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Nimisha Rana Aug 10
Stories are made to taught us lessons,
And our Life Is a story,
that made up of  emotion's,
that's never ends...
Emotions hold us...  And this is how made our neverendingstories..... ♥
Abby Sykes Apr 29
CACTUS
Abby Sykes

It was on an average day
That I purchased a tiny cactus
With a little pink flower on it’s pointy head
And set it on my window sill.
In its place, it could soak up the barely-warm rays of sun
That found their way into my home
And also manage to survey the prairie of my room.
It might’ve, now that I think about it,
Had trouble seeing over the top of my bed.
But it could most definitely view the many hours
And many days
I spent perched on that same bed
Wondering if anyone would miss me
If I opened the window and stepped over it
And took off down the street,
My feet pounding against the pavement
In the same way that the hooves
Of a frightened gazelle
might beat the grass of the savannah flat.
The cactus could mostly definitely see me
Each night when I pulled an index card
From my nightstand,
And wrote one thing that made me unhappy on it,
Then crumbled it up and threw it away.
The cactus might’ve thought to itself,
“She’s learning to love herself,”
But not one single index card
Changed my mind.
The cactus definitely witness the hand
That curled over my alarm clock in anger
And smashed it against the wall.
The force of the clock breaking,
In the way that an earthquake sinks a building,
Sent the cactus onto it’s side, spilling particles of dirt
Like constellations
Off of the windowsill and onto the carpet.
I’m sure the cactus saw me press my head
Between two of the pillows on my bed
In the dark of the night
Pretending I was dunking my head beneath the ocean
To muffle the voices in the hallway that kept getting louder.
The first time I held a razor in my hand
Ready to go -
I know the cactus heard my pitiful attempt to keep my cries silent.
But because the cactus couldn’t manage to stretch it’s neck
Above the horizon that the blankets on my bed made
It probably didn’t know that I spent thirty minutes
Hiding behind the accordion door
Of my closet.
Did it see me get yelled at
Or interrogated for the truth that nobody would listen to
Anyway.
Did it see me return home again and again
Each time a little more lost than before -
That melancholy emptiness in my pupils
That had become familiar to me at too young an age?
Did it notice when I stopped eating
Because I didn’t want to have to venture out
Into the void of my house
And risk what hope was left weighing my chest down
Just to get some food?
Did it watch me
Put on makeup
Many times each morning
So that I could get the look that my perfectly
Cover up the last real things about me?
And could that cactus hear the music
That I blasted as loud as I knew how
Through my headphones -
A C Sharp and minor chord that knew me better
Than I knew myself.
The day that I put myself to work
Furiously shoving the necessities
Into a duffle bag,
Forcing myself to leave behind items I loved
For items I should have
Because I didn’t have enough room -
Did it ponder the course of my actions?
Did it miss it’s windowsill when I picked it up
In my left hand
As a last minute thought
And took it with me
Never to return?
It was an average day that I took off down the road
With my cactus in my hand
Leaving behind everything but myself.
You can’t ever run away from yourself.
Fredy Sanchez Mar 22
I'm an immigrant from foreign lands
Who made the trip crawling on my knees and hands
Who thought a change of scenery was all that was needed
Who for a better life turned to the skies and pleaded
And while searching for sanctuary with destain I was greeted
See, I think they believe I was fine where I was
Sure, outside of having to give my last quarter to get a pass
Outside of having to decide between food or the homie that's asking
*** the homie that's asking is the homie that's blasting
If you dare say no
On your way home, after a hard day's work, still have to pay the neighborhood rent tho
*** if you's broke you were the next one to go
As simple as tic-tac-toe
Except it's click-clack-pow
I seen the culprit, twas the kid from next door
Who now sleeps on the edge of death row
Guilty of a dozen of those
Danger travels in troves
In the place where they let go of their humanity
So I left
With the faded blue Jansport on my back
And a brand new fake passport in my back pocket
Leaving the world I called home behind
Facing Mexico hoping to cross it
I was 15 in a group of fifteen with a single shared dream
The Salvadorean dream team
Thinking we could escape this unfair hand
Wide-eyed we ventured in...
And then I saw, violence everywhere we went
The horrified masses didn't have to pretend
The fear inflicted by individuals with no chance to repent
But it's best of I digress and of my travels I shed light
We only moved at night
Daring to commit the horrendous crime of crossing an imaginary line
That changes with time
And for that we were persecuted
We were stopped, chased, and straight up looted
The Police or the Cartels it didn't matter who did it
To the females of the group when **** was commited
And between check points and abductions only 4 remained since the groups introduction
The faded Jansport had been stolen by a 16 year old with a machete
Who had promised to cut me up like confetti if I didn't hand it to him
So I did
Just like my innocence as a kid as well
And so I left
Traveling further north still
Looking at American soil from the hotel window sill
Hoping the nightmare would soon end
Hoping my psyche I can still mend
The four of us shared a hopeful glance
Stopped and shook each others hands and wished each other well
Said if we got lost we'd meet at the well
The one we had stopped at to rest for a spell
The plan couldn't be tested, however
Immigration came and shut down the whole endeavor
The only one who got out was me...
Forced to forever flee
Entrusted to see...what they couldn't see
And to be all they couldn't be
Nylee Oct 2019
Ykw
You know what
I am sad.
You know what
That isn't least bit surprising.
You know what
You'll learn that if you have read
more pieces of my work.
You know what
I guess I should stop.
You know what
But I can't.
You know I feel like telling you
all the things that happened to me.

