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shatteredpoet Jan 15
they glued labels
on my body
that won't come off
without removing pieces of myself
and it hurts
almost as much
as watching them
bend and twist
and break your
to fit you inside
a box your heart
has outgrown
Austin Draper Jan 12
I chase the Labels
I sanction the pain, if I am able.
I share, and take a path once again with the angels.
I send it, and yet without recognition a lingering mind cradles,
“What of the purpose of failed stories, these are bad fables!”
Beauty has no purpose if it naught contort other faces.
If it not make cross all those of lesser way, is it stable?
This is my thought, as I spill more hearts across the table.

Time after time, I make old things newly exhumed.
Backing them with memories, dusted and altered now recovered.
And now, I sit back and have the passion of yesteryear removed.
The corpse of my old soul’s death, I dissinter.

I did surge in eyes,
Many viewed my struggles then.
Of a Dog’s passing.

My mind was made now.
Passion is what they will crave.
So, making story.

Dried have my tears now.
A world unfit for crying.
One without color.

I make my own God’s
They bow out slowly from me
Apostle of Death.

Words said so often
Stories made so frequently
There is no purpose.

When covering broad things then,
Be afraid of toes
They strike fear into future.

Now, a little down the track.
I reside in a mental shack.
Hobbled, squatted and no decor knack.
A youth enters, with a small sash on back.
I sit, Brandy laces my breath as I address this little boy jack.
“Boy, so you are called by jack? What brings you to this stack?”
“I came to ask, why so ambiguous? Let’s clean up this rack!”
(Birthed of mold and creases, this trailer now sat lone among the dirt it inhabited.
The worms itself even mourned for the sight of it, for great sadness was in the structure itself.
Wheels, low to the ground and suspensions worn from distance.
A white tint, so complacent a staple then.
A single window, cracked and closed with brown and yellow patterned curtains.
The inside, a victim of circumstance. Clothes, and stains lined it’s interior.)
“We get it boy Jack! Please leave with your nuance as I die a Slumps Snack!”
“Why are you afraid? Why are you afraid of your shack?”
“Well, it’s all filthy and filled with garbage! With nobody else giving it a whack!”
“Why are you afraid? To write again?”

“I fear nothing. I make my words and I speak my silence.”
“You do fear something, and I know what it is.”
“Get out kid, I’m drinking. I don’t need company now or ever!”
“Then why do I find you wallow for somebody to take you off the brandy?”
“Who even are you? A younger me or some ****?”
“Maybe, in a story that is.”
“I don’t know what you hear, but I’ll stick it through. Always done on my own.”
“That’s not true is it? You would have nothing without nobody.”
“Bah, what do I care for em? They gave me my dues and I make my own wringer now.”
“You’re afraid, not specifically of death. But, what comes from a life deserved of it.”
“I don’t fear nothing, I speak my mind and I fear nobody.”
“But you fear a different death, or more truthful a life of intangibility.”
“I see myself, and I understand myself.”
“But you’re afraid, why? Why fear to express yourself like you’ve done before?”
“It’s nothing then.”
(I pick up a paper, it has his uploads list. I take the laptop that sids languidly on his Dinner table.
It sits in the darkest reaches of the habitation, and it’s a fingerprint trap.
The dust seems gravitated towards it, yet the wear on it shows it’s use.)
“You post them don’t you?”
“Yes, I hope to inspire people.”
“Oh, but that’s simply not the whole of it now is it?”
“You are afraid. I know you, I am in you and everybody.”
“What is this? I lost my patience with tasteless poetic semantics kid.”
“Still have the grammar I see.”
“Bah, get on with it and be out.”
“I am a boy, so simple in title and without description. I transcend my role here. Because, when it comes to it, I am every role. Inquiry’s of life, pushing the bounds of the story. I am characterized of the nature the author explores. The world made reality.”
“Nice speech, I’ve never been one for long narratives.”
“You should be, I know you. I’ve cohabitated with your characters. I know them.”
“You’re just a kid in a dialogue, no more than I am a drunkard in a concept.”
“Ah yes, we’re dealing in conceptual thought. So, that means I lack the limits of single placement. I am wherever and always.”
“Sure. Get it on and done with.”
“Why are you afraid? Of this Shack, Continuing this Rhyme or furthering me?”
“I, I don’t know.”
“You don’t know or you don’t want to admit?”
“Fine! I’m afraid, because I feel like I’m not good enough. Not deserving of this shack, nor of beauty nor to continue you or my works. Afraid, that the world is beyond my style. That I’m saying all the wrong things. ”
“That’s it, just pestering my inner thoughts with your inquiry, so funny kid!”
“I know why, but admit it to the full of yourself. I know you write this with half your mind, as do you many things with only half. When you have a whole as oft you do when you write, you can make beautiful things.”
“What’s it to ya?”
“It’s me to me. Without you, or those like you I have no meaning. I have stories to inhabit. We are but to write, Austin. I am young, because even though I am old as every story, there are never going to be a limit of stories. A limit of creativity.”
“Get out of here with your Kindergarten ****. Things change, change into a norm.”
“Ah, but what are bars but to be broken? Why do you think us humans make them on ourselves? Maybe because we understand that even nature, is an obstacle to break through. And we’re training ourselves for a transcendence of sorts.”
“I used to speak Meaningless as a second Language, and let me tell you to get off this *******.”
“Admit it, you can never run from me. You hide, you deny it and you taught yourself to others. You grow sick of me, yet your biggest smiles are making the same words into new tapestries.”
“I used to, before it all became the same poems again. Before, I realised that all the Ideas I had couldn’t be realised.”
“I know you’re fear, since you can now be acknowledged, you want it. But remember a time. Come with me.”

