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Dante Mar 3
Two hurt souls with a hope to find tranquility, two lost souls torn and wasted, restricting them selves form falling for cupids temptations, souls attracted by their similarities in spite of the odds, desperate to find a way out, to find a soul mate that would rescue them from eternal solitude, they find eachother with an intense force and passion so desperate causing impact at the slightest touch, they evolve into a storm moving the skies violently without a care for destiny, they move through the friction and dance through their dark clouds and at the slightest graze the skies  roar again, lightning consuming their sky, upon realizing they can not be one, they make a desperate attempt to hang on to eachother Grasping violently  hurting one another  with every carress thunder cracks through their sky once again bringing down a deluge of tears, pain and insatiable nights that evaporate slowly into a heavy dew falling over the streets they once walked. The silence that fills the air  dense with emptiness the skies are clear the sun shines and the only solace they will find lies in the ghost of their storm and the grey in their skies
"Do Hurt People Hurt People" explores the cycle of pain and the complexities of love between two wounded souls. The poem depicts their intense, passionate connection, which, while beautiful, becomes destructive as their unresolved wounds collide. Through vivid imagery of storms and skies, it reflects on how hurt individuals can unintentionally harm one another, even in their search for solace. Ultimately, the poem suggests that healing must come from within, and love alone cannot rescue us from our inner turmoil. It’s a poignant meditation on the fragility of relationships and the lingering scars of emotional storms.
Reece Mar 3
It always moves,
Whether we like it to,
Or not.
We can’t control it,
And our influence,
Pales to its might.
Through all our wars,
Where we fought,
And people died.
What never changed,
The somber dance,
Of time.
We take its hand,
And hope we can keep up,
As we falter,
Broken-hearted.
It grinds us into a fragile shell,
Filled with heartache,
Like a snowflake,
An assaulter.
Some are accepting,
Other terrified,
Such as myself,
They try amending,
Their mistakes,
That they made,
In the past.
Can’t change it now.
We keep on moving,
No other choice,
Just keep on keeping on,
Hoping that the madness makes sense,
As we grow,
Because we know,
Time only moves forward,
As it always has.
Time is our biggest enemy.
Reece Feb 26
Sometimes,
I don’t feel anything,
Not something bad,
Just nothing at all.
Head feels clouded with fog,
The contagious, corruptive smog.
Slowly,
Killing,
Me,
From the inside out,
One day,
I’ll be free,
From this apathy.
I’ll learn to care again,
I’ll find myself again,
I will…
I think sometimes everyone feels a little numb, and it's such a strange feeling. At least it's always temporary.
Reece Feb 26
Always the cloud,
Blocking out my sun,
Filling me with darkened thoughts,
Never any fun.
Makes me question the point,
Wondering if the struggle is worth the ending.
Always suffering,
For what?
Eventually, the clouds will move on,
My sun will resurface,
I’ll hide my pain behind a smile,
And walk on,
For what am I to do?
This is number two of this little series, I'll try to come up with a more clever name eventually.
Reece Feb 26
This year, lunchtime seems to drag on,
When previously, before I knew it, it was gone.
What has changed?
It isn’t time.
It’s the sorrowful realization,
That friends can fade,
Just like the rain,
Before you know it,
Gone.
The silence,
Deafening,
The consequences,
Terminal,
I’ll never be the same.
I'm going to experiment with some shorter poems as an exercise in concise messaging. I hope they still make sense and have themes.
Reece Feb 21
A hero may wear a cape,
But that doesn’t mean they’re Superman,
They all pale in comparison,
Just another human,
Whether a man or a woman,
Their motives hidden behind their ribbons
Trying to make the world a better place.

A hero may preach peace,
But that doesn’t mean they believe it,
Often it’s just about their image.
The war must go on,
Never will everyone be happy,
There’s too much to complain about,
To be ungrateful about,
To not see the beauty of the planet we call home.
The hero may say they are against this complaining,
Yet, you see them in the streets doing the exact same thing.

Never meet your heroes,
You realize how much you inflated their heroics,
When you meet them in person,
You see how, perhaps, they weren’t a hero at all.
They aren’t a villain,
Just not a hero,
Not what you originally believe,
Yet you convinced yourself they were perfect.
Perfection is a losing game.

