Hello Poetry is a poetry community that raises money by advertising to passing readers like yourself.

If you're into poetry and meeting other poets, join the community to remove ads and share your poetry. It's totally free.
NuBlaccSoul Jul 10
I remember her.
But I remember her differently now.

She was melody,
A sweet sounding summer song.
Ballads bellowed below, brass bass
reverberated round gongs, going gag.
Her eyes spoke the misery of worlds,
Yet, with a smile brought peace to a ravaged soul.
Memories morphed into melancholy
Our dry bones with melting marrow of pain crack again,
Letting it seep through the cracks of a once whole heart, thought to be incapable to feel.

Redemption - left for dead - rose.
Wallflowers wallpaper into still reds.
Red of blood, red of passion, red of danger , red of sin.
Sin that not even the lucid can avoid.
Velvety crimson haemmoraging life.
Becoming, being, be. Breaking black.
A scene of a thousand sunsets,
A sight of a freedom of doves only to be captured and enclosed in a dark, dark memory.
Flaking coffins of my palate
Cromoniun incence with crow cranium

I remember her.
She would remember me differently.
Only as a thought of momentary happiness,
An anomaly of an intimate feeling too great to define.
I was the calm amidst her tornado.
An avalanche taking over her very existence, pulsing through her veins, consuming her inner-being.

Plastic spring summer bright bundled
Autumn animosity and winter nu-ness
A calm sandy beach with a mayhem of waters consumed and controlled by desire.
When the waters come you won't survive the waves.
By the time you run, it'll be swimming against currents
An electrifying pulse of push punching shove tide,  tucked safely in the underbelly of under leagues sea, below Patrick's rock, exhaling energies from one lung to squirrel trees.
Money-watering branches.
Twigs in their twilight on an orange afternoon .
Yellow was his blue.

I remember her.
But I remember her differently now  
Becoming, being, be.
(C) 2018.  - a nu blacc soul gone crimson , on a Durban winter night
lilly Jun 5
perhaps this has lost its spark

perhaps i no longer feel the words hanging on the edge of my tongue
waiting for my mouth to open and for them to drip off
onto paper
the way they always used to

or perhaps the doors to my mouth (heart) have been slammed shut by expectations
from my family (no)
my friends (no)
society (no it's not)

from myself

exams and grades and my overwhelming urge to try hard and work hard and do well and i'm just so scared of failing—

it builds upon my shoulders
i feel like atlas carrying the weight of the earth except
there's nothing beautiful in the weight i'm carrying
there's nothing living

perhaps i'm thinking too much
this might just be paranoia (no)
this might just be writer's block (no)
this might just be me being me (it's not)

perhaps i've just lost a bit of inspiration

*perhaps i've just lost a bit of myself
maybe i just don't know
Sarah Mann May 10
A student weary from the week cries out, it's like
"We're trying to one up each other in misery"
Day by day,
Every single one, lines up straight, and rigid
Takes the time to confess and lays down
What's going on, around in this town?
The culture that is spreading is toxic.
Similar to a disease, where is our CDC?
Who is supposed to protect my life from me?
From my destructive, wasteful ways
From those long and uninterrupted days
Why do the teens have less and less life jumping between their minds?
Less and less excitement found in their blurry far too tired eyes
Dull, dreary, and exhausted
Walking into here feels like pushing against an immortal force
We trudge through the mud afraid of what comes next
I'm wondering if the girl next to me knows.
If she believes that the way we're going leads to the cold
To the undeserving, to those that remain untold.
I wonder and wonder for hours, but it's in my mind and I know.
This life style that is so widely encouraged and yet also frowned upon.
The controversy sets up success almost as a paradox.
Impossible, not achievable at least in this reality.
Should I sacrifice my health for a good grade in a class I don't even like.
Education, the path to freedom, but it feels as if living our lives in a hell.
Consuming coffee with enough sugar to make heart spike far above normal and to pump my adrenaline.  to get me going
My heartbeat is pumping too loud for me to hear.
“I despise where I am,”
the repetition of my statement is nauseating
I mean I do what I can, but it seems to never be enough.
And yet so many of us find ourselves relating
Why would students today rather die that go to school this way?
Why would I rather stay home sick just to avoid the stress?
How do you change our system, our very broken system that is no where near the best.
I don't know how to fix the problem, if I even can.
May, the time of finalities, whether it be exams, projects, or tests.
A performance scheduled during AP week, what a brilliant idea
Why don’t you just sign the forms to drive the students completely mad.
I'm not good with time management.
I’m not good at taking math tests or test in general that is.
So why have I taken 5 standardized in this week alone.
That seems a bit absurd.
We’re giving it our all, I promise.
Please give us a break, please let’s change the mentality
The toxicity of the prepatory student mindset
If not for me, or my fellow students, for the future.
Please the pressure is capsizing our success,
And our SOS doesn’t seem to be getting through
So I hope this message reaches you.
Written Wednesday, May 9, 2018, amidst AP exam week.
Mica Kluge May 10
See her? With the impeccable taste in fashion?
She's top of her class in calculus. You probably didn't know that.
See him? With the fearless glint in his eye?
He's studying science, but he has the soul of a poet. Tests lie.
See her? Buried behind a stack of books nine tall and three deep?
She's terrified that she'll get a B, because, to her, that's failing.
See him? Museum-quality doodles and red ink decorate his papers.
He'll be president one day, if he can find something that he loves.
See me? No, actually you probably don't see me. Why would you?
I've managed to dangle from the rim of the outskirts of life so far.
Someone once told me that seeing gifts is a gift itself. Maybe it's true.
But, didn't they ever tell you that geniuses doubt themselves, too?
That we doubt ourselves most of all?
Your story is just as important as the ones all around you.
Will May 5
Rain drips off of the schools rooftop.
I dash quickly, hoping to avoid getting wet.
Perfect timing.
As I cross the roofs threshold, a large drop of water hits my right eye.
I brush it away.
Today is my final final.
The cloudy sky and rain are almost poetically intertwined with my GPA.
I look over to the grass separating my building and me.
Faint muddy footprints show in the trampled grass.
I wonder how many students have walked this path in the rain?
Placing my feet in the same steps, I carefully walk through the wetness.
Reaching the school's door, I place my hand on the glass and turn around.
I wonder...
L M Biese Jan 10
I'm finished with this
I know you're hurting
I know I can't leave you alone
But I know how to leave.


