Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Darcy Lynn May 2018
My first time at a High School Dance
I went alone.
Me, the new girl at the high school who
Hadn't quite found her sea legs yet
Who slipped behind
Forgotten, as the crew sailed through
Hallways and lunch lines
Always stuck on the outside,
Looking in.
I went alone,
But someone did ask me.
A boy in the Junior class
Who was missing a forearm
Asked me if I'd like to be his date.
I said “yes”
But he warned me he might skip
The dance entirely and
Go to Worlds of Fun instead.
I didn't care,
I was ecstatic someone
Had finally asked me, or
Even noticed me
At all.
At the end of the day
He walked me to the front
Doors where my
Mom was waiting to pick me up. I wasn’t
Sure if he liked me, or if he just was
Being nice. He never did ask me
For my phone number, so I assumed he
Was merely being nice.
The night of the dance came,
And we had not discussed any details
Or even spoken to one another since.
So I assumed he would be riding roller coasters
Rather than slow dancing with me.
I didn't blame him, really. I wasn't hot stuff and
Neither were Christian high school dances.
At the dance, I tried to enjoy myself
But I felt so out of place
Surrounded by people
Who had known each other their entire lives.
I was a sea monster,
Begging to be taken aboard
As they readied their harpoons.
The night dragged on, and the music grew louder
And I sunk lower and lower.
It occurred to me that the pit of pulsating teenagers
Might swallow me
And I'd disappear once and for all
So I pulled off my heels and sat
On the stage at the front of the room.
I could feel the beat of the music
Bounce around the inside of my rib cage.
The room seemed to grow bigger
And I felt smaller.
Like a faint wave lost in
A sea of bodies
Going whichever way the current pulled them.
And while I sat there on the stage by myself
In my fluffy green homecoming dress,
Watching people I didn't really know dance
I realized it was possible
To feel alone in a room flooded with people.
So I shut my eyes,
Watertight portholes to the soul,
And let myself drift off at sea.
Sky Apr 2018
turned 25 and thought
gotta go back,
high-time for home

(home-time for High)

took the bus, route 31
to the
moral-less high-ground

(text my sister)

"no ID, aware, i'm going"  

look up. and
here we are again, big city
New City  
south-side, home despots
licking baby bottle pop
soda-can sidewalks

little brown brother
drinking Fanta with friends
smoking hot-***
at Chang's
like apostolic gang
(gang gang)
High's homecoming
(southside Chicago)

inspired by NCT's new song "Yestoday"
go see English lyrics vid
it's lit
Mark's verse
Caleb Stevens Nov 2017
Remember homecoming night?
We were awkward.
Wouldn't look at eachother.
Laughing in my head.
Wishing we weren't friends.
Lunar Nov 2017
I know I come home late every night
To a pale face
and an invisible smile.
But seeing the moon above my house,
Makes it feel like
I'm coming home to you.
So don't worry about me.
After all,
you're always the last thing I see
Before I fall asleep.
thesis endorsement is in tuesday's fortnight; and i'm almost done! i've made it so far and i have to give my last push to birth this design project i've worked on for more than half of this year.
i'll be home and at rest once i see you again when all this ends, wjh.

(j.m.)
Emiline Apr 2017
National WWII museum,
New Orleans,
summer.

Somehow
we have ended up here.

1,387 miles from home.

Here,
where war is so close
yet so far away.

I look at this boy
and for a moment
I swear his smile looks just like v-day.

And his laugh sounds like peace.

And when he calls my name through this crowd,
It feels just like a homecoming.
I didn't intend to not post any poems these last two months.

Back in February, I made a promise to myself to write a little bit every day  (even if it's terrible). And surprisingly, only two-and-halfish poems came out of it. I'm been writing a novel that may never be published, but I write anyway. Knowing that writing shouldn't be about publication, even though it would be nice. So, while I brush up those two-and-a-halfish poems, here's a short little something that I wrote in the gift shop at the National World War II museum about a very innocent and hopeful crush.
Apoorv Shandilya Apr 2017
Home smelt
like jasmine today or like those scented candles near the bedside table
Kept aside in ambition.
Or maybe it was just you.
Brent Kincaid Feb 2017
Into the dust of Mojave
On a blow-away afternoon
Wandered a traveling stranger
To the highway truck stop saloon.
Taking a seat by the window
His back to the hot blowing wind
You could tell by his face he was grateful
To be out of the sun once again.

And those desert breezes call him
When he is all alone
Ask him where he’s going
He is going home.
Mysterious sandy traces lead him
Along a distant track.
Home is out there waiting
And he is going back.

Then a laugh floated up from the corner
Where the stranger had recently been.
Except for the glass he had emptied
The booth was practically clean.
Out on the road he was walking
His back to the sweltering town.
His car was still parked at the truck stop
But the stranger did not turn around.

And those desert breezes call him
When he is all alone
Ask him where he’s going
He is going home.
Mysterious sandy traces lead him
Along a distant track.
Home is out there waiting
And he is going back.
Yes, my wonderful fans, there are lyrics to a song I wrote in the seventies.
Magnuda Jun 2016
I had fallen down hard this time,
Found myself at the bottom of it all,
When somewhere past the void,
I heard my own future call.

It struck a chord in me,
Unexpected but I could feel,
My hidden heart made of flint,
Fate struck like it's ever present steel.

Again, again, again, and again,
Round, and round, and round,
How much I tried to lock myself up,
Life refused to let me be bound.

Wrapped up in my past,
I did my best to hide,
I was never going to be enough,
Trying to escape in the shadow of pride.

I was buried in the frozen earth,
Knowing some day Spring would come,
So I clung to my old shell,
When I felt the world start to hum.

Begin, Begin, Begin and again,
The sacred circle was never broken,
Fleeting dreams tumble away,
As the sacred words are spoken.

Though scars will be left behind,
My feet still find their place,
My tired heart beats again,
My Will returns to it's relentless pace.

My goal was finally achieved,
and my atonement was past,
The Day is finally beginning to dawn,
The empty night was not meant to last.
Next page