What makes a hero?
What makes someone noble?
Or have honor?
Or courage?
People love to play these roles,
Put them on like a wolf in sheep’s clothing,
You can always spot a fake,
They just feel disingenuous.
How can you have honor,
And preach your mantra,
Yet cut in the lunch line,
Like you’re better than all of the rest behind you?
That’s not honor!
That’s being a two-faced dishonorable fraud!
Like so many people,
Who wear the “honorable” facade.

I wouldn’t call myself honorable,
I’ve done things I’m not proud of,
Made mistakes I regret,
Have demons in my heart,
Who remind me where I misstep.
I refuse to identify,
As something I’m not,
It makes me feel icky,
Dishonest, and like a fraud.
Who relishes this feeling,
Of lying for qualities they don’t have?
What do you gain?
Recognition?
Fame?
All temporary in the grand scheme of the game.

A hero isn’t pure,
They’ve done things they despise themselves for,
Yet they try their best,
To not make the same mistake again.
They try to make a change,
Instead of complaining!

A hero isn’t good,
Or great,
And certainly not extraordinary,
They’re decent,
Down to earth,
Understanding of their faults,
Yet they push forward anyway.
They try to please people,
Not worth their time,
All in an effort,
To see them smile.
They try to save people,
To far gone to save,
Yet, they try anyway,
For they can’t accept,
That some people can’t be saved,
And are lost in the darkness.

Nobility,
Not kings or queens,
But high standards and ideas,
Yet to be expressed,
They haven’t found the words.
A hero has morals,
One’s that won’t change,
Based on who they talk to,
Their code remains the same.
That’s what takes honor,
That’s what takes strength,
Being yourself despite the gremlins,
And the goblins,
And the orcs,
Being yourself,
No matter who’s watching.
“With integrity and honor,
For people to see.”
Words long forgotten,
In our memories.

Integrity requires honor,
Which requires being noble,
Which goes hand in hand with courage and bravery.
A hero is all of these things,
Combined into a pie,
And though we humans try to replicate the recipe,
We end up exploding the kitchen,
Leaving fallout in our wake.

To me the idea of a hero,
Is more reliable than seeing it in reality,
Someone so honest,
So kind,
Understanding,
And always fighting for what they believe is right.

A villain is a hero,
Just for the other side,
With other motives,
And ways of working things out,
And the hero is the villain to the villain.
Who is right and who is wrong?
The common question.
Often times it’s not so black and white,
Nuances aplenty,
If you open your eyes.
Some are just cruel,
But some have a reason for the heinous actions they do,
Occasionally,
I root for the villain.

We may come close,
But we will never see the perfect hero,
He’s already left.
While we wait,
We can dream,
And aspire to be,
Like Superman.
As the old pledge went,
“When no one else is watching,
It is up to me!”
And so it always will be,
For each of us is the hero in our own story…
Heroes...how we wish we could be them, without fully understanding the struggle or the moral strength it requires.
Reece Feb 21
I’ve decided I’ve more things to say,
Thoughts wishing to escape my brain,
Whether it’s wrong or whether it’s right,
Prepare for a third piece of my mind.

Is it just me,
Or is communicating,
The hardest trial of life?
Living isn’t hard to me,
It’s coexisting that’s filled with strife.
Trying and failing to express ideas,
In a way that makes sense,
That they can comprehend,
These abstractions of thoughts in my head.

Talking is hard,
Especially when your mouth and your brain,
Aren’t on the same wavelength.
You think one thing,
And say another,
Leaving nothing but shame,
And discomfort.
Sometimes you say the wrong things,
At the wrong time,
To the wrong person,
Such is life.
They push you away,
You feel regret,
Part of the process,
You can’t take it back.
Apologies are just more words,
Added to the wound,
Actions are more powerful,
For better or for worse.

There’s something mesmerizing about the piano,
One of, if not, my favorite instruments.
The piano can make me happy,
Nostalgic,
Sad,
Or bittersweet,
All with a couple of keys.
How powerful when held,
Hearing the strings ring.
However,
I prefer the sad piano songs,
They do a perfect job,
Painting the scene,
Of bittersweet contentment.
The somber melodies make me long,
For those early childhood days,
The ones I rarely remember,
Basking in the sun’s rays.
How miraculous,
And part of what makes the human experience so grand,
How these feelings can be stirred,
From a few notes played,
On a grand piano.

