Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Felix Sladal Aug 2017
Sew your ideals behind your ear and stitch your wishes above your heart
Beware you'll never get what you want
The flames will blow out before the candles even lit
Hold on my friend your speeding towards a deadend
Light always casts shadows but shadows never see the light
Choking on pride because it's to hard to swallow gets you nowhere fast
Open your lungs
Cool your flustered cheeks
If you rant till your lips are numb the things worth hearing flutter out mute
Swallow your swollen pride
For it has not a use but to bruise the inflated ego

Walking handstands on raw palms while longing for a spotlight that has been burned out for years
June
Rebel Heart May 2017
And worst of all..
It was not these
empty screams
nor the shards of
broken lyrics I belted out...

It was the sole simple fact..
that I bled for you
I opened up to you
I believed you
And only you
inside and out...

I believed you...
when you whispered to me
Those sugar coated lies
Lying under the screaming stars

I believed you...
when you cuddled close to me
and told me it'd be alright
That I'll learn to love these scars.

And I believed you again and again
Over and over
Our story that never ends...
that I was not broken,
just simply bent
that I was not shattered,
just had a dent
that I was not pathetic,
just completely spent
that I was not crazy,
just...

well what does it matter now?

My tears inked this paper
but the thoughts of you
turned it into a long vent.

My intricately crafted emotions
now turned into a disaster
not worth a cent.

And no matter what I say
My future is already clear,
written in cement.

And I still love you..
I always will
Though I shouldn't
I relent...
(The poem sounds better if read aloud with emotion... its meant to be a rant)...
I actually wrote it for my friend who recently went through a breakup (Not that its an important detail), but if anyone knows me they know I'm better at expressing other's emotions better than I am at expressing my own... so this one's dedicated to anyone and everyone who can feel these empty lines of ranting poetry in their hearts.
Anders Thompson May 2017
You, sir,
I think I made the mistake of trusting you, sir.
I think sometimes they tell you people
That teenagers have nowhere to go and no one to talk to,
So when one speaks to you
You are the only one they have ever spoken to,
And they only one they will ever trust.
You, sir, are the light on the hill!
And yet I never saw a brightness die so fast.

I told you about the depression first.
Yes, I admit it, I was scared;
There had never been enough people to tell me it was okay
To be mentally ill, that it wasn't something I'd chosen,
It was a flaw of chemistry not of character.
Yet I clicked that door open for you and let you in,
That was step 1.

I didn't tell you about her next.
But to be fair, I didn't know about her, either.
I came to you about him, when I was lost.
You berated me for my trust issues;
I swallowed it and knew it and you told me to stop.
He was supposed to be the next good step.
My fault, and I know it.  

Step 3 were the voices.
When I told you there were voices in my head
I tried to explain to you that I was not crazy
The chemistry between me and my brain may be bad
But it's not insanity:
Only memories, only torturers,
And I didn't need another one.

When I told you that my sexuality was not straight like a pin
But waved and diverged to both sides
That I was not a het, I was a queer
You were more kindly than the congregation
And I mistook a warning as a welcome.
I was troubled but not condemned so long as I did not "practice."
Well I did not practice for it but when I kissed her and when I kiss her
I remember your words and look into her eyes and think
That there is no practice in her or in I.
Our lips meet and I feel her warmth and her hands are on my hips
And I tell you there is no "practice"
There is no practicing for love,
Not a single rehearsal for passion and commitment.
Sirrah I would do it again and again
Like the waves I will continue to touch her shores,
No matter how many times others may pull me away.

If you meant to abandon me for me,
You should've told me sooner.
Ili Norizan May 2017
She grew up,
Seeing her reflections,
A contorted view of imperfections,
Something she wishes to fix,
But have no idea how to,
As she struggles with her inner demons,
Making a deal with the devil,
And not knowing if there's comfort in shadows,
Or trouble lurking in the corners,
Of her mind.

She grew up,
Over the years,
Hoping to make sense of things,
Of why she's unlike the others,
Who never seems to falter,
Constantly having those as eager,
To know and love them,
When she keeps on finding dead ends,
In the company of those she wishes to avoid,
As though she goes around looking for trouble,
When all she's ever done,
Was search for the one,
She could call her own.

She grew up,
With ever blink of an eye,
She changed and built herself,
Upon the remains of her long forgotten past,
The ruins of regrets and lessons learned,
And as time flashes before her,
Her next steps were slow and