark place, which is paired by a poem I wrote later on which was a much more positive self-reflection. The original ending was 'I'm a poor older sister and I am not a good daughter', but I felt that was too personal, so I changed it to be much more visual. This is a slam poem that I performed in the final of UniSlam 2017, where my team came fourth in the country!
I am not
the one that
I was never
to begin with.
I am the
there is a
who can love
as I cannot.
Trapped inside this cranial ride,
I watch from eyes determined to hide.
From your lips,
your sensual touch,
I find the feelings are too much;
I shut myself in.
The sin of such a travesty is too much for me to take.
So I sit inside my skull and fake,
the only way that I know how;
I dance around your moves,
speak my lines, and bow.
I put on a play and perform perfectly
to distract from my abnormality.
These open eyes reveal lies of a cowardly man in disguise.
Who locks himself in his head alone to practice every ****** and moan.
I am the Bartleby
you look at them and you want it, you do
but, truthfully, that's just not you