Dear Diary,
On August 30th, 2016
My heart hammered against my chest
Before being hammered back down with nails this time
And it hurt like it always did,

My breath had been emptied through the punctured holes of my balloon chest
And no matter how many times I tried to inhale air
My throat wouldn’t allow me to breathe
Because my throat enjoyed watching me choke on my own words
Like how my mind fancies watching me suffer from suffocation,

Then again, I wondered:
“Why am I so afraid?
It’s just school and socializing.”
Yet I think during the past few months
Breathing has become more lethal than suffocating.

Dear Diary,
I’m sorry I couldn’t live up to your expectations
There are just too many voices screaming in my head sometimes,

One great one once said:
“Let no one cage who you were born to be.”
But what if this cage is the only sanctuary I have left?

Because even though
The soul inside me bangs against the insides of my body
And threatens to rip my cracking ribs apart
With its fluorescent colored hands,

I will not open nor allow my soul to crack this cage
That I’ve constructed by:
Sticks of secrets and metallic tears.

Found:
Poetry created by taking words, phrases, and passages from other sources and re-framing them by adding spaces, lines, or by altering the text with additions or subtractions.
Ink 7d

When the pressure builds on your shoulders
And you’re on the verge of breaking
Let me be your first call
To stop your voice from shaking

When the nights are achingly short
And the days seem to drag on
Know that I’ll listen to all of your worries
Until the crack of dawn

When you find your life is hostile
And the world is harsh and cold
Remember that you are fragile when alone
But together we can be bold

When these days are long passed
And our memories become foggy and strained
I hope you’ll remember your friend in high school
That cared for you when it rained

When we grow old and tired
And our days are filled with regret
We’ll look back at these high school years
And friends we hope we won’t forget

I’ll be glad I had thanked you then
For shielding me from the eternal storm
And wish that we'll meet in sunlight soon
Where we are not our thorns

For Noor. It's a continuation of the poem I wrote you before.

Sorry, it sucks. I have writer's block.

We never learned to tell time because the clocks in our school were all broken.
There were kids desperate for a high, all in the bathroom smoking.
A football player grabbing a freshman's ass and telling her to chill....he was joking.
All the girls nowadays are into choking.
Our self worth based on all the time we never learned to tell that the guys spent talking about our asses.
The time spent cutting all of our classes
to go see the boy who thought we looked better without our glasses.
Time spent being humliated by him in front of the masses.
Beginning to lose ourself and thinking our self worth amounts to shit.
Thinking to ourself, "I must deserve to be hit."
Sweetie please remember, you're still just a kid
Nobody in high school feels like they fit
We're still learning to tell time on broken clocks
as misery and insecurity begins to knock
our set mentalities from society being a block
from the reality we live in that never ceases to shock

P.M. 7/18/17

When I began writing this it was going to be a poem about being in love. After the first line, my pen flowed with a deeper meaning.
Tony Ortiz Jul 16

Let's talk about middle school.
Life got weird.
I started hating not being 'cool'.
Emotionally, I was at the bottom of the pool,
Tryna swim up was hard with cement shoes.
The era of darkness had just set in,
And it virtually guaranteed I would never win.
6th grade was tough, but 7th was tougher,
I didn't tell anybody,
Not even my mother.
I smothered the pain with all of the arts.
But no matter what I did,
My life was falling apart.
7th Grade was when the breakdowns started to happen.
I wrote my crushes love notes on the napkin,
But they thought I was strange,
And it didn't help much that I bought lunch with change.
Out of school I was chained to gaming.
It was my only defense against the feeling I was taming.
Started tallying my attacks on the wall,
And couldn't sleep at night,
Cuz when the moon was up, I would bawl.
I turned to God because it felt right,
The church I went to was a beautiful sight.
Spoke to the preacher about my struggle,
Told how even waking up gave me trouble,
His response was, "Son you've gotta pray,
Speak to our Lord and your troubles he will lay.
Follow the bible.
Don't think of being suicidal,
Your soul is just parched,
And our Lord is the tidal wave."
After years of prayer and months of doubt,
I gave The Lord one final bout:
Just one day within the next year,
Without the deadly whispers in my ear.
It never happened and I lost my faith,
I guess God got vengeful and sent down a wraith,
Cuz six months later I got an airsoft pellet to the face.