Sometime I hope we'll be able to do this again
write back and forth with
all the things we feel
and all the things we want to say


I found someone else
I'm happy.
You haven't
I can't afford the pity.


You keep telling me
that I need to change


So I'm starting with you.
I changed how I feel to protect you told you I did.
I'm sorry
But I have too much weighing me down
without the pressure
that only a snowstorm can provide.
I'm very sorry, but I can't keep writing to you.
I'll be back after finals, maybe.
See you later Seph.
Ww Jan 8
the halls today are filled
of walking husks of people
heavy mutter clutter the air
all are looking feeble

textbook-laden brains
lips a-coffee stained
eyes manic to the brim
composure wearing thin

stress-filled laughters
litter conversations,
every word carry the burden
of hard sleepless nights

some are carefree
but most are buried inside the library
a last ditch effort to arm the cavalry
as the enemy nears the periphery

the bell rings loud
the masses resort to silence,
the death toll rang
all around the campus

as the door came crashing down
you can almost hear
the desperate souls' silent cries
as "FINALS" enter with a smile.
apology for the jumbled verses
for this was born as my brain traverses
between panic to dilemma
from philosophies to subpoenas
from economy to mitochondrias
from pen to paper
this poem I cater.

I just needed to let go of some steam. cause damn I'm so stressed right now.
chloe fleming Dec 2017
The continuum of existence,
The constant push and pull.
No time left for actual learning,
Just dying undercover,
We're just trying to keep our cool.
So next time you actually think,
Existence is something more than a series of points
Plotted on a paper graph,
Remember this, my child,
Life is shit,
It's just waiting for us to quit.
idk its finals week
alex Dec 2017
he sits at a desk in the library.
it’s nearly midnight and you watch him
take his notes and drink his water.
you’re a desk away from him
and you know that it’s much too late
to be making conversation
but he looks up
ruffles his own hair
and smiles at you something weary
something tired
something beautiful enough to
make you smile back
more genuinely than you honestly should.
he’s a stranger but it’s fine.

it’s dead silent in here
just you and the books
and the millions of things you could say
wrapped up in them
and while you’re trying to think of something
he curls his lips around the words
“finals, huh?”

you laugh and say
“yeah man.”

you want to maybe elaborate
tell him that this psychology exam
might actually be the death of you
tell him that you’ve been studying for
four hours straight and you think your eyes
might actually fall out of your head.

he laughs back and nods
“how many exams you got left?”

you groan
“just one. you?”


“good luck with that”

he laughs and you want to say something
to make him do it again

he feels special
you know?
you just know sometimes
but the air doesn’t feel like magic
it feels like you’re in a library
at midnight the night before a final exam
that you don’t know a damn thing about
but the guy a desk away from you
is still looking at you.
he’s still.
looking at you.

and you hadn’t noticed but
you’re still looking at him too.

he says
“i’ve been here since like six.
do you wanna get a coffee?”

just a little smile around the words
“yeah, sure.”

and you put away your psychology notes
and your laptop and your book
even though you’ll need to study for
at least three more hours to understand
a single thing it’s fine.
he packs up his things and the two of you
walk to the elevator.
he lets you press the button

you ask
“what were you studying?”

he says
“bio. you?”



you laugh
and he laughs
and the elevator laughs
as it dings and opens its doors
even the environment has begun to
take part in your merriness.

you step inside
he hits the button for the first floor
and he says
“i took psych last semester.
which one are you in?”

you say

he says
“yeah that one’s rough. barely
passed it.”

“tell me about it”
you joke

and then the elevator dings again
and the doors open again
and the two of you fumble to step out
like you go first no you go first
and it’s all very cute

and you get to the starbucks on the first floor
get in line and take note of
how many people are still here
frantically cramming information into their

time skip
you two have your coffee.
you sit at a little table that
just barely became vacant
and you sip.
you got something hot and
he got something cold
and you thought it was cute because
it’s december and here he is with a frappe.

you chit and you chat
and think maybe this could be that
romance for the ages
that the movies talk about.

his laugh is like a jingle bell
happy holidays to you both
it seems.

he smiles at you again and you
sip your coffee
and before you know it
it's dangerously approaching 2 a.m.
but you can’t bring yourself to
check the time anymore

you laugh until you’re not strangers anymore
and he says
“this is such a great study break”

you say
“i’m so glad you asked to get coffee”

he smiles and says
“me too.”

and it’s all downhill from there

(or is it uphill?
you never can remember).
happy finals everybody. i should be studying right now.
Justin Soberano Dec 2017
It‘s not what we ought,
Never was it sought,
To bring out a thought,
That you would get caught,
By the hands that fought,
In the night and fog,
On sunny days - drought.
Then you get knocked out,
Coffee in the mouth,
Then a single froth,

It’s caffeine.

An overdose.

You’re dead.
a poem I made on Twitter, might as well share it here as well.
Next page