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Some time in may
Last year, 2018
It was a warm day
I was thirteen

You said you didn't want me
Anymore
You broke my heart and changed me
But that's not the end

I thought I'd never finish
Being thirteen
To die was my dearest wish
But I turned fourteen

You may have broke my heart
But it fixed on its own
You messed me up real smart
Now my hearts on airplane mode

Won't let anything in
That includes memories of you
I'm going to win
I will forget how I loved you

You you you you you
On my mind
Me me me me me
Please be kind

To yourself
You're still alive
Look at you
Heart still going

My heart's on airplane mode
At least it's still beating
Living on my own
No more feeling
Thought I'd be dead by now really I did pretty proud I'm still here hehe
keneth May 16
14
hang my smile
and trap it in four;
enclosed with a glass
a love forever trapped in colours


an unending curiosity;
hang me on your shoulders
sketch my tears into a sweat
recolour me, blue, that blooms forever


pigmented rays of levels of feelings
a purple haze painted unintentionally
but you decided gradients weren't true
you said that love just wasn't for you


so just hang my smile
and you'll leave me hanging
paint another picture of me
with a love that's trapped in colours
a piece of art that fell in love with his observer / peculiar
ollie Nov 2018
I wanted to write a poem
About a boy named melancholy
Problem is I ran out of words to describe him
The thing about being melancholy is that there’s no reason to it
And the boy named melancholy is devoid entirely of melanin
At least, in his skin
Hair and eyes, that’s a different story
His skin is snow white and his hair is often mistaken for black
But the stepmother in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs scared him so that he couldn’t watch the movie
Dwarfs, though, in the title, he always knew had been spelt wrong
And the thing about a boy named melancholy is there’s not enough to say and too much to say
Allowing the combination to be something much too complicated for a human brain
The human brain in question, of course, is entirely a trick of our entity
I am a boy named melancholy
Without necessarily wanting to be
And I’m scared
Because I’m so tired of pretending that I’m going to be a boy forever
I’m so tired of pretending that I’m a kid
I will never be a kid again
I’m still never sure if I even want to live to seventeen
Because honestly what’s the point in going on if you’re still going to tell yourself you’re not nearly as fantastic as people are claiming
I’m bringing guns to knife fights and I’m still always the loser cause I forgot that the way mental illness works, all these duels are with your own head
I hate being sick
I hate having to fight with myself all the time
I just want to be a normal kid
I want to go home
And sometimes I feel like that’s too much to ask
I’m fourteen
Begging to be fourteen
And begging to be able to commit a couple crimes and get away with it
To have my first kiss and have my heart broken
Anything is better than this
I just want to be fourteen
Let me be fourteen
‘Cause let’s face it, I never had the chance to be thirteen
Or twelve
Eleven or ten
I just had to suffer
Mary-Eliz Apr 2018
seven pennies
fourteen dimes
two friends visit
candy shop

sweet smiles
sharing
candy bar
I don't know if $1.47 would buy a candy bar big enough to share, but wanted to try this form with 7 for number of lines, 14 for number of words, two for the break into two parts. Not sure it fits the part about creating pictures. (Thanks, Apricot, for introducing the form :-)
BC Jaime Mar 2018
is how long
it took the
paramedics

the whole while
we breathed into
you

pumping your still
chest, counting
beats

we brought you
back for a
moment

our eyes met
you gave us
permission

to let you
go but we’re
stubborn

and never stopped
breathing, compressions
counting

pupils dilated, stained
bed and us
failures


[Note: This poem was originally published by Cadence Collective: https://cadencecollective.net/2014/11/01/fourteen-minutes/-]
© BC Jaime 2014 || IG: @B.C.Jaime

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/.
Jean Lewis Feb 2018
Trust this once, I be honest
If naught, I be your detest
I request... see not my best
Lest, you see my life's a mess.

Knight nor angel be my fame
Yet demon may be my name
For I am void, all the same
Might once, the beast has been tame.

Read your "Words," few times over
Feeling this guilt forever
Hoping I was better
"I'm sorry..." speaks my letter.

Know not, if I caused you smile
Only knew, I made you cry;
I bear not a will so vile
"Forgive me..." for much I pry.

Laziness, I call father
Fallacy be my brother
But trust, pain too my teacher
And hatred my named lover.

I come in princely garment
Yet, naught stranger to torment
Believe... this time I lament
I too was broken and bent.

And as you read this seventh,
Naught deadly sin nor Godsent
Please wait... make way for the eighth
I hope you come not I to hate.

'Til eight day, my feelings last
"Til thirteenth hour, I stand fast
At world's end, I turn to dust
Your sake, I accept all cuss...

By no means, am I kidding
You're pretty, I'm not lying
You know, I'm at your bidding
Your smile, beauty undying...

Your hair not black but silky
And eyes that shine so brightly
Thy skin looking so dewy
You're extraordinary...

There are times when you're silly
Know that I will set you free
Ask I, try look at what I see
You're truly perfect to me.

Trust me, need not you be strong
I am here for you lifelong
And give me a bit of prong,
Then I will prove the world wrong.

Know that I have found a clue
Right now, I give you my cue
Too deep, too much, too hard, too?
I only wish to be true...

Warmer red and cooler blue
A purple rose is your hue
Beauty be gone, without "U"
I am always here for you...
This Fourteenth, I am Honest
-Jean Lewis
boringwonderland Dec 2017
even at only fourteen years old,
I would finish bottles to myself
the amount wouldn't fit on a shelf
I got too drunk, to be bold
I thought my friend might help
but the last thing I remember
is being led into a chamber
by the opposite gender
I tried to rip my hand away
it didn't phase him
he pushes me on the bed
and then everything goes black
I wake up with puke in my hair
I was alone and bare
I was hurting
it was burning
my stomach turning
he gives me a warning
last night was fun
I had bruises
I want to run
out of my body
I shower until my whole body is ******
but five years later and I do not feel clean
everyone there had seen
what he did to me
not one single word was spoken about it
they let it be
Jikai Zheng Nov 2017
I blame you for making me write all these sonnets
I tried to make the best of it, but five?
How in the ******* world am I supposed to write five?
Doesn’t each sonnet take the course of a week?
And it definitely seems that we don’t have five weeks
To write five pristine perfect sonnets
I’d rather read fifty poems than write five of these stupid things
I’d like the meet the man who decided these poems
Had to be fourteen lines, stylized rhymes
I’d say, go to hell with you and this torturous format
Instead of making me write these many poems
All in the same style, all droaning on in my mind
Like an endless treadmill of poem-writing
I say I’ll do better on the next assignment, but truthfully
I’m improvising
cher Jul 2017
fourteen months
led to nothing,

fourteen months
of tears in the pillow,

fourteen months
lying to myself,

fourteen months
wasting the ache,

fourteen months
knowing it would end this way
a thing happened and i thought i was over it but i guess i wasnt

20 second poetry
Jayanne G Feb 2017
in the day of fourteen
everywhere is obscene
yet for them is serene,
how terrible to be seen
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