In my home the demons stayed opposite of my right,
They hid there because on that side was constant night.
For months on my left: no color, shapes or light.
To this day I don't get how I won that fight.
To this day my eye don't see right,
But it's quite a sight.
During this time I looked at different faiths,
To see if any of them jumped out to my face,
I tried almost all of em, but none won the race,
As a result I made my own belief.
It gave me some kind of relief in the answers I needed.

Highschool hit but my depression hit harder.
The tallys on my wall become much farther,
Didn't have many friends till later on,
But everything was awful and mundane.
I felt like life was driving me insane.
I tried to end it all by killing the brain,
But woke up the next day like I needed a cane,
It was hard to move but I was alive.
That's when row 2 got a tally for the first time.
Now there are three, all during these years.
Dated one girl who helped me with the tears.
Senior year I made amends with it all,
And made some peers.
Put the fears to rest,
And put my best forward,
Toward the new road that lies in knowledge:
It was time for me to go to college.

Continuing in the "The Life of Tony Ortiz" saga, this poem speaks on my years in both middle school and high school. More specifically, my struggles with depression, suicidal thoughts, and religion.
mar Jun 2016

A glass of water, twenty sit ups
I like the way you eye me like candy
yet avoid me like a time bomb
five minutes until detonation
six minutes to figure out what to say when I am near you

A walk around the neighborhood, one house with it's lights on
Some people say “I love you”
You say “Go to sleep”
they mean the same thing
but I'm not tired

A crooked chin, thirty minutes late
You only talk to empty chairs and darkness
You only love things from 1978
I could be your ghost
if you want me to

A tear stained face, two parents who don't care
“It gets a little lonely, pretending to want to be alone”
I only get up early on days you say you'll be there
Why does it always end up that I am on my own?
Always?

A calendar from last year, three bruises on my neck
What is your favorite type of silence?
Mine is the kind when everything that can be said has been spoken
The kind where no one has an excuse anymore
No more secrets

Lina Banzaca Jul 12

It's before first-period...
My teachers see me walking down the hallway and rudely gawk at my body as if it's some sort of disgrace.
Flash forward...
My teacher calls the assistant principal down to 'approve' my clothes.
I'm sent to the office to find out my mother was on her way.
The same mother who has to work every day to make a living, and to pay for my clothes.
The same mother who's making eighty-one cents to my principal's dollar.
The same mother who taught me to love my body and how to look appropriate.
The same mother who approved and complimented me, only an hour before, earlier that morning.
The bell for the second period rings.
I'm still sitting in the office.
Because wasting my time over what I'm wearing is more important than my education. Right?
I can hear the whispers of my degrading school's staff.
A few higher established adults to an 'outfit check'.
Quickly after, the assistant called my name.
I gulped down my fear and anxiety, as I stood up.
Then I'm sent into a room.
The dullest, dark, and grayest room I have ever entered.
"Hello Lina, we're gathered here to talk about your outfit today."
A tee shirt dress with shorts underneath.
It reminded me of when I was in the fifth grade.
Girls were told that we needed to cover ourselves up because boys thought about our bodies in a sexual manner, and if we dressed a certain way and something happened, it was our fault.
It's getting close to the third period when my mother arrives.
After the constant duel to what seemed, death, with words, I got to go.
I didn't have to change this time.
I was lucky.
Lucky that a teacher came to my defense along with my mother, and told them my outfit was fine, and I couldn't help that I was a curvier girl.
Instead of focusing on what girls are wearing, maybe we should tell boys to keep their hands to themselves and grow up.
Because that's what the girls have to learn from an early age.
Our bodies shouldn't be over sexualized for what's covering them.
Girls are slut shamed and dress coded everywhere because of what we wear.
What if we focused on teaching students to be mature young adults, rather than disgusting pigs who apparently can't handle a girl who shows her shoulders?
Let's all obsess over real world problems.
Not what someone wears, or if it's distracting to boys.
Just when someone starts having confidence (which is a victory in itself), we're torn down based off of the clothes we put on our bodies.
Girls are taught that it's our fault.
Boys can just open and claim your body, like some kind of book.
Even when the only word printed is NO.
We struggle in our bodies from such a young age.
Instead of worrying about a girl's apparel, let's worry about the men who need to learn to control themselves.

