I’m from the soft sweep of the sand dunes
and the man who rode from Missouri on horseback.
A small town where the children play on the gritty soil of front lawns,
hair tumbled into nests.
The rhythmic squeaking of a rusted metal swing set by the church.

I’m from the crimson hot tip of great grandma’s cigarette at the dinner table,
the pulse in the veins of her wrist,
the haze of Sunday smoke.
A desperation and a deliberation,
the impatient ticking of time,
surrender laced with stubborn defiance.

I’m from a cramped apartment in San Francisco.
The gleam of the bay out the window
thrown open to catch the breeze.
The glisten of bridges arcing across the cotton sky,
the chime and click of the street car,
the screech and churn of the future.

I’m from the lilacs
and the salty shrine of the ocean.
Wind whipping at the passengers of the ferry
headed to Fire Island.
I’m from the thin stems of flowers woven into wicker baskets.
Soft, small hands cupped around sapphire stones.
Paint smeared and splattered over concrete floors,
the trials of devotion.

I’m from “Let’s play it by ear” and a row of silver cars.
Dancing in circles on the living room carpet.
Green tea and dark coffee.
The chipped blue plastic and fuzz of green felt.
I’m from the rain pounding on the pavement.
Perched on the front steps,
shadows of dusk staining our skin.
Watching the roll and tumble of the sky,
streaks of violet sunset
through the violence of the twisting storm.

I’m from the piles of receipts and lists,
the notes and the drawings.
Slivers of a past,
fragments of a future.
Little pieces that paint the entire painting.
A journey of generations.
Their trinkets and treasures
becoming mine.

Inspired by George Ella Lyon’s poem “Where I’m From”
Sink 2d

What don't let me sleep is not the socialization,
Is not the sad destiny that awaits this rotten world,
But it's a vivid and black thrill like silk
A shock from the heart to the skin
An omega darkness

What don't let me sleep is not the socialization
Is not the sad destiny that awaits this rotten world
Is the powder waiting for me

But this time when I'll close my eyes I won't dream
I want silence, a moment to think
But this time when I'll close my eyes I won't dream
'Cause you need some time even to get used to disappear

All I can do is rhyme
I look at things
and think randomly
all the time.
I go outside
and breath in
and see all of nature
and what more abides.
My mind is always rhyming
and I cannot stop.
I am a poet
always have been and will be.

If there's hell to pay,
Then surely heaven awaits,
But how do I get there,
who's gonna show me the way?
Am I on track or way off at this rate;

I'm hellbent on getting to heaven,
Hoping it'll be my final destination,
For I fear what's waiting in the fiery den,
Yet I'm still having trouble in terms of devotion,
But that's just me being human;

So what's the difference,
For each represents,
a person,
a feeling,
and destiny for those devoted in faithfulness,
As hell is the prize for my defiance.


lights strobe while the music plays;
it resonates within your chest.
your skin has a purple hue,
and your eyes are still sunken.
the snow that nipped at your brain,
dilated your pupils.
the ecstasy that sat on your tongue,
seeped into you.
the alcohol that unscrewed you,
loosening your inhibitions.
and your last inhale seemed to be your greatest,
the line of snow.

yeah, my ex boyfriend died. i dont know how to feel. maybe whatever this is came off as insensitive. but i just needed to write about this. sorry if this makes any1 uncomfortable
maria 7d

Sometimes i think i am incapable of caring about anyone. Like, all that i am, is constructed of guilt and emotions i never wished to be mine in the first place.

There will never be a part of me i would offer up to be handled, because every limb, every organ, every slab of flesh worth holding, has been grabbed too hard and forced into positions that paralyzed me.

When i think of hands, i think of HIS hands and how they took, seized my fatless chest; like if he pulled hard enough and if he pinched to the point of blood, it would resemble the gutting of a fish and I would be pliant in his hold.

Hands don’t feel the same anymore, they don’t look the same. ‘Cause when I think of hands, i think of the print that was left behind and how it dyed parts of me a shade pink i had never before seen. I think of how i couldn’t breathe because of it, too scared to leave my room for days, and when I finally did, i tiptoed around him like i was on thin ice and he was the cold water underneath it.

I slept two hours last night, i’m okay with it. I was too scared to close my eyes, convinced that time would pass by without me in it. Woke up, didn’t brush my hair, just tied it back; ratted up knot things clinging to over-stretched hair ties.

And I can’t tell anymore, if these words are just emotions i’m trying to toss out so i wouldn’t have to feel them anymore, or if they are perhaps freed things - open to the page to understand myself better.
How will I ever know?

a personal part of me
Evie 7d

i'm sorry
i'm aware that saying no was supposed to be the right thing to do
but in the midst of it this tiny word got choked in my throat somehow
maybe it was the loneliness that was eating me alive earlier
or maybe i'm just a horrible person i don't know
i don't know and i'm sorry
you think your kisses are healing
your touch burning my skin in a way that leaves invisible bruises
you say all the nice stuff yeah?
"you are beautiful"  "you are nice" "you are funny"
(you you you you you you you)
i feel like i'm going mad
because i'm not ready, i never was
never will i be
your hopes and dreams are high
you love planning,thinking for the future
but the future hurts and you hurt
because i allow it, because i don't know how to care
because i don't know how to love someone who doesn't rip me apart
i know you will find another and you can finally chase the future together
as for me
i'm already in a cage
and maybe i'm beyond saving at this point

i really am sorry should have never done this
nanda Jan 11

i shall sweep the floor
shall draw the curtains
and water the plants

i shall smell the flowers
tug you in good night
shall read a book
or at least pretend to do so

because it is so sunny right now
the sun blinds my eyes
the warmth burns my skin
ripping it apart
but i shall not complain
for warmth is always good

and i shall tolerate your bickering
shall understand your shouts
and nodd at your wrongs,
close my mouth shut

because it is sunny here
so so sunny
or so you say
but how do i truly know
how can i know
if the sun is simply a lamp
if the flowers are plain plastic
if the dust is never to be gone
if the ivy is actually dead

how can i know
how can i think
when all i can see
is the horizon
tainted in black
making its way here
a threatening shadow
lurking in the distance
setting up a trap

how can i know
that i’m not falling
for the tricks of the unmask man
how can i do
to repay you may debts in time
to be useful
not a waste of space
not a waste of cash

tell me so i can make it better
so i can make the strike softer
because you know who is coming
and baby your arms are not strong enough
to hold back the storm

feeling hopeless lately... and terribly useless
Lure Pot Jan 11

I am just your friend
not personal or privet
I'm also a human being
not weather or climate!

I can't change myself
I am just me still
and I always will,
you just keep silent!

Don't worry about me
I wouldn't change you
I am not ignoring you
don't make me a client!

Don't make me a fool
I can understand you
so be quiet and cool
I just love your talent.

I don't feel so good
in this lousy mood
I'm not like that person
Friends, please be gentle!


The day danced in woven sunlight on her skin
Through the blinds, trapped in time by baited promises
To stay until snow began to melt away- and when it did
She tripped on her word, loosened her grip cos’ it hurt
It never gets easier to watch the sunset fade
'n cast shadows in her shape
The day clasped onto dewy sidewalks where we used to lay
Until our barebacks burned from the concrete,
stomachs hurt from laughing
Never minded the way I felt sixteen
and full of color when you’d speak
I still remember the way it felt the first time
you leaned in and kissed me
And how you made me miss the bus
but I felt good enough that day
That I did not mind walking 26 miles
home with your jasmine taste in my brain

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