I've been broken
I've been hurt
I feel like I won't repair
But I know I will
But I doubt it will be anytime soon
But if it is
It'll be a miracle
Because I am a mess
I am depressed
and shaking
and clearly not myself
I don't know when I'll be myself either
I have been broken
For a long time
Don't think I'll heal quickly
Because I don't think I will.
JIN 1d
Laying me down you kiss my cheek
You remember all the times that we laughed
All the times that we argued and cried...
All the songs that you memorized together....
They all are gone now
Faded and burnt
Thrown and blown away......
Kaumudi 1d
For me, a poem is not just for display, an appealing art piece.
It's just I'm  v om i t ti ng  the excess of emotions to be at ease.

For me, a poem is not just a  ran d om  rhythmic rant on a  ra n do m  topic.
It's a description of memories where words create a graphic.

For me, a poem is not telling the world to appreciate someone I appreciate.
It's my perspective about someone which is shown in the poem I create.

And lastly, I don't write poems to please YOU.
It's my mind's whimses I'm catering to.
©2018, Why Do I Write Poems? by Kaumudi.
Emily 2d
If I had a car
I would want a’68 Ford Country Sedan
Big, huge, beastly
A masculine power fantasy

If I had a motorcycle
My fishnet legs would look so hot
Draped either side of its seat
And a highway to myself

If I had boat
I could go out
And I could float
On the water, on the lake

If I had a car,
If I had a motorcycle,
If I had a boat,
I would have a lot and lot and lot of debt
i hold the pen with familiar longing
but unlike a child, or a maiden filled
with youth - i did not gush within contact.
instead my hand trembles,
not with fear but with the impact of
memories resonating through time.
i remembered how i used to be me
a person i know but don't understand
as if a stranger i see everyday but
whose name i still don't know
despite the fact that we've smiled at
each other maybe once or twice.
the person i was before was not that nice
neither is the person i see now
on mirrors and people's eyes when i
stare too hard because i don't recognize
i was a planet, now a comet
i was a wanderer, now lost forever

yet i feel human and alive
there's so much to do, so much to see

but for the mean time i want a fragment of me.

so, let me write again.
let me say my name.
it's time to return home. it's time to return to poetry.
Emily 5d
Today I saw a girl
She was walking
On a residential street
She looked out of place
But I knew her face
It’s a small town
So, of course, I knew her face
Of course, I know her name
She’s the Jones girl

She’s a teenager
I don’t know what she was doing
Probably doing whatever it is
Teenagers do
On a Sunday afternoon
In a small town

Platinum white hair
Piercings up her ear
Future up in the air
Scene and emo wristbands
And a graphic tee
Probably not from Hot Topic
Because Hot Topic ain’t so hot here

Here’s the thing
She’d be the It Girl
If it weren’t for her acne
If it weren’t for her height
If it weren’t for her weight
If it weren’t for her interests
If it weren’t for her hobbies
If it weren’t for everything about her
But her name
And her age

She deserves better
I don’t like her
Not personally
But she does deserve better
She deserves the city streets
There, and only there,
Can she can be who she wants to be

And if she can’t?
Then there’s no place I want to be
Not one at all
Because I want to be
Where she,
Where we all can be,
Who we want to be
Names changed to protect the identity of this poem's subject.
I have been quiet for a long time.
But that doesn't give you the right to take my silence for granted or to taunt me, torture me or traumatize me even.
For there is always a calm before the storm and
I don't intend to say that I carry a storm inside me or with me
because I am one.
"The title says it all."
df 6d
i never knew it could be like this.
being in love simply felt like a far away dream.
just a number on my bucket list.
a splendid thing i'd never know of.

so, to be with you, is to be real.
because, with you, i've learned that this is real.
love is real.
loving myself is real.

love never felt so good.

Something valuable, precious even
Sometimes painful
But always hard to contain, hide, or forget
All encompassing
Terrible confused with myself. I'm lost inside. I've lost myself. I'm just... hopeless
I can’t hide my red heart.
Even if it’s small, it always gets in sight.
If only, I could lie to others and myself,
Black would get incredibly immense.
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