This was actually a real experience for me and dress coding is something that lots of young people, or teens, deal with. People need to learn that a girl is just as respectable as a man.
Brianna Jun 16

This is for you my best friend - the next time I see you I will be walking down the aisle as your maid of honor.
You will be getting married to the love of your life and you will have your first child in a month.

Weren't we just 14 a few months ago? Didn't we walk home from school laughing at dumb jokes that almost made us pee our pants?
Weren't we just 16 a few months ago? Talking about kissing boys we knew our parents would never approve of?

This one is for you my best friend- the next time I see you i have to remind myself that you've grown up.
That this man you're with has a child and you love him and you're not into going out anymore.

But weren't we just 14 a few months ago? Getting drunk in the backyard while we talked about our latest crushes.
Weren't we just 16 a few months ago? Talking about graduating in a few years and how we just want to be someone new.

This one is for you my best friend- The next time I see you, you will be moving to Boston in a month.
You will be finishing school and moving in a with boy for the first time in your adult life- someone you love.

I swear we were just 14 a few months ago, right? Making plans for college and the future that we had no idea would bring all this.
Weren't we just 16 a few months ago? Trying to dress better and planning our first tattoos and getting piercings because we were so punk.

Life changes and we have all grown up and taken so many separate roads I don't know where they cross and don't cross anymore.
This ones for all of you I hold dearest and true.
I just want you to remember... I will always love you!

Arcassin B Jun 11

By Arcassin Burnham


Flying High with a bucket full of dreams and a bright purple coat getting ready
just to paint the town.
Caught you hanging around.
Hormones in a life worth searching for a soul that could never get replaced
Walking on the street.
With a swarm full of sheep.
Fresh water fills your stomach as the taste grows thicker than the boy you
Liked in gym class, he was a fool.
He couldn't get with you.
Searching for what it means to be a female teen in the united States and worry
About degration.
It's your imagination.

When shit hits the fan and you think that nobody would care about your feelings
You have a friend in me.
I learned from empathy.
That boy in gym class never gave a damn about who you were and what you
Represented as a person , his fault,
If I were with you I would've gave it all.
I can see , I can see all the flaws and all the weight held on your shoulders, I just
Wouldn't blame you , only time could tell.
Don't live your dreams in hell.

©abpoetry2017
http://arcassin.blogspot.com/2017/06/troubled-teen-2.html
Vexren4000 May 9

As the pencil dreamily hits the paper,
The student dreams of freedom,
Drawing world of fantasy,
Times faded away,
An escape from reality,
The ticking of the clock,
And the pain of boredom,
Dulled by the point of the pencil,
Pouring graphite onto the paper.

K Harris May 8

the short time that we have been talking has been surreal
it feels like im catching feelings and im not, in the slightest, sure how to deal
im knee deep in longing but not the lust filled that im familiar with
this is the longing for peachy affections
the hand holding and laying on chests just enjoying eachothers company
the last took a a piece of me that hadnt seen the light of day and exposed me to a new type of feeling and then blew out the raging flame
i long for the warmth but not just the fiery flame that comes with new conquest
i want to say be gentle but thats pointless at this point
love me with reckless abandon
just made me feel something real dammit
i long for a love that will leave me shaken not stirred

a sappy romantic
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