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Cole Maxwell Apr 1
When I was 15, the world ended.
And it wasn't as spectacular as I thought it was going to be.
I had always imagined the sky tearing open and flames of fury would rain down upon us all,
But instead, it was my heart that was torn in half, and the fire only rained down on me.
It took 45 seconds for me to destroy everything that I knew,
and create an entirely different world,
Not only for me, but also for the people that knew me.
I was born again, bore the sin, more than anything horrible I ever felt, I was torn in ten.
Had I put a knife to my throat? Or fell in love?
What's the origin?
And nobody could ever understand it better than the horror itself that closed me in.
But she destroyed the bin,
With me in it and I was never ever sure again.
Like paper shredding under fluorescent tubes, my skin was thin.
Let demons in and they took shelter and then horrid soreness manifested within.
The eyes of the Lord looking down upon the men and women,
And all he could see was that my darkness had surfaced again.
I swore to Him I'd never resort to that sin,
But more than expected I was short of the win,
And lost myself with hopelessness,
My unfortunate friend.
Scorching torture forced me to pretend,
Over and over I retorted the fib with a grin;
Smiled as the lore spread like venom in skin.
The door to the end was open.
Therefore I went in,
And premonitions filled my core,
So I was forced to give in.
Over the course of a decade, the source of discourse caused me to see a red shade of anger.
For what felt like 4 million days I endured the rage,
Simple and plain I was psychotic, in danger,
ignoring the ways
To force myself to have a smile on my face.
It remains insane to me how the blade, when it penetrated,
Gave my skin goosebumps,
The doctor made me feel humiliated.
Sickness in my brain wants to put me in my grave,
OD was the second time I attempted the same.
But the fact of the matter is
The facts are a shame.
And the way that I felt this day,
Brought hope of finding a way,
To rid my head of the voices that haunt me,
Spewing disdain.
Third time's a charm I suppose,
Or at least that's what they say.
Apollo Hayden Sep 2018
Trace these lines with your fingers and close your eyes,
and feel this map that'll lead you to treasures deeply hidden inside.
A challenging trek but nevertheless, valleys are worth the journeys through, and mountains are worth the climb
to find me patiently waiting here at the seat of my soul, I'll know that you've traveled far and wide.
If you make it here I know you've been sent by the heavenly divine
spirit that resides inside of you, and inside of I.
Remember the soul contract we signed at the beginning of time,
and lets move these constellations out the way until we feel our stars align.
Yeah, we're still living our lives but just know that I'll be waiting, until you find me here inside.
Grace Spellman Apr 2018
i believe i get left wherever i go
little bits and pieces of me
are scattered all over the world
a segment of my heart in the ocean
became one with the water and with the sand
so now whenever the big blue body engulfs me
i feel found again
some pieces of me floated away in the breeze
of my favorite forest
so now when i am barefoot in the dirt
sprawled on the grass
i feel connected to myself again
nature is a place you can always go
its okay if your soul whispers into the gravel
because you can always retrace your steps
and be found there again
but what about places you cannot return to?
places that are not places
but people
lost lovers, lost trust
how am i supposed to find myself again
when you've buried my most crucial piece
within yourself?
could you give it back, please?
Juverine Wan Mar 2018
of better things
of lovely things
of saddening things

of Him who I wondered
ever really loved me
or did it mean no more

of the life that was not mine
the life I left behind
the life I could not find

of something I do not deserve
yet yearn for
with no reserve

of things so harsh and deep
the ocean swallows me whole
and into quicksand I seep

of the life I thought I desired
of the life I was inspired
but never became reality

of better things
that became worser things
That became dangerous things

Of things I don't understand
Yet yearn for
What nonsense, I am.
a smol bean Jan 2018
You promised me forever
even in a life that is temporary
and you broke two things with one word.

We try so hard for a life that’s good
Until we’re all numb.
Until we have been hurt so much that we
say we’re fine.
Until we look into the mirror and see all the good things that we are not
instead of seeing the good things that we are.
Until we’re all too blind to past all the lies that society shows.
Until the light runs out leaving all of us in the dark, with
nothing to say or do except lay there and
look up at the thousands of stars of the cold and bitter night and
one day eventually fall asleep.
Until that icy glacier covering your heart freezes more.
Until we take a breath in and can’t let it out because
everytime that you let someone go
it hurts and you know you possibly can’t let go another.
Until someone can’t grab you and
hold you tight like an anchor to reality.
So promise me you won’t break my heart again
even though I know you will.

my first poem yeaaaaaaaaa
Panda Jan 2017
There was a small frog
Splayed out on a zoo log
Its name was something-dog

I think it was dead
It didn't move its head
Nor blink its eyes instead

It was kinda cute
Though in death it was mute
So a picture of it I did shoot

A girl my age shoved past
Looked into the foggy zoo glass
To see the amphibious class

She called it lazy
Said the frog was **** ****
Then left to see cuter things

Dead or simply asleep
Cute or a slimy creep
Who thought about frogs so deep?
just got back from zoo, im posting frog as my new background
IsReaL E Summers Jul 2015
sometimes I write a really long poem, and it flows well... but then I think I'm trying way-to-hard and completely delete it. (This is one of those cases) And then, soon after i usually end up writing something really short and to-the-point. Hope you enjoy.
Barrow May 2015
She has,
Copper skin and blood that runs red like little rivers.

She is,
Terrified of what is inside and who she is, only because she is rejected by what she is, and whom she has become.

She faces the lie of "I am fine", and thoughts that plague the fill-in-the-answer, dotted lines, crossed I's and dotted t's that scream: "I'm only tired."

She is tired.
She is tired of lies forced upon her body like scars that engrave in her brain. She is tired of the lack of determination, the learned helplessness of failing and failing and failing again.

She is tired of the elongated sighs and eyes trickled with crocodile tears.

She is tired of the future that leaps out before her, yet is so far out of her grasp.
Yet, she is tired of the haunting past, so she sits on the corner of "Where and when?" as if waiting for an old friend.

She waits for a friend that will never arrive. Time and time will pass by, until the moment her heart leaps out of her chest and into the bottom of the sea, where she longs to be free.

So in words shrouded in darkness and fear she writes the words and listens to poems that read, "My Dear," in hope that the aching of her chest will cease the blood orange rivers from tainting her copper skin.

She vows that one day she will win.

But one day is not today. So she continues to sit on the corner of "Where and when?"

Where will you life begin, you dandelion rose? When will your life begin?
So this is the poem that got published in the book... I'm honestly not certain if it's really that good.

— The End —