alan 1d

A beach of plastic, sky blue
illuminating the waters like they do.
A blue haired boy and green skinned man,
a missing young one from Japan.
Headed out 'cross oceans wide
with Russel by her side.
The dimmer days blotched out with sun,
a kitten face and hunting gun.
All alone in need of help
on that beach washed over with kelp.

Damon is the best person ever
Julie C Smith Jul 12

My heart is at 90° degrees
You can shift it and pull it around with ease
Bend it and shape it, go on, it's elastic
It must be a rubber band made from plastic
You broke it, I fixed it, she pushed it down from its cloud
And this is too twisted to even write poems about

I was feeling too stunned I thought I couldn't write poems anymore. But I could.
Naomi Hurley Jul 11

I live
In a cardboard cutout house
Our plates and silverware
Are plastic
The food adorning them
Plastic as well
Glossy and vibrant
But poisonous if consumed

No water will pour
From the sink or tub
If you try to turn
The handle

The plants are fake
The dog is fake
The microwave won't turn on
The floor looks wooden
                           (which may be the case)
For there is no carpet
                           in sight
No decor to behold

I try to pull back
The sheets on the bed
Only to find
That they're entwined--
Attached to the mattress
That feels more like
Pottery
I lean down to see
                           "Made in China"
Etched on the side
Of the frame

My footsteps echo
Down the hall
On the wooden floor
Of the cardboard cutout house
Until I finally see
Something living
Something real

Until I get close.

Her skin is matte
Her eyes are dull
Her teeth are chalk white
Her hair (maybe made from silk?)
                           sits perfectly in place
She is positioned with a smile--
                           Her vinyl arm bent at the elbow
                           Masquerading a friendly wave

She is merely a sculpture
                           A doll of a human being
Filled with wax instead of tissue
Factory made, not a product of Love(TM)

I escape
Away from the figurine Mother
The clay bed
Hard floors
Prop kitchenware and
Plastic food

Because a cardboard cutout house
                           is not a home.

Islands of trash are forming.
Plastics are swarming.
The forgotten fish,
With Fishing nets adrift.
Plastic.

It never goes away.
The killer that cannot be killed.
Our fish are dying,
Our baby dolphins are crying.
Plastic.

Bottles thrown to float,
Choking throats of the dying.
They’re eating the rotten,
Our forgotten friends.
Plastic.

Trash is thrown to float,
Caps get stuck in sea turtles throats,
Our oceans are too lovely,
To make them all turn ugly,
With all this plastic pollution.

Once a beauty,
Our oceans are filthy
But maybe someday,
The oceans will once again live in peace.

Plastic, a killer.

What of that is me that is so beautifully splayed against the cold tin tray beneath the light of the surgeon who is splitting me open.
What of that is not me who is the nurse, helping remove the blemishes and tumors that make the unrecognizable body mangled.
What of that situation makes this so uncannily familiar that all I do is try to change the person I am to be when I hear God sigh once more at my attempt to, again, change myself.
I hear the words,
"Love yourself,"
As if I hadn't already tried but the parts that I have attempted to nurture already lay in the bin of flesh the surgeon has already removed.
I could tell you that I was the surgeon but really,
Self-consciously,
I could not.
I say I could not because of the way the surgeons eyes resembled of those who pick me apart,
Also known as society.
I am not happy with myself,
I am an ever changing chameleon to the people I choose to bring apart of my life as they chisel me down to who and what they prefer.
I am not the color blue any longer for that represented his eyes,
I am not the color pink as my friend used as a disguise,
I am not the color black for that I realize,
I was once that.
So I lay here splayed on this cold tin tray,
Picked apart by the vultures who deem worthy and those who do not.
Do not tell me to love myself when I all know is to be a sponge of the people who pour toxic waters into my skin and I wear it like plastic wrap covering me in all of the wrong places.
I am no longer in control of my own strings that hang me to this life like a noose wrapped around my throat as I struggle to breathe and dance for an audience who no longer enjoys my company but my suffering.

I am not who I once was before I learned what perfect was.
alan Jun 14

In this plastic world with pink and green rhinestones,
all those "priceless" things and money loans,
we find ourselves searching for something more,
looking for an un-shut door.
Grey clouds lead to rain,
all that gushed down the drain.
In this plastic place with blue and yellow homes,
all those "necessities" like beads and combs,
we find ourselves wanting so much more,
before it ends and we fall to the floor.
Smiles led to admiration,
all those laughs in conversation.
Those never matter until we have that day,
when it all seems to fade away,
and we find out how empty we are,
when everything has gone too far...

Rachel Peake Mar 31

Little piece of plastic
That you dropped
Little piece of plastic
That’s all it was

Little piece of plastic
Sitting in the gutter
Then when it rains
It gets swept down the drain

Little piece of plastic
Pouring out a pipe
Little piece of plastic
Cast out into the world

Little piece of plastic
Floating in the sea
Where will currents take it?
Wait and see

Little piece of plastic
Mounting the waves
Little piece of plastic
Braving the wind

Little piece of plastic
Absorbing the sun
Little piece of plastic
Coating in mud

Little piece of plastic
Crumbling away
Breaking to grains
Shredding to dust

Little piece of plastic
In microscopic particles
Little piece of plastic
Has high toxicity

Little piece of plastic
Spreading through the ocean
Swallowed by a whale
Eaten by some fish

Little piece of plastic
Now in our food chain
Little piece of plastic
Flowing through our veins

Little piece of plastic
That you dropped
Little piece of plastic
That’s all it was...

Even the tiniest piece of plastic matters! Don't litter and recycle as much as possible!

plastic party cups
at the charity event
for Syrian kids

The moon bestowed the sweetest simper.
Withal around the world would whimper.
In the fairest eyes, though oceans deep,
The mocking beauty an oil spill keeps

If mountain forrowed fingers shake ,
May cause a fragile mind to quake
And spin. Though true the world should do,
With thoughts with plastic threaded through

-S.Z

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