Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nagilia Melendez May 2015
Live like it's your last day,
They say
Give it your all,
They say

Take your time,
They say
Don't rush into things,
They say

Relax,
They say
You're still young,
They say

Happy birthday,
They say
Go **** yourself,
They say

Be happy, no negative vibes here,
They say
You're worthless, I didnt need you anyway,
They say

Live love laugh,
They say
No trust,
They say

I hate hypocrites,
They say
You're the main one,
I say
Brittle Bird Apr 2015
Every time the butterflies come,
they crawl up my throat and start to choke me
but it's a good kind of choking,
like scratching an inch even though it makes the rash burn
or liking the pain of dotted blood lines on my skin
after a long day of holding in monsoons and earthquakes
beneath calm serenity.

Or like telling myself I can never get better
even if a part of me knows, knows I can.
It’s like deciding never to speak again,
or stop eating just because you can.

And why is it that pain tastes so much like love
when I willingly dress myself in it,
yet someone lays a finger on me
and I feel the same way
when my friends are mistreated
and animals are abused,
I feel a surge of fierce hatred
throughout my whole body
and don’t you ******* touch me
ever again.


I believe the world can be better than this.
And what does that say about me?
Does it make me a hypocrite in a sort of vague way?
Because I keep wondering
if I do things without thinking
that another me would hate me for.
Day 29 of NaPoWriMo.
Aniseed Apr 2015
Look at this fool
Who writes of not knowing love
And yet here she stands
Heart in her throat

She fears it's temporary;
Litter skipping across asphalt
On a windy day

How it's always been

Look at this girl's farce
As she claims "Not I!
My head is too filled with
Numbers and ruined paint
And things much too cumbersome
To carry such a heavy load!"

But oh, oh that face is
Something special

Look how it ruins her even now
And how blind it is
To her stumble

Whatever it is

She feels her pulse in her
Very fingers
Just wondering what it is

Look at this silly young thing
Always blind sided
When she's made up her mind
I sometimes contradict and argue with myself. Humans are such fickle things.
I thought
You were
inspiring
         talented
                   kind
           helpful
dedicated

But no body informed me that this was all a **SHOW
For those who are hiding behind the curtain. Those ego centered ******.
Leal Knowone Mar 2015
felt like spring time, when I didn't know you were like winter bitter and cold
animosity is passion, life ambition set free. mercy me, why have mercy on you. hypocritical fields covered in the idea of your scattered remains. yet there is still hope for some form of humanity in my brain
Grace Jordan Mar 2015
My mother questions, “Why aren’t we equal?”
As she paints my walls with white
She wonders why my colorful friends don’t get as lucky as me
But she also wonders about the financial aid the government says we don’t need
I bang on her white walls and insist we’re well off
But she still asks why
And I can’t say “you! It’s because of people like you that my friends need a dollar or two”
Because of the way she plays hypocrite
Condemning welfare and the impoverished while asking why she doesn’t get any
Confirming the stereotype that most people aren’t innately racist
It’s just their own thoughtlessness that causes the disconnect
And it’s not just my mother, it’s all my people, me too
My friend once asked, “Why is Kierra so into social justice?”
Maybe because the history of our ancestors was carried on the backs of her people
Maybe because even today my people say we’re so good, so equal, so righteous
When we still look at a black man and assume the white is better
We don’t mean it but my assumptive mind insists that Kierra always needs a hand
When what is really needed is a strict hand to the side of my head
Jostle that rude assumption out of my head
She is her own person, not a broken house left on stilts
And assuming she is broken is worse than anything I can think of
So it’s a double edged sword because races need to work together to fix this atrocity
But we must also give each their freedom to grow and equalize equally
I will never understand the plight of one a different race
But I understand plight, from my gender and my mental state
My mother always told me treat everyone fairly
She always said to treat everyone right
But here she keeps on going
Painting my walls with white
rantipole Mar 2015
what have i done?
it feels like suicide,
like there are bullet holes
in my mind;
like i’m the one
who pulled the trigger.
i miss you.
i could scream it
over
and
over

it feels like homicide,
like there’s a noose
around our love;
like i’m the one
who placed it there.
what have i done to myself?
what have i done to us,
and why?
you reckless ******* hypocrite.
why would you ****
the only thing
keeping you alive?
Mel Aug 2014
You think you're a rebel?
So charming and laughable
You defy the norm?
You are not unique
You're just another copy
You can't even be yourself
so pathetically and easily influenced.
layers and layers that hide the real you,
do you even know who you are anymore?
Nor do I
I'm a hypocrite
Who does anyway?
Lost, buried and never found,
never to be again.
"i don't wanna have to be the one to tell you this,
but you're no foodie; you're just a fat-***
who's too cowardly to take an honest look at yourself.

It's okay to be whatever you want,
just don't lie to yourself proclaiming to be a foodie
to justify late-night trips to Jack in the Box four days a week,
or eating a whole jar of Tostitos 'Salsa con Queso' every two days.

Are you trying to mummify yourself with all those preservatives?

Y'know,
just because you blow most of your paychecks
on gasoline, **** food and overpriced coffee
pulled to the most pretentious of standards
doesn't at all begin to mean that you've got any class, taste, or style,
let alone that you're a foodie.

At least recycle all the paper products your pseudofood comes in.

Moreover, your thighs aren't ******* gluten,
they're all that other junk you eat habitually
while watching your oh-so-edified selection of films
before sleeping it off until 3 in the afternoon.

No wonder you're so full of ****:
you are what you eat, I suppose.

Pull your head on out your ***.

All that fat and cholesterol isn't for the faint of heart."
A bit of a rant. Sorry, but not really.
Hannah Jan 2015
He told me commitment was too hard
with a cigarette in his mouth
and tattoos across his skin

-h.w.
Next page