A time of great Felicity
A boy, with emotions undocumented and no contentment.
One, who pursues the sadness of his heart for the future of his joy.
Who chases down the roots of his suffering, to uncover future satisfaction.
You write them, so you can relate to yourself in gladness.
You write them, because they help you remember that you can be bliss.
And the amount of their being, gets you lost in a forgotten ecstacy.
A grave of your prime, now sold to those you truly forget to smile.
When they were all but a vague Happiness.

“You see? Write them for you. Write them to edify yourself first. Write them, because even if they are only to yourself, some things need to be admitted. Some things need to be written.”
“You know, I guess I’ll pick it up in my spare time.”
“I know you’ve got plenty of that.”
“Ah ***** off! Wise kid huh.”
“Don’t be sad, they were great poems for you. Still write them, but only when you want to.”
“What do you mean? I’ve always loved too.”
“Sometimes, you don’t have the passion. Experiments require passion.”
“I don’t need any number of them. And, I’ll write of my new pains.”
“Exactly, tell them about things that need justice.”
“Of course.”
“Just, tell them about me huh?”
“I’ll fit you in somewhere.”
(His soul was made less shallow, and his craving for meaning sated.
The witness of his meanings were for all of his dreams ill fated.
Now, he can write all the small things. Just like his old works, equally loved and weighted.
Things less inclusive, and more a thing of specific purpose created.
He love his old works, his children have made him elated.
But, he wants to try something new but related.)

I’m Jack, the Great I am.
And take this from his creativity,
Nothing means Everything
Tales of life come from small places.
A long Poem I made just a few days ago, about my realizations about my passion. I hope to inspire people, I really do. But, in the end these poems are like a personal journal of mine. And, they are all very dear to me. And, I make them for myself. I just hope some of my realizations can help you out too.  (A A a a A a A A}w* s*x3}5 7 5}x4}7 5 7}[Rhymes Mixed with Dialogue]}[Dialogue]}w* s*x7}[Dialogue] Cx5} [Ending]}
brinn Dec 2018
whenever i write
i have to write the title last.
i am never sure where
my story is going to go
and i don't want a title
holding me back from writing
whatever i want.
i guess sometimes
people don't realize just how
limiting a title can be.
Blake Dec 2018
And all those small witty souls,
call me a woman of carnage,
oh but how I don't steal hearts of love but tormented minds,
spinning my blood soaked cloth of revenge,
while you all weep in need or disgust.

And all those small confused souls,
call me a woman of no core,
oh but how I laugh at them behind my double doors,
foolishness slaughters
not I...for I just enjoy the **** view.

And all those small worthless souls,
call me a woman of cobras,
oh but how you all breed the snakes,
that once were innocent unhatched eggs,
which laid unaffected within my essence,
oh but how?

I pain you who gave me questions,
that will forever go unanswered,
I pain you who gave me illness,
without a sign of treatment
and now I spread the infection of you
and that

Its no equality if I was treated unfairly and others have a life of ******* luxury.
Justaperson Oct 2018
When I look into the mirror, I expect to see a girl staring back at me who I know is nothing but me.

But when I look into the mirror and see myself all I see are labels.
A whirlwind of insults that takes the place of my reflection, and throws its words at me whenever it sees me.
I know what I should do when I see it.
I know I should just rip them off and show the it I am above the petty labels that it chooses to define me as...


