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Srishti Singh Aug 12
I found a tiny piece of paper
With something scribbled on it
It reads,
"You are not worthless
Work hard and shut everyone's
**** mouth with it"
I smiled and remembered
I wrote it when I was scolded
By my mother in front of my whole class
When I got really bad marks in my Maths test(Ps:still a nightmare).
She screamed and said
"You can't do anything"
Also she said she is ashamed to even come to attend my PTM.
I was so humiliated at that time I cried like a 3 year old. Also everyone got their share of gossip.
I WAS THE JOKE NOW.
Now everytime anyone saw me studing , enacted like my mother in front of me. Or even worse....they would say "Dude padh le varna aunty na....she is very strict na..''
At that time I had no choice to study and keep myself motivated (thus I wrote this paper).

Final exams results came
I got highest marks in my class and have done extremely good in my maths test.
I was so happy and contented.
Every joke on me had an answer now.

Now what is the need to share this incident.?
Actually there is....I just want to question each parent why they attach their status in the society with the marks of their children ???
See I will not say what my mom did was wrong because her intension was in the right place.. infact her words ignited the fuel inside me. (She knows how to use the reverse psychology)

Also marks can be improved by either ways but why we adopt the strict one all the time???

JUST TAKE A MOMENT AND THINK ABOUT IT.
(Cuz your whole life must have faced this scenario once in your life).

Also share your opinions on this story.
Dylan Mcconnell May 2018
Routine. Make sure you have it. Whether it be taking a shower and brushing your teeth every morning, or it is smoking a cigarette and drinking a cup of coffee. I need you to have a routine sweetheart, it'll serve you when you're in high school.

2. Don't use violence. Treat others the way you want to be treated. The violence part? I know, easier said than done, but your dad had such a hard time in high school. He was suspended and almost got battery charges for hitting a girl. Also, your dad went to jail for abusing the effing crap out of your grandmother.  So trust me please, when I say violence is not the answer.

3. Read. Write. Create. Repeat. Read John Green, Neil Hilborn, and Savannah Brown. Write as though your soul is on fire and this is the only way to put it out. Write every day, write about pain, guilt, shame, suffering. Write about all the bad things, but also show those glimmers of hope. Create. Make art that shocks and makes people think. Make masterpieces. Make art you don't like. Whatever you do, just make art. Do it because your dad would. Do it for the world. You have so much potential.

4. Don't join Facebook. You will get preconditioned to the fact Facebook is a right of passage and a sense of freedom, but trust me, it isn't. It'll turn you from an artist to one who searches for love in all the wrong places. One who strives off likes, and hearts, and good reactions. It will make you feel worthless on those days you get zero shares from the status you thought was golden. I love you and you can do this.

5. This one is hard for me to say, especially considering I'm one of many whose done it, but don't attempt suicide. You'll regret it the moment it doesn't work and cry the moment you realize what you've done. I will let you know regardless if it works or not, the amount of pain you put others in: will not change. There will always be pain. I love you sweetheart and you can do this.

6. Listen to loads of music. This should be your drug of choice. I'll make you a playlist of all your padre's favorite songs. Music does wonders. Music soothes, helps you create, lets you let it out, and the list goes on and on.

7. Discover yourself; embrace that. Whether you be gay, straight, or bi. Whether you're happy, sad, or content. Whether you're ill or not ill. BE YOURSELF. Be so much yourself, you have the amount of confidence of a great white shark. Those *******, those animals are CONFIDENT. (19 year old me would also like to insert that werk it qween is a totally acceptable phrase)

8. You are made of magic. You have the bones of stars and the eyes of bravery. Anywhere you walk is going to be a place where everyone knows your presence. You walk on red carpets of kindness and love, but also you smile bigger than anyone in the room.

See her? Yeah, she's my daughter. She's my light, life, and reason to function on bad days. She brings me so much joy that the only way to describe it is, become an addict, go into foster care and lose everything you've ever known for ~1.5 years, and then uproot yourself into the adult life, 1 day after graduating. After you've completed those steps and only managed to need to be resuscitated twice, then you get to go onto the pile of adult ******* that entails: paying bills, overdosing on abused drugs, being forced to sign a 'mutual termination' contract with the place you were living because you had a mental health flare up. Are you still alive? Okay cool, well now you're going to move into sober living and fall in love with the wrong person while being there, get into drugs even more than you were before (ironic, eh,) and now... after all that. You move away from hell. And fall in love with the child you never thought you'd have.  