You know what
I hope you are ready to listen.
Hereshecomes Sep 2019
I hide my lacerating dreams
maps form then fall.
Little fingers tangle neurons
tugging at timid gazes and lore.

I plant thorns on your mouth
pretend it to be a rose .
Your shadow passes
a neophyte’s ashes blowing in the wind.

I build a pyre for each encounter
stripping my body fictitious sins.
I turn my back to the heat
a stranger devouring her soul.

Invisible now, I step out
consecrated tombs stand where I once stood.
I stare at prophetic torture fields
and listen to the howling of memory.

I scatter words to thaw out the void
love letters inscribed in blood.
They settle on a crater or two
A still born silence and frozen sap.

But cascading noise drown these verses
made from doubt in silk threads.
Lean sentences gone terribly wrong
On the beaten road to hell.
Em Mar 2019
Clock strikes midnight and I’m ready to leave
Never really could stay in the same place for more than nine months

Growing up
I was a zebra in a room full of lions
Still am
With long spider legs
And birthmarks sprinkled around my face and body
My big beautiful dad hands
Shy personality
I stick out like a sore thumb

Living a lonely little kid life
I learned to love
I don’t want others to feel the way I did
Instead of floating around my brothers who treated me like a ghost
I went off to play with my mom
Failed once again
packed my bags and moved onto my cat
She hissed and scratched
I cried
No one wanted me

I searched for my people
Looking high and low
Using everyone else’s personality but my own
I found them for a while
Until the wind whistled
And decided it’s time to blew them away
Jumping  from person to person
Finding good in them
I was told I was wrong
So I kept to myself and became the sad girl no one wants to be friends with
Rolling her eyes and dismissing everything people say
Wondering in the corner
Why people don’t like her

I’m ready to leave
Trapped inside five years of the same cycle
I’m ready to shed my skin
Leave my old life behind
And start fresh
I’m not afraid of the future
For me, change is like water
I don’t drink as much as I want to
But I’ll die without it.
Jonesy Feb 2019
Growing up as a child and a young teen was not the best,
The memories up to this day traumatize me:
I always remember the bad ones and never the rest.
Now don't take this as a sob story I don't take well to pity,
Just give me a few minutes to dwell
On a childhood that was anything but well.

It was the 29th day of March,
A long and eerie night
A miscarriage was near in sight
The doctor told her:
Its very possible that you will lose your baby
After hours of pain and blood loss
Came a bundle of joy with "cat eyes" that brought light to all a young mother's flaws.
It was a miracle.
"Its a baby girl, woah look at those eyes they are almost bioluminescent in the dark"
Parents could never be so proud to bring such a beautiful creature to the world.
"I wish all the best, to this little girl"

Life was great
But I wasn't truly welcomed
Some people my existence upset.
But as a baby and toddler, it was great all I had to do was breastfeed, cry and ****.
Then time happened and life became complicated.
My mom cheated (or was continuously cheating) and there was no preset
My dad wished there was a reset
And me... I was treated like an asset;
For money.
For **** sake my young years have been duped.


Jonesy 2019 ©
I want to start a new collection about realism in association with well origins. This will be the first poem of the collection; this collection entails basically my uncensored life story (and if u guys want to share your own life story too please do not be shy,  no judging) I hope you enjoy and look out for my next poem "Memorandum" coming soon.
Max Dec 2018
Well I'm like a weird book,

With pages unnumberd
And stories not told.
With a cover that's bended and not carefully folded.
Sent this to a friend a while ago..
Nab Karbela Aug 2018
I don't only  bring my self
I bring their hope on my back
Cause it's a fortune that given when
You realize it,  you have to take.

I'm feel so heavy,  not because far with family
It's more than just take a PhD
Nor to get people insentivity
When you get up and people smile on you

There's a big hope burden in my back
Study in years never enough to paid it back
And here...
I am on my way
Won't get a slay
Idk what to say


‌May 14th 2017

Hillary B Apr 2018
you're so good at telling stories

you forgot which one you're in
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