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Brent Kincaid Feb 2017
I must have been raised wrong,
I believe in being generous.
I think people should be loved;
That meanness can be onerous.
I have seen what evil does
And I want no more of that.
I don’t think that selfishness
Will really feed the captain’s cat.

I have watched back biters
And gossips and thieves
Bring themselves all unawares
To the point where everyone grieves.
I have witnessed liars who get
Tripped up on their own tales;
Regular folks and politicians
Get the air taken from their sails.

I know well that our elderly
Have already done their job
So it’s fine with me if they just
Sit around and act like slobs.
They took care of us when we
Were the indolent folks kids are
So, they are entitled to rest,
More than we are, by far.

I was raised to let people be
If they had some philosophy
That did not match mine
Or even the vast majority.
Someone thinks a different way
That’s fine if it hurts no one.
Not everybody thinks the same
Carnival rides are that much fun.

I saw for myself that people
Were individual in so many ways.
Different in how they dressed
And what they had to say.
Some liked sports TV
And many preferred the soaps.
All of that is fine with me
So, why call each other dopes?

Is there something wrong with me
That I don’t go along with the crowd?
That I don’t enjoy the fights,
The sports fans shouting out loud?
Am I silly for not slowing down
When I pass a wreck on the highway?
Well, if I am, then that is fine.
I will go on doing things my way.
Kelsey Lauren Oct 2016
They make it a point to show,
That I'll never live up to the status quo.
They multiply my insecurities.
They make me think of them as disabilities.
They see me as an object to ridicule.
Everything I used to love about myself has been overruled.
My peers have always been my biggest enemy.
At least I now see this in all of its clarity.
It feels good to be writing again... I have been busy non-stop since I posted my last poem and it feels good to get some creative flow going again.
AJ James Aug 2016
Daydreams about my future
consumed my fifteen year old mind,
if only I was informed that eight years later,
I'd still be daydreaming about my future.

Daydreams about my future
consisted of joy and freedom
if only I was informed that eight years later,
I'd still be restrained and joyless.

Daydreams about my future
so misleading to think I would be successful
eight years later and I still question if this
pain will ever cease to exist.

Daydreams about my future,
a world full of fairness that celebrates brightness
not this mess of confused individuality where
anonymity is the new frontier.

Daydreams about my future,
gave me hope that one day I would find the acceptance
I so desperately craved
Eight years later and I'm still hungry.

Daydreams about my future,
reprieve from the torment from my peers.
who would have known, that eight years later
my peers would still misunderstand me.

Daydreams about my future,
the place I withdraw and hide in.
Eight years later and I'm still stuck
in daydreams about my future.

Daydreams about my future,
a hopeless concept my young mind created
to pretend that reality is nonexistent
Eight years later and my reality is still choking the life from me.

Daydreams about my future,
the only thing that keeps me going,
eight years later and I'm still relying on a lie
to get me through this life until it's time to die

Daydreams about my future,
who would have known that I would be so naive to stay here
Eight years later, my twenty-three year old mind has
disappointed my fifteen year old self.

Daydreams about my future,
are all I have left.
Eight years later and I'm still here,
daydreaming about my future.
Damian Murphy Mar 2016
It is ok to look up to others who
You admire for one reason or another.
But never let anyone look down on you
And never ever look down on another.

Never let anyone else make you feel small
And never ever belittle anyone.
You would not like to be looked down on at all,
So why then would you look down on anyone?
Raquel Butler Dec 2015
Do you listen?
Do you hear?
Do you watch closely your peers?

I can see them,
I can hear.
I can listen for their fears.

Do you focus?
Do you try?
Do you struggle in your life?

I know struggles,
I know strength.
I know the worries of a day.

Do you wonder?
Do you cry?
Is it hard to empathize?

I can't help them,
I can't cry.
I am haunted by their eyes.

Do you worry?
Do you sigh?
Do you struggle with the lies?

I do worry,
I do sigh.
I do struggle with the lies.

Do you hear the drum beat beat?
Do you hear the girls quiet screams?

I can hear them,
I can see.
I can fear them for they torture me.

Do you question?
Do you hear?
Do you push for truth among your peers?

Please I urge you,
hear the cries.
Please I urge you,
watch the eyes.
Frank DeRose Aug 2015
I am not your equal.
We are not peers.
This is what you tell me.
You are my father,
I am your son.

You say you are proud of me,
That you love me,
That I am a good person.

But if a stranger were to walk in,
And see the way you talk when you're upset,
They would not think that.
And you are upset too often.

They would think I stole the car,
And went to Maine.
That I did drugs,
That I was a thief,
Or even a murderer.
They would not think you were proud of me.

It's hard,
Knowing how to walk around you.
You are the King,
And I am but a peasant.
I am not your equal.

Oftentimes, you treat me well.
We discuss sports,
Current events,
Even politics.
But I am not your equal.

Other times,
It seems I am the wayward son.
The peasant who did not meet his quota.
I am not your equal.

Most of the times you are a benevolent King,
Peaceful and kind.
But sometimes,
You are a harsh King.
And I must be wary.
Because I am not your equal.

You are a good King to me,
You treat me with love and respect.
But still I must remember,
You are King,
And I am a peasant.
I am not your equal.

All I've ever wanted was to make you proud,
And yet I don't know why.
And though sometimes you say you are proud of me,
(And I believe you,)
Other times your actions say different,
And actions,
As every peasant knows,
Are louder than words.

It is clear,
I am not your equal.
For you are King,
And I am peasant.
I am not your equal.
We are not peers.
Child abuse!
Child abuse!
What kind of a monster are you?

Children all over the world are being abused.
They are abused at home by their parents,
At school by their teachers,
And as they play with thier peers.
They suffer from the East, North, West and South.

What then should be done to make an end to this problem?
Parents, teacher and friends,
Lets all think about this problem,
Lets all try to make an end to it.

A little visit back into the hands of time, the first poem i ever knew and presented during the age of 9 on the year 2009 and i still remember it word for word.
Misfitkilljoy Apr 2015
No more years.
To cry those  tears.
No more beers
To drowned  my Fears.
Its time to kick it into gear.
Now say cheers.
With  your fellow peers.
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