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Leah May 2014
Writing poetry has changed me a lot
since i became a subject of the material,
and my words are more fixed and flawed
than myself.

They flow from line to rhyme,
stabbing me into the heart
a hundred pages of thoughts
is spinning so fast
that i can barely catch any of it
if it really means
a lot to me.

It is as to flood me into downpour with it
from the Sun
yet the typical look reflected on a mirror
reminds me of who i really was
and nothing can be re-written from a history.

No roses can blossom without a rain, they said,
like they babbles up themselves to say
in front of enemies
that every petals are new-born warriors
and
the rest of  the past was the biggest blur
as if they were dropped directly into
a wrong time, at a wrong place,
like it's made by fairy tales.
Daylight 4U2C May 2014
I chose this path
No, no one else did just me
No one else did
So why do I want to blame it on them
I told myself I wouldn't cry
I told myself I shouldn't lie
I told myself these but, I do this anyway
I like to break the boundaries
Skipping stones across a forbidden lake
But I wouldn't listen to myself when I said stop
I grasped my memories; nothing else then I stormed out that door
I want you to believe it was your fault
I wanted you to hate yourself for it
To come to me before I left this door or....
at least to regret it all
But, I couldn't even be honest with myself until it was over.
I wanted so bad
To have some way of knowing you weren't just going to forget
forget about me
But I lied to myself we were never a "we"
It took me forever to realize
You didn't even care
much less remember me
So I take my memories, my blames, tears,and lies and will disappear before your very eyes.
Tracy Burke Apr 2014
i've come to the point where i'm always saying *******.
******* and the way you talk,
**** the way you walk and the way you run.
**** the way you smile when someone walks by you,
even if you have no idea who they are.
**** the way you slouch in your seat,
and **** the way you stand up proudly when rooting for your team.
**** the way you move and the way you care.
**** the way you dance,
and the way you slide across the floor when you really get into the music.
**** everything you do,
because now i've come to this point.
but you want to know the most ****** up thing of all?

**** the way you smile,
**** the way you smell,
the way you hold me when i'm sad,
**** the way you smile when you see me coming,
**** the way you put away your games and your phone,
when you want to spend time with me,
**** the way you tuck your head into my neck when we dance,
**** the way you sigh when you're tired,
and **** the way you flip your hair from your face.

**** the way you loved me,
and **** the way I love you.
but seriously, honestly, crazy and stupidly,
**** the way you never seemed like you really cared much,
at all.
i Apr 2014
that emptiness
that you feel,
inside of your
bitter soul,
and the feeling
when you crave
for the past,
are too much
to bear,
all you have to do
is open the window
and jump off
of it.
*the feeling will
be gone,
and so will you.
Esme Venegas Apr 2014
This love is the end of my loneliness
And the beginning of my suicide.
Elizabeth Apr 2014
I am too much of everything
and somehow
not enough of anything.

I sleep too late,
put too much sugar in my coffee,
have too many shoes,
say too many things,
and hold on for much too long.

I am a mixture of the things I want and need,
the things that mean nothing and everything.
I am passionate about many unimportant things
and woefully apathetic about the issues that truly matter.

I fall in love 3 times a day
and often forget to brush my hair.
I am too loud
and I talk too much
and I have too many opinions about things
I know nothing about.

I romanticize people and books,
foreign countries and fictional characters
to the point where they may all be
figments of my imagination.

I am entirely made up
of quotes and song lyrics,
2am phone calls and long lost dust jackets
from books I know better
than my own soul.

I do not know answers
to questions like
where,
or when,
or how,
but I know
with some certainty,
that I am too much for you.
If you don't know why
what you write isn't that good
It is too little
And you didn't think enough
Or it's too much, and you *thought.
Daylight 4U2C Apr 2014
I drank the alcohol, expecting something.
boy was I let down, when I got nothing.
No silly laughter, or grand horror story.
No youtube video, or easy talk for me.
Just a headache or two and a feeling of suffocation.
Just a scolding from people, and a dizzy sensation.
The bottle looked nice, and tv shows made it seem fun,
but after 3 gulps, I just felt like a street ***.
So I said goodbye to armpit beer,
and I assure no rose wine here.
*** is for pirates,
much too complicated for me.
I'm done with heartache alcohol,
as you can plainly see.
How do people even get addicted to that nasty stuff?
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