I wish I could view the world
Through the eyes of a child
Finding beauty in the small things
Unapologetically happy
Blissfully unaware of the evils
Lurking behind every corner
Gideon 2d
There's so much you don't know about me
There's so much I don't know about me
But maybe we can know each other a bit better
If you don't mind I'll go first

I think about you quite often
But I'm not sure what to say when you call
I have questions you don't have answers to
And I know they're ones I should find myself

Words haven't always been very effective for me
There are way too many to choose from
I've had every conversation you can imagine
It's all in my head but they're comforting

I try to be better you know?
Better than I was yesterday
Don't worry I try these days
Not to be too hard on myself

There are things I wish for that keep me up
I want them but I'm not doing enough yet
When things get tough I still remind myself that
The journey is the reward not just the destination

I haven't completely figured out who I am
But has anyone?
It means I get to choose and
Create a meaning despite the absurdity of it all

There's a new cookie recipe I made
You would most certainly love it
We should talk sometime Mom
Over fresh cookies and milk
Learn more about each other
Like mother and child should
Trying out new recipes
With hopes they turn out well
Blanche 3d
She is a firecracker in a silent room.
Her toothy smile
which spreads from the centre of her lips
to the tips of her ears
is contagious.
Her eyes are the blue-green colour of the ocean on a warm summer day
peaceful at the surface
and the magic held within them is reserved only to those who take a closer look.
Her hair is golden
like her soul
and her locks tangle to no end.
The springs bounce with every step she takes
the ringlets so perfect so you would think them unnatural.
But they definitely are;
she does not have the patience to sit still
for more than an instant
her body carrying her wherever fate decides—
sitting down to curl her hair would never cross her wild mind.
Her laugh comes from somewhere deep inside her slender body
somewhere far behind her rib cage
where the vibrant rhythm of her body originates.
Her heart cannot be contained
too big to fit inside even the biggest of bodies.
There is not a mean bone to be found in her
for she is filled to the brim with love and joy.
Her legs must be the 8th wonder of the world
so skinny they could snap at the lightest breeze
and yet they carry her across tracks so fast
you would think she was pacing herself with light
not the other children scurrying along behind her.
I, too, sometimes feel like I am scurrying behind her
for her imagination races at speeds mine never could.
She is the most vibrant piece of clothing in the closet
the loudest song on the radio
the spiciest food at the dinner table.
I would like to thank the old, tea-loving
Asian woman who has come to reside in my sister’s twelve year old body
for making her the most interesting book on my shelf
the most watched movie in my collection
and the quirkiest soon-to-be teenager I know.
The world is not ready for the greatness she holds
but everyone deserves a Lily in their life.
my sister loves the fact that I write poetry, and she asked me to write her a poem. this is dedicated to her. x
Warning: This may not be for some people who have been through sexual assault and/or get triggered easily by such content.

I'll tell you a story,
But first you need to do something for me.
Fall for someone quickly.
Make sure the relationship moves quickly.
Never think steadily,
Offer your body readily.
Just to satisfy the one you love,
Before they leave you with a push and shove.
Keep yourself available to them,
Even though your morals wouldn't even agree to this on a whim.
Make sure they're happy at all times,
With your body of course for he doesn't want you for your loving rhymes.
Now you need to imagine this.
The relationship has fallen deep into the abyss.
They begin growing distant and you wonder why.
Maybe they've found another being sly.
All of a sudden a day comes,
Where for once in a long while they make you feel loved.
You fall into their sticky trap,
You're head over heels again upon their snap.
They tell you that they want to walk you home.
You comply but God you wish you would have known.
They tell you the backstreets are a safer bet because of your overprotective dad,
You agree that he's protective but what a good reason he had.
They lead you down one lonely road,
And pins you against an apartment building that's abandoned and old.
They cover your mouth to muffle your cries,
And their other hand slips into places the sun never shines.
It hurts so bad and your tears could fill a cup,
But they just continue and tell you to shut the f*ck up.
You try to fight because you're a strong person,
But they were so much stronger with a grip that only seemed to worsen.
They finally let you go once they're done,
But God, you feel nothing, for they had won.
This poem was written from personal experience. I took all of the dark energy and negative thoughts I still have and turned it into a poem of raw emotion. I hope this poem can help people who have been through the same thing realize they are not alone, and give people who haven't the insight they may need to begin to understand.
I have wondered as the hours went passing...
while the rain was dripping slowly off the drifting clouds,
the shoulders of heaven,
and lightning was dancing unaware,
across frozen mountain tops
..what must your voice sound like..? How soft, subtle,
As a child's first step, how lasting, indelible,
like the wind, unseen
Look at the sun look at the moon
Tell me how can you leave so soon
Look at the stars as they reflect in my eyes
Tell me sweet nothings, nothing but lies
Look at my face that looks just like you
My hands, my lips and my feet do too
Look at my skin so fragile and pale
You try your excuses to no avail.

Not a thing you can do not a word you can say
Can ever make right the games that you played
Blood of my blood but not of my soul
I'll never regain the childhood that you stole.
Eliah SolRae Apr 17
It came, one warm summer day.
Me and my little brother had been sent out to play.
I quaked in fear as the monster clawed its way,

Over the buildings it creeped,
Engulfing all and anything that sleeped.
My brother and I turned to flee,
Tumbling out of the great old oak tree.

It was silent as night, not a soul around.
As we ran our feet pounded on the ground.

It was too late, we can’t give up now!
Turn right then left to home,
Past an abandoned plough.

Home at the door of dark
Not a soul in sight.
Jules Apr 16
Stubborness is the reason for all woes;
the unwillingness to speak and to listen
makes all problems continue and grow,
harder to fix, pain deeper, unforgotten.

Lack of communicaion is a constant of my culture;
A wall between generations written in my future
before I was born, before they met each other,
before ideas of my existence

One generation, my present, cannot forget this “negligence”,
be it conscious or not, because my beliefs, my feelings, my being are built over this foundation of lies that I grew up knowing to be truth, to be reasons for which I acted as I did

unworthy of this Earth.

Just yesterday I was made aware about others’ pain.
Although leading to different understandings and results, same
As what they made me live.

Paranoia, worthlessness, littleness
All of which I’ve felt before, I could finally see
that she too, was broken, something amiss.

I felt a deep connection; understanding, a new feeling
Understanding of why she acted as she did,
hard, unyielding.
But yet, never could I forget my own past,
nightmares and fears that still last;

And I question my place here,
I question my future, near
I question everything she asks of me,
every “question” she does not expect an answer for
every question that ruins me that much more.
a Miduri
ring that
squat for
him and
tell members
it'll save
their souls
while attacks
on democracy
increase in
the land
as this
prosperity gospel
spreads without
central control
yet Operation
Canaan probe.
If ther was a Paradise Farm in Brazil
artful creations

colors, charcoals


stone and clay

wood and paper

bringing life


can the artist choose?
garden creations

shades of green


fern, forest

mint, moss

tea, olive

a multitude
of blooming

can the gardener decide on one?
kitchen creations

sweets and treats

savories and piquants

cakes and pies

meats, stews

butter, garlic



onions caramelized
to sweet


tamarind, turmeric

combined in
joy and

can the chef say which is best?

and thus
I challenge any poet

can you choose your favorite "child"?
I made myself hungry in that one part!
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