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Britney Lyn Sep 2017
Some people fight their demons, I on the other hand became mine.
And you cannot run away from yourself
Wyatt Mar 2017
"Nobody understands" is more common
in my head now than it used to be.
I used to look at it as a stereotype
used to describe teens full of angst
who don't get what they want.
When the whole world looks your way,
you swear they turn and go in another direction.
Well now I think I caught on,
or maybe I better say I caught the cold
that you've been feeling inside,
it's exactly what you've been talking about.
I realized that I just became a stereotype,
so I wince at my mind's own attacks at myself
and I just look down and put on record
that spins mockingly as it repeats
the same old lies to my family and my friends.

Keep walking forward with no destination set,
it's how I've lived until now so why change?
I planned a party to indulge in complaints, so
why was I not shocked nobody else showed up?
I guess all the pity was left up to me.
It's safe for you to guess I left with a full stomach
and rest assured I became twice as bitter.
It's become commonplace in my head,
an old habit renewing it's license
to rain on my parade every chance it gets.
So I continue my path down the road
and grab that record again,
how has nobody caught on to my act yet?
Am I that convincing?

The words I write down
and the things I think about,
they will never reach your ears.
Only to your eyes 'cause I'm a coward.
How could it be any more predictable?
Maybe if they took a look inside
they'd get a surprised look on their face
when they come to find out
that I'm twice as crazy as them.
Or maybe they'd laugh
and try to downplay all my problems
with what I know I thought all along.
"You became a living stereotype."
I really am a living stereotype.
Maillane Morison Nov 2016
It's a
weird time to be
alive I didn't think I'd
get this far
picturing myself
older when I was younger I
didn't expect to find my
self leaning on a car with a
broken handle next to a boy
you couldn't see the
hickey on his neck because it was
dark Adam's apple illuminated
smoke it rises behind
the back of a building
ready to run if we hear a
car coming but we don't so
we smoke and mom here's what I
made of myself we
don't talk because this
awkward tension is too
familiar to want to
break it with our voices.
Later in the
car
driving fast we laugh
because we just thought of
how we became the
people we were afraid
of becoming all
along but now it
feels right and we
don't want to slow down because
those red lights they
are lights to show us the
way when we drive
through and I want to
reach over and take his
hand but that's childish so I
lean over and kiss him
instead because we
are not little kids
anymore in fact we are
too young to be old but we
feel too old now to
do anything but laugh at how we
were ten years before.
Äŧül Oct 2016
When I First Met The Angel,
She Was Very Much Youthful,
Carry She Did An Invisible Title,
Yes The Title Of The Most Beautiful,
But Now The Charm Has Just Faded,
All Her Love Was Everything But Real,
She's Immortal But Of Course Immoral,
Now Know About Her Grey Escapades.
Angel Remembered – Part 4/7

HP Poem #1192
©Atul Kaushal
Äŧül May 2016
There are three types of lies,
You're honing each one as time flies,
I have been intimate with each one of yours.

The first is the simplest lie,
You kept repeating it time and again,
I lost count of the times you said, "I love you."

The second is the **** lie,
This one is more complex and deceitful,
Even you lost count of saying, "I love you forever."

And the third one is called the Statistics,
As afterwards, you kept blaming its demise on me,
Many times I heard, "Countless times you forgot about me."

I never intended to blow the whistle on you,
But last night you said it on call that I kept forgetting,
I'd have forgotten my virginity or its loss before my accident,
But one thing I simply could not have ever forgotten,
I had become someone else from your own name.

But I hear a faint melody from a distant place,
Maybe a mermaid sings it softly for me,
Or who knows another barmaid!

Scared to death I am of love,
Neither can I bear another betrayal,
Nor can my heart now be a loveless barren.
7 Paragraphs, 23 lines of a broken dream.

My HP Poem #1081
©Atul Kaushal
Jenna May 2014
I stood there.
Staring.
A snow-capped peak stared back.
I became exceedingly captivated.
Captivated by the thought that he and I existed;
Existed now.
Existed here.
Existed together.

I became a shell.
A shell filled with explosive joy.
And I could no longer become underwhelmed.
Nor could I become whelmed.

I lived.


I will never believe in myself more,
Never trust in Creation more,
Never be enveloped in the stillness more
Than I did in that moment.

Glimpsing that skyline.
Staring down a mountain.
Daylight 4U2C Jan 2014
If you give a wishing stone,
she'll travel out all on her own.
She'll  leave behind the fear and pain,
and keep herself from going insane.
While her friends are getting diagnosed,
she'll be somewhere in her boat.
Maybe she'll have tea for two,
but at least she'll know what to do.
And they may ask, and plead, and beg to be in her world,
but she'll certainly say,
"Be gone, be gone, or off with your head."
Which should be said, since they cursed her be dead.
If you give a girl a wishing stone,
she'll truly feel all alone,
and for those who never cared "be gone!"
The queen has finally sang her song.
She was never a fool, just a withered small bud,
and those pigs would throw her around in the mud.
So sure she dreams and dazes off,
but she can do whatever she wants.
She earned a bit of recognition,
for all antagonize and inhibition.
Give that girl some cheer,
she fought a war for all those years.
Stop the hate for her being crushed,
unlike some, she had no love!
The glass shattered hard,
it's no surprised it became shards.
Giving time and yells,
doesn't heal, it kills.
If you give a girl a wishing stone,
you've given her one happiness finally of her own.

— The End —