You bring me so much happiness, it's nearly ridiculous.
Love is learning how to adjust to different things while still feeling lots of pride and joy and happiness, while still feeling the **** feelings.
it's my job.
to make it in life
it's my job.
to turn your wrongs into rights,
it's my job,
and I will shoulder your dishonor,
because I am your daughter.
-
Like a sheep bred for slaughter,
I will always be your daughter.
-
Justyn Huang Dec 2018
I miss you
Myself, recurring
flapping through petals
of time

Rejecting the one by
My parents

Embracing, accepting
the One True Self
born into Mine.
bakunawa Dec 2018
mama, i made someone happy yesterday!
i smiled as the door opened
              just as i always did
it was my first time to be chosen
    to be honest i was so nervous
they made me try out so many clothes
they said i had to look as pretty as i should
         they said they were trying to bring out
         my youthful look...
i never thought that meant
     more skin.
     more chest.
     more legs.
              he was an old man
wrinkles ravaged round his face
yet his smile had no blemish
          he stared at me
          and chose me almost immediately
i was never more proud
yet i was clueless of what next to do
    i should have wrote to you as early as then
         but as soon as
       we arrived
                          at my 'new home'
                or at least that was how he called it
   he called me to his room
            he nearly had to kneel
            in order to see me
                eye
                to
                eye
      i thought he was going to hug me
      as he leaned in
                                 he just undid my bra
            his hands were huge
            they cover almost my whole chest
he asked me to take of my shorts
        and he was smiling
   for once i knew
              i was doing something right
i barely slid my undergarment off and he pressed me against the unsuspecting bed
       he grabbed both my legs
                    as he told me to open them
              while he tole me to close my eyes
    he started
          pushing against me
      it was so so hard             so painful
relentless      excrutiating            i had to
                 bite my tongue to stop myself
         from screaming
               i think i was bleeding?
           i felt the blood pour out
                        i couldn't take it.
    i couldn't ask him to calm down
               it was just way too fast
he was panting                breathing heavily
         grunting         driving himself too hard
    it was like he could run out of breath
                       i wanted to make him stop
i really did
                   trust me.
            but as soon as i tried to shout
      or help him or something
                he fell over
          don't worry though he was still breathing
                           and his face
he just looked way too happy
           i was paralyzed the rest of the day
     until now i can barely stand up
                    but he was just so in bliss
       i hope you're proud of me mama.
              he said earlier he'd be taking me back
to the warehouse later
            i don't know why though.
     do you think he'll tell them i've been
         a good daughter?
                   i hope so.
mama i hope you write me back.
Regina Golan Feb 2018
I watched your gracefully long,
inflated fingers stretch out
to dial a digital code
on your silvery, slatted intercom,
requesting, no, demanding, that Joel
hustle his way through the humble halls
to your dominion
from the flaccid factory at the opposite end
of the bulky building
that you now so proudly owned,
never willing
to proffer credit for the generous growth
to anyone but yourself.

Sitting on the seventies colorific plaid sofa
in the expanse of your stately second floor office
I watched you shuffle papers, take a long
drag of your slim menthol cigarette and
call across the hall to a father unlike your own.
Her father. That unfit, unworthy, plain Jane wife of yours.
But he wasn’t really hers, because they were all
hustling for you, weren’t they?

I heard my Papa call over to you
in his kind, quiet way,
to ask you to go easy
on the poor sucker
journeying to your jurisdiction,
which made your sky blue eyes crinkle
with obvious revulsion
at the thought of going easy
on one of the many indolent soldiers
doing your bidding
in the catacombs
of the facility, the likes of which
you rarely, if ever,
set that size 16 foot of yours.

Immediately changing face, I watched as
an enormous mustache-framed smile unfolded
over your classically Russian,
hand-carved vanilla face,
like an animated Asian fan
in a Geisha’s dexterous dance.
You looked at me in boyish anticipation as you asked me,
“Where shall we go for lunch today?”

When Joel entered the vaulted, double doorway, he made no sound
as he tread on the luxurious gold-threaded carpet that had been laid
merely one week before, at the disgust of your father-in-law.
As he entered, Joel’s hunched-back frame curved due left
and anxiety clearly riddled his fearful face.
He began to whimper aloud, like a bleating animal
in line to be slaughtered, as your booming base bravado
shook the white walls
and made, even me, wince in astonishment.

It was the first time that I saw your potent power,
the likes of which I dared not ever ask to be
directed toward me, the eldest of your clan
and the most subservient of us all.
I learned early on that Daddy knows everything
important to know, that Daddy rules
the rectilinear roost, that Daddy should not
be questioned, even if my childish certainty
told me otherwise.
You needed me to believe in you.
It was your right to be followed
as a censured book of law
in the judicial system of life.

Once Joel’s injured suit of armor thumped its way
out the detached double door,
your face lightened five shades of pale
and delight beamed through your bright eyes
like a small child tasting the salty sweetness
of your very first kaleidoscopic-colored candy.
It was time for me to name
the extravagant restaurant of my choice.
It was once again you and I
against the unworthy, wretched world.
My know-it-all, darling Dad and your gifted little angel,
the extension of yourself in all the best ways,
granted I kept my mouth from moving and
my words to a pleasant, flattering tone,
like the finely spun fibers of your
newly acquired, gilded carpet.

