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izzn 1d
I think what it means to be a poet is to express feelings not just my own, but the feelings of everyone. When a poet writes a poem and publish it for everyone to see, he or she is doing it on behalf of everyone. A poet has the audacity to show the world the true meaning of bravery. Clearing the gist of tyranny. Fought with the soldiers in the same warzone but different timeline.

I think to be a poet is to be in someone else's shoe, to be the voice of reasons for those whom voices could not be heard. Those with thousand swords in their lungs who fight a neverending battle through their whole life. Those who died and those who survived. A poet could engrave golden marks on every scars and turn them into a work of art. A poet also records all shrieks and screams and muffled cries of poor unfortunate souls and enshrine them in lines by lines of intricacies. When the society finally get it, maybe then they would actually do something. And maybe then this world would be a better place for you and me.

I think to be a poet is also to perpetuate the joy in laughters of shiny glittery pink and white moments in life. Those times where hearts become one and jokes become light and minds become free. The giggles of newborn seeing their mother's silly faces, the smiles of little kids getting presents during holidays's sunrise, the tears shed by a bride while walking down the aisle seeing her true love, with her old man walking by her side entering a new phase of life. The jumps made by students as they get their first degree for all their hard work and sweats and stay up late at night.

I think to be a poet is to be empathetic, and to see this world in a whole different perspective.
During my literature class on famous poet Mr Kilmer, my teacher ask us the question of what does it means to be a poet. Here are my answers.
And flows
Jon Thenes Jul 27
Variations can be made on the fly according to mood and individual
How were these melodic notes made?
A thousand symphonies
from the sky upon him laid?

Mr. Tree and petite Ms Tree met with a distant ancestry,

Although he sprouted from a Cherry pit,
She has been growing from an apple seed,
Together they play,
hiding and seeking with the wind,

Silly them when thinking about the humanity
while they both have plans to grow to be.

Petite Tree sits under Mr Cherry tree
They laugh and laugh, won't leave.

Mr. giving Tree
shares his cherries for free.

Petite Tree eased her hesitation smiles.

Please, please Mr. Tree with cherries,
Petite Tree would like to grow with you distance memories.
Following up with a peer poet’s post in regarding Mr. Tree.
izzn May 18
It was at the creek,
where the buck crept in,
So mesmerizing,
scene of jaw-dropping,

Chill hits the bones,
when truth struck him,
Richard had to be the one,
who pull the trigger in;

No tricks up his sleeves,
he missed the clean ****,
He knew what's coming,
the **** cussed him,

'I just couldn't do it,'
Pa's look was disappointing,
Richard will never be the one,
who pull the trigger in...
This was from my literature class
Sergio Esteban Oct 2018
I long for your love
The way I long for the change
Of the seasons
Our thoughts reshape
For no apparent reasons
And the axioms we’ve had
Have disappeared
Over the span of time

Stop looking for the aesthetic
She’s beautiful the way she is
God didn’t make any mistakes
It’s apparent
Put your eyes through the looking glass
Look towards the intellect
Not what you see through the internet
I miss you in the summertime
I miss you all the time

Take the time to know me
You’ll see me bloom through the clouds
And find a better side of me
One I can share with thee
My sweet honey bee
Write to me your feelings
I’ll treasure them
The way Mr. Krabs
Treasures his very first penny
You mean that much to me

I want to be with you
Past our Amazon primes
Let me hold your hand at night
And let a myriad of calendars pass by
That’s a future
I would really like
But for now
Lay your head
And dream,
my love
Louisa Coller Jun 2018
It was dark,
I thought it was brighter back then.
Little did I know the mark,
of innocence he scribbled over in pen,
The sight of Mr. Man returns again.

The television light hit my face,
I had hoped it’d be the end,
but then my heart began to race,
with the thought of wounds I had to mend,
The sight of Mr. Man returns again.

Keep your lips shut, you can’t tell them,
What would they say? If they had known?
The first time I meet the feeling of being numb,
Isn’t this human? Isn’t it okay, don’t groan.
The sight of Mr. Man returns again.

The colours feel so drained,
What did he take away?
My mind is feeling strained,
Why do I feel like a prey?
The sight of Mr. Man returns again.
When I was young, I was very slow as described from my tutors. I didn’t pick up on things as fast as other kids and sometimes I felt bad about that, but I learned to just accept that sometimes, I take a bit of time.

But, there was one thing I wish I did understand before I was 6 years old. When I was 6 I was taken advantage of, not majorly, but I was still taken advantage of, when I thought it would end, I sadly stumbled into another situation where another completely different individual did the same. I found it tough to talk about to my close family, because I shut them off quickly after that.

It took me 10 years to talk about what had happened to me with them and others. I was afraid, sheltered and admittedly began outcasting myself because I was manipulated to believe it was something ‘normal’ when it wasn’t.

When I had finally confessed to my family, my Mother stood at my side through it all and I was grateful to have a woman like her in my life.

I am quite open with what had happened to me solely due to all the years I was not ‘open’. So I promised myself I would work on getting better and to this day, I’ve been getting better. If anything, saying it, does get it off your chest and I think telling someone was mostly the best part for me in the recovery process.

I learned about other’s situations inside and outside of my family and I’ve come to learn and love each and everyone of them for their stories, bravey and honestly, it just melts my heart how we can just see strangers on the street walking past us with happy expressions and we would not know they’ve been through hell.

The reason for the name ‘Mr. Man’ is because it did genuinely take me years to adapt into allowing males to actually go near me, be alone with me and sometimes even just touch me due to the situations I had been through. The name is simply a nod to how most of my harrassers were male and when a genuinely sweet man comes along wanting the best for me, it becomes a pain to have to explain to them why I might not be a 100% comfortable with being alone with them.

This has, however, improved, I now can be alone with certain male individuals and feel safe, this is most likely the biggest step in my recovery since telling someone. I am very happy to have all my friends who support me along the way.

I think the thing that hurts is how I have friends who are male, who do want the best for me and sometimes when getting to know me, they misinterpretate my discomfort as something of their wrongdoing when in reality it never was their fault; It was just a few bad people in the pool of good and they sadly reached to me first.

So this poem does have a quite ‘Deer in the Headlights’ vibe towards it for how some people when they are in vulnerable positions just simply freeze or are lost in confusion to know what is really happening.

I also try to tell my story as much as I can regarding my childhood, because I hope it inspires other young people to tell others their stories of child related issues with either mental health or people being creeps on them. People don’t realise at times how damaging it really can be on someone’s life – but it’s never too late to change those negative feelings, I know so many people who have changed their lives for the better, even after bad people stumble into them.

Never cut yourself short, you are always deserving of any kind of love.

This was inspired by Ballade forms of poetry. It was interesting to try something like this with a distorting feeling towards it, so I do think I worked my way a little outside of the structure for the last paragraph as I felt it was suitable.
Rayénari Das Feb 2018
This is called
how to
go deep into sea
with harpoon
and spores of magic
for getting nothing
back  home.

Yes, because we are
and the turtles
and jellyfishes
belongs each other
as my typo
For Italia
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