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Emery Feine Sep 30
Sometimes, with a roll of the dice
A child receives a blessing that comes with a price
They can be born with the blessing of being smart
Yet in society, they'll always be apart
Who would've known that a bigger or stronger brain
Can make people think you're entirely insane
If you do one thing well in your prime
Then you'll be stuck doing that till the end of time
And if you ever try to quit
Why would you? You're good at it
There's so much pressure on you
That there's nothing you can look forward to
And if you get just one thing incorrect
There's something in your brain that needs to be checked
People will look up to you, but you're up there alone
Sitting down on your worthless diamond throne
And if you aren't better than only some
You're immediately characterized as dumb
Would you really want to feel so apart
Just so you could be a bit more smart?
this is my 77th poem, written on 1/23/24
Emery Feine Sep 30
If I went back to my past, would this all really last?
If I cherished all my days, would I still be chasing after grades?
Threw away my life and fell apart
Now all I have left is being smart
Is this the life I'd really choose, if I knew, I couldn't lose?
My whole life ruined from the beginning, but I can't stop that from me winning
And I've carried myself on this path called life, while bleeding out from an 8-inch-knife
So I will go where the wind refuses to blow
And soon I will see that no one can stop me
And I'm sorry if I made your life harder, but this whole time, I've just been your daughter
And even just one mistake will cause this thin ice to surely break
They'll glare at you when you're at your low
They'll glare at you from heat to snow
So you glare back at them like a shattered mirror
So you glare at all the things you once held dear
this is my 74th poem, written on 1/11/24
Emery Feine Sep 28
I was in a car in a parking lot with my family
Looking into the window of a car
I saw a girl I knew from afar
Being treated just like a star

But we both had wit, and we both were smart
And I watched her through my calamity
Watched her get paused at the accomplishments we both had happily
Daydreaming if my family could reenact this fantasy

And I can tell her family has the biggest heart
If only mine's opinion on my achievements would just restart
Even if we were the same, she'd be the work of art
But if she's both Yin and Yang, when can I play my part?
this was my 43rd poem, written on 11/6/23
Maria Mitea Aug 14
when you watch the shadow crawl from the floor to the wall,
a branch falls,
the dawn crushed in the palms fades,
the spiral of smoke despairs of its own act,
not to enter your sight, moves aside,
evolution worked on these blue eyes for millions of years, no joke,
you follow every move
like a spy
the shadow returns:
- be wild again, dive into the green water
sunlit,
with the arrow in the back,
call your arms, shout, swim,
she is a tide in the chest,
just a tide,
the moon an ellipse end, a chain,
it spins around his axis
like a hub,
the waters break the sky, bleed between the thighs,
innocence lets us see the valleys beneath her feet,
don't let your lungs melt into smoke like a forgotten spring
out of air,

like grass,
tender and gentle
the spring draws its life from the graves,
out of mourning,
that's why the murmur resembles a cry,
a sigh,
and thirst,
hunger,
and the river smooths the stream,
and the wind settles on your cheek, waits
a feather to fall on your head,
in the abyss
waiting for you to look at the sky, amazed, to ask: - who is hitting me,
who hits me every time i try to find solace,
refuge,
serenity,

when you watch the shadow crawl from the floor to the wall,
the murmur elevates any escape to the rank of genius
Anais Vionet Apr 2022
I’m not always a fan of poetry - if I actually take time to ponder it
- it can be so irritatingly rhymey, kind of fussy and needlessly intricate.

Compare my love to a summer’s day and I’ll probably yawn and walk away.

Take a nuanced look at the transactions of *** and consent,
and as adults, we may wonder where the romance went.

You know, it only happens once in a while,
that someone with wit and individual style
comes along with something to say
and scribbles it down in a poem or play.

Here’s to the creative visionaries,
to Dickinson's unique and dreamy imagery,
to Shakespear’s highly stylized, run-on sentences
that manage to speak to us over the centuries
or challenge our stifled, bourgeoisie banality
like Nabokov’s use of stunning vocabulary.
I gaze the wheat field
gusts of wind erupt and impede to the very end
crows take flight towards the blood red Sun
he calls them back
rests his weary hands and tired eyes
before the long walk into town
his silhouette fades as I awaken
to view the captured image that hangs
from my wall
the perfect lucid dream
Keiko Tei Aug 2021
My Melody was a prodigy.
At least that’s what they told her.
“You’re so smart, you’ll achieve anything you set your mind to!”
And she knew that’s what she was gonna do.

My Melody did achieve great things.
After all, that’s what she set out to do.
But little did My Melody know, that life is not all that simple,
Because life was a thin paper that can easily crinkle.

My Melody stopped as easily as she started.
Her confidence shattering and doubt started pouring in.
Were the stories lacking in honesty?
Or was My Melody just a self-fulfilling prophecy?
Laokos May 2021
the genius
of his spirit isn't
allowed to be
confident

the muses around
his works
laugh at his
shy hubris

his connections
to the creative are
buried under a
desert

his voice
is full
of charisma
and doubt

there's something
in the way
of love

his heart is
alone in hell

in his father's
home
searching for the
way

his life is a
lightbulb
as bright as
it is empty

just like his
poetry
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