Where shall we go, my foolish father?
Direct me, for my innocent eyes are
yet short-sighted to an intelligence such as yours.
Help me get up from your stately sofa
and build me a faulty foundation on which to stand
my worthless and wanting self
so that I may be worthy of the
peripheral love that so far has eluded me.
What a joy
What a joy
My little nephew,
Two decades back
Born abroad,
When a  guest here
A ride on
A piggy shoulder
Who used to enjoy,
To whom I bought
A motley toy
Out of himself
Made a brilliant boy.

“As per my choice
Could you buy me a donkey
Or a could you allow  me
A  tortoise
To touch
When we go to
The squalid market square
Or  the nearby church?”



Double mind
Is his nick name
Now crafting
Software is his game.

A small boy
Inquisitive
He used to ask
“Tell me why
Flowers don't grow
On the sky?”

“Tell me quick
Why animals
Don't speak?
Also stars
Don't grow
On the meadow?”

“Why is the sky high
To touch?”
Such questions helped him
Racking  his brain
To come up with
Academic research,
That troubleshoot
Societal challenge
And afford
A nation a turnaround
Or  for the better a change!


Now, conversant in IT
It is no wonder
To observe
Binary operation,flowcharts
Subroutines,syntax...
Programming languages
Are at the tip of his finger.

His study at
George Mason University
Has turned out a hit
Getting himself
In the Dean's List.

A boy that lends
To parents, relatives
And teachers
A heeding ear
Is really dear.
(To my Nephew who graduated recently)
Wes Rabbit Oct 2017
Every night I try
to hold it in my iron fists
It works for a while
Opens up like blossoms in the mist
How can I control it in my sleep?
They form a network from their roots

Learning to learn
I’m trying to conquer
I try to fly
I’m a bird in an aeroplane
I'll never know why
What use are my wings?  
How will I sing?
Always, spinning
Over a stranger's head
I recorded this poem : https://youtu.be/ZhWBiCVWMis
Jessica Kelly Aug 2016
Down no plains of flowing grass
up no hills of trees that stand
what tips your hat?
where is your flaw?
disillusioned taste
defused for all, mimicked
in the voice of a flower
through hearts of trees, outstretching
complex, limbs hidden
simply facilitated
in common goal, conditioned
used for all;
how do you stand?
quite so tall
in divined obsession
it seems to find all
nurtured and withdrawn
concealed in fixation
no one finds your flaw
for there’s none at all
yet from deception, true love finds all
in this shambled; shrine,
not flawed in design
nurtured from unseen
confronted with existence.
Stella Matutina Feb 2017
I’m in the back seat of our car.
My parents are angry with me,
They’re upset.

I didn’t do as I was told.
I messed up,
Failed them in some way.
I don’t remember how
I guess it doesn’t matter.

I clamp my mouth shut
It feels good to do so.
A satisfying spread of pain,
It shoots through my teeth and gums.

But then
Suddenly,
My teeth giveaway.
They’re wobbling,
A crack and split of pain
Spreading through my mouth.

A tooth on the bottom row,
My tongue pushes it out,
And now I can see it on the floor.

I try and stop,
But my teeth
Mouth,
Gums
They’re all on a derailing train,
And I don’t know how to stop it.

I try and cry for help,
Let my parents know that something is wrong,
Pop
Rip
Crack
Two more fall to my feet,
A tiny pile of bones starting to gather.

My parents look back at me,
Disdain on their face.
What kind of daughter can’t control her own teeth?

Tears are spilling down my face,
Blood crawling down my chin,
I’m ruined.
Absolutely done.
Who would want a girl with no teeth?

Please let this be a dream.
Please let this be a dream.
Please let this be a dream.

I’m holding my mouth now,
Trying to keep my teeth in.
My tongue searches for full rows of teeth,
And instead finds holes.

This has to be a dream.
This has to be a dream.
If this is a dream,
Why can’t I wake up?

I am trapped in this car,
My teeth trickling out,
One by one,
Out of my mouth and on to the floor,
And finally,
The train runs straight off the cliff.

My jaw slams shut,
It was an accident,
I didn’t mean to,
Bits and pieces of broken teeth fill my mouth,
I can feel blood,
Rushing to fill the space left unfilled by teeth.

I try to cry out,
My parents,
They’ll be angry,
I’ll embarrass them if I don’t have teeth,
I have to fix this,
But my cry is a gargle.
Tooth and blood spill from my mouth when I try to speak,
Sputtering on to the back of the passenger seat in front of me.

This has to be a dream.
I’ve had this dream before,
This has to be a dream.
I can’t wake up,
I’m trapped in this car,
My own mouth betraying me.
Please let this be a dream.
*Please let this be a dream.
Often times nightmares aren't inherently scary, but the feelings associated by the person dreaming them are scary, which is what I was trying to express in this poem.
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