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Erenn Apr 10
Men
We as men must never cry
Through storms of mourns
We silenced the child within
We mold our glass hearts thicker
To barricade what we feel inside

We as men must never cry
We grit our teeth we swallow the wit
Throb to surpass whatever that comes
To ignite the spark that dimmed the night

We as men must never cry
Despite the nest we found
Hope of walls of wars that we must break
To pierce through and prevail the truth

We as men must never cry
To succour the seeds of tomorrow
Let yesterday's pain be tainted
A reminder that we're still breathing

We as men must never cry
But when we do—
We can no longer hide behind curtain's facade
Let it be the rain that stains our hands,
Adolescence of innocence strayed of conscience,
As we dig through years of silence,
Wishing someone told us sooner

That real men are allowed to cry.


Erennwrites
Anne Webb Mar 30
I am scared for my sister
And I am scared for my brother
The world isn't kind and we hurt one another

I am scared for my brother
And I am scared for my sister
Scared since the first time that someone dismissed her

I am scared for my sister
And I am scared for my brother
That some will teach him not to respect our mother

I am scared for my brother
And I am scared for my sister
Scared that I will not trust those who have kissed her

I am scared for my sister
And I am scared for my brother
I want them to be safer than many of the others

I am scared for my brother
And I am scared for my sister

I am scared for them both, I think we all know why
But I am making this oath, I will NOT just stand by
Woke up with this in my head
How can you be so blind?
Crushing on dumb boys who don't deserve you

Unable to move on from a toxic guy
With the maturity of a 5-year-old
Who lies and manipulates and takes
the most amazing person in this entire **** world
for granted

I want nothing more than to beat him to a pulp and
throw him in the
garbage where he belongs
Because no one is allowed to hurt you
I'm so angry
My mind is racing
How dare he
You could do so much better than him
So much better than anyone
(So much better than me)

What kind of sicko has the best girl in the whole entire universe
and throws her away?

I don't know what to do
But he does not get to get away with
hurting
you
I've never wanted to punch someone so bad
This isn't even a poem just me raging
Why doesn't she see?
Why does it hurt so bad?
She only likes this new guy because he's telling her about all the **** her ex did
Neither of them will ever come close to deserving her
Archer Feb 1
And I think I love an orange boy
But I think I like an lemon girl
Yet a little lime like me
Is a bit too citrusy
To have either of them like me back

And I think I want some lemonade
But I think I’d like some OJ
Yet my lime’s not sweet it’s sour
So hour after hour
They just leave me alone to sleep
~
The boys of summer.

Johnny once sat under the bleachers, the scar on his tongue, a reminder of the time he bit it after falling from a treehouse. A sack full of yesterday's news in a red wagon, the first and last clues.

Eugene ... the other kid who dropped out of sight on Sunday morning, now the evening edition; now a black spot on the sun.

Why the two-year gap?

Departures and landfalls. But no explanations.

Mom and Dad never comfortable peering into the camera lens. Big brother breathing out vapors until something sparks and all
the old questions came back.

A detective's paradox. No bone. No fragment. No evidence. In his home garage hangs a poster of Eugene to remind him every day.

-- for Johnny Gosch and Eugene Martin
~
Ignata Jan 29
Men. Boys. Small obsessions.
I want to be free of them.
Of me?

I get too drunk too quickly. Too excited.
A sloppy kiss in a badly lit kitchen can unlock something deep inside me.

A flicker of waking desire.
Nothing tastes better than a secret.

Nothing better than the soft touch of the lips you are supposed to stay away from.
I trace my fingers over the questions he smeared all over me.

Always cold and restless. How can I stop it?
Do I want it to stop when I’m this young and problematic?
  
Hungry for emotion, I want to get drunk off others' lips.
I want to wander in the drunken haze cloaked in the smoke of gossip.

A word from him. Hell of a digital rollercoaster.

I am easily hooked, always happy to surrender. Does he want me enough to keep me stable for a few weeks?

Do I love him? Do I hate him?
I only need him.

Is this inspiration or pure desperation?
Should I be grateful or furious?
For now, I am both.
  
Is this the burden of inadequacy that comes with being a poet?
Are we the most shallow of all?

What if this tumultuous destruction of my fevered ***** mind proves itself completely pointless?

I am made out of buzzing question marks.
  
My heart is on the verge of exploding.
My stomach is corroded with terror.
I can only handle this much.

I can’t do this anymore.

This is the best thing that has ever happened to me.
tory Jan 28
Some boys.
Some boys cut you
they are all edges you know
Leave trails
After all love
Does not feed
Does not free
You, you're my one and only,
Without you I'd be a little lonely.
Nope I lied,
If I were to lose you,
I'd lose myself and they'd have to gather tools to fix my heart.
And while the ocean is wide,
I need you to be my bright side.
In fact it's starting to seem that you're the ink in my pen,
Your tears of sadness and joy.
Staring into your eyes,
I freeze like a toy.
I'm just a boy,
And you're my classroom crush.
This one is for my lady who's always reading these, love you. :)
Right on 490,
The raised turn to 490 east.
There’s a hill,
And on that hill sits a lone,
Lazy Boy recliner.
Two folding chairs,
A table,
Two men,
And one sign.
“F Trump”

Boys will be boys,
Guess that’s it.
To anyone living in Irondequoit you’ve probably seen this hill. Some real brave people there.
Àŧùl Sep 2024
She had introduced me,
To Hello Poetry.

'Twas a day like none other,
I reached Amritsar for her.

Accompanying me that day,
Was my kind physiotherapist.

Yes, the very same physiotherapist,
Who I dubbed physio the ******,
For the pain used to be unbearable.

But no,
'Twas necessary for my betterment.

Coming back to Amritsar,
She was pleasantly surprised.

For she thought I'd play a prank,
Just like she had played one on me.

Giving me a false hope that she'll come,
Anyway, I went to her home.

I wished her on her birthday,
My physiotherapist went away.

I tuned her guitar as E A D G B E,
Eddy Ate Dynamite, Good Bye Eddy.

They laughed, her friends.
For who eats a Dynamite!

Well, that's the standard tuning,
Now I played a few songs.

Her friends were impressed,
Of me, she was proud.

I presented her a pen drive,
A Gaņesha adorned drive.

She loved it,
And thanked me.

After the party, she insisted that I stay,
I slept beside her father.

She shook me awake, and I was like,
"Who are you," she put her hand.

"Shh, it's me," she whispered,
I understood and relaxed.

She kissed me again at 3:30 a.m. on 24th,
This time I was awake and gave her my warmth.

Later, before sunrise, I went to the Station,
I had united with my Physio The ******.

I hugged her for one last time,
And we climbed on the train back.

Now nothing remains but memories,
Bitter ones to be more precise.

She cheated on me in 2015-16,
When I couldn't go to Amritsar.

My former best friend capitalised,
The ******* induced the breakup.

But that girl, who got so easily seduced,
She Wasn't Sad — Droņa Wept Like Kids.

And the immortal Droņa died,
Unable to trust anyone again.
My HP Poem #1997
©Atul Kaushal
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