To fit with the tradition,
I’ll quote a song by Alec Benjamin,
This one titled,
“The Plan,”
This is the chorus.
“What I wanted then isn’t what I’ve got now,
But if I did it again I wouldn’t change it anyhow,
I had a vision in my head,
I even wrote it all down,
The plan didn’t work but it all worked out.
The plan didn’t work but it all worked out.”
This song laments on how plans can change,
And paths we’re lead can be different than what we imagine,
Yet, even so,
The path we’re on,
Is the one we’re meant to walk
I agree…

Sometimes it’s difficult for me to distinguish,
Between an acquaintance and a friend.
Is it based on time known?
Or the quality of the relationship?
Or how well you click?
Or do I just overcomplicate it?
Sometimes I wish,
I thought less,
Because sometimes it seems,
Like a curse…

Here we are at the end,
Another poem at its conclusion,
My mind feels at ease,
Finally feeling included.
Only one more piece of my mind remains to be said,
The rest I’ll keep hidden in my head.
Farewell,
Until next time,
Where I unleash,
The final piece of my mind…
I always love writing these!
Millee Feb 16
this side of my skin
hides what lies within
a perfect shell
hiding my inner hell

this side of me
hides what you can see
what i hide
what's trapped deep inside

outside as perfection
inside a deadly infection
it spreads through my soul
its darkness swallowing me whole

this side of my skin
protects what i hide within
keeps my thoughts hidden
because what they say is surely forbidden
Reece Feb 15
Sometimes I feel like an alien,
Flying in my little spaceship,
Searching for a place to call my home,
Somewhere to call my own.
I must be from another planet.
What’s normal here,
Isn’t normal to me,
It fills me with fear,
That abnormality,
Isn’t so strange anymore,
How horrid.

Spite and strife,
Common friends,
Together until the end.
Such cruelty,
The normality,
Of hate and evil glee,
At the sacrifice of someone’s purity.

I know humor is subjective,
But I think objectively,
Some things are just not funny,
And shouldn’t have jokes made to laugh at.
Is that so revolutionary?

Does it ever seem to you,
That people are becoming crueler?
Is it just me?
I hope I’m wrong.
Video after video,
Of people whining and complaining,
And screaming at the waiter,
Cause they didn’t get,
The correct,
Amount of the condiment they ordered.
Fights in the streets,
Over petty disagreements.
Road rage at an all-time high,
Why?
People make mistakes,
They do it all the time,
**** it up,
Grow up,
And move on with your life!

I wonder,
What planet I came from,
Cause it sure wasn’t here.
That could be,
The reason,
Why I feel no one gets me,
We are two different species….


Society just loves to complain,
About how things aren’t that great,
But instead of changing anything,
They’ll just complain.
Always putting someone down,
To push them up,
The cowards!
Always easier to hurt another,
When you can’t look in their eyes.
Type your hatred down,
Send it in an instant,
Can’t take it back,
Don’t feel regret now.

I question,
My origin,
Because I refuse to believe,
That I am,
A part,
Of whatever we try to be…

I’ll put a drop in the bucket,
In the hope that,
Kindness will overflow,
And overthrow,
The darkness,
One day…

Sometimes I feel like an alien,
Looking for a home,
Somewhere to call my own…
Sometimes the world feels crazy, cause it is, but a small act of kindness can make it a little better.
Naiomi Feb 12
Something I never had, freedom
Friends that had my back, leave them
Tears fill my eyebags, useless feeling
                                                         ­                                                    Weak
Pathetic you say,
                                     Your daughter, laugh as you may.

I like a guy, unwanted attention
Time passes by, haunted by tension
Ask for reasons why, say its affection
                                                       ­                                                      Narcissistic
Selfish I’m told,
                                    I’m seventeen, a sheep with no wool.

A comfort pillow, slowly turning hot
The wilting willow, vines tight as knots
Choking below, self made blood clots
                                                           ­                                                  Ignorant

Egocentric you declare,
                                                      Li­fe just started, and life’s not fair.

Blood’s spilling, considered infraction
Heart chilling, fading reaction
Head drilling, thoughts in redaction
                                                       ­                                                      Failure
I’m to blame,
                              Your knife in my hand, inching closer to my vein.

-Naiomi Crowell
Poem from within
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