I don’t

I look into the mirror and sink to the ground; balling like a child because I know the labels are true.
I know that everything it tells me is true.
I know because...

That thing is me.

People say things about me when they think I’m not listening.
Friends make a joke without realizing they’ve crossed a line.
I look at myself and know this is how everyone sees.

I don’t embrace these labels.
I don’t let myself stand beside them and act proud and confident.
I sit in the storm and watch as it grows larger and larger with every second a conversation continues.

I’m a coward.
I don’t let people know I hate this.
Don’t let them know I despise the labels everyone sees I have.
I want to tell them I want to change.
I don’t want these words anymore.
I’ve been in pain for far too long, and I don’t won’t to complete another dictionary because I’m too afraid to speak up.
But I never do.
I continue to look at myself in the mirror.
Continue to be a person I don’t want to be.
I **** at poetry, but what are you gonna do when a random wave of emotions hit you like a bus?
charley gwenn Oct 2018
age is just a number
at least
that's what you think
when you're young
every teenager
thinks they're mature enough
to be treated like any adult

age is just a number
a number lower than 18
many nights when i was young
i snuck out of my room
and many of those nights
i broke the law
but breaking the law
goes both ways

age is just a number
to be negotiated
another chip on the table
like handcuffs or rope
is just a number
the age of consent
is just
a number

if eight years from 17
is not long enough to outgrow
being a criminal
is there hope for anybody?
i understand, i think, why it cuts so deep
to be called something like that
when you aspire to be Superman
you do not want to be like the men
who paid for your teenaged body

i don't know if i even really believe or if
i just want to protect myself
from the day that i prove
to everyone that i hold close to me
that it's true, it's all true
and they run screaming

maybe if i can convince them now
i can save myself that hurt
please, please,
just understand
i really am a lowlife ****, honest!
please, just
stay away

but there's a reason
that nobody believes me
there's a reason
everybody has had a different story
a different argument against it
a completely different view of me
i am so many things to so many people
how can that even be?

the age of consent is
just a number
but it is a law
for a valuable
and important reason
and the law that i broke
is just so much smaller

if i am a criminal
as much as somebody
who sleeps with teenagers
then "criminal" is a word
devoid of meaning
is my cousin a criminal
for being born in the wrong country?
was ****** a criminal for living her life?

many righteous and good things
were once illegal
the law has never had anything
to do with morality
it is coincidence when they coincide
if people like me
and, especially, people like ******
have to be called criminals
while society fixes its heart
then i will wear the label with her

age is just a number
at least
that's what you think when you're young
many teenagers make mistakes
i shouldn't have to carry the mark of mine
when i hurt nobody but me
but i will wear it
i will wear it with pride
Henessy J Beltre Oct 2018
Society will judge you rich or poor
Society will label you in every form
Whatever -vert they try to label you
They'll never truly know
You wouldn't allow being labeled
You stand out of any social norm they try to place you
You laugh knowing you are neither
You couldn't believe those four words measure beauty
How could any of these labels measure the depths of any human?

- Henessy J. Beltre
If you could describe yourself without using these labels, who would you be?
(© Henessy J. Beltre - 10.13.2018)
Carlyyyy Sep 2018
I am quiet.
Soft spoken.
A woman of few words.
My voice is still.
My mind is loud.
My thoughts generate words and meanings a million different ways.

“Think before you speak” they say. Probably why I don’t speak much.

If you must label me,
Label me, Me.
I hate labels and the adjectives that usually follow. I may be a quiet person but that doesn’t define me. I am so much mire. I feel so much more.
Sophie Katherine Sep 2018
While individuality is great
Uniqueness is fun
Sometimes I long for others like me
The loneliness can be haunting
Looking around and seeing no one like me
So others can frown upon labels
But I’ll display them with pride
Turn on my signal
And find my people
Join hands
And walk as one
this came from a discussion with a friend about labels. some people say they limit us, while I think they liberate me. everyone is different, but this poem describes my view on the debate
Ella Aug 2018
You notice her Chipped nails
Did you notice her Chipped heart
you notice her ***** hair
Did you notice her ***** house

did you notice that
Was judgement
And mistakes


Yet that girl is YOU, ME,  and

We all have our past.
Let’s not have it last.
So please.
No more labels and no more lists.
We are just people
With all of these mistakes and all of this
Please give me feedback!! If you like it or have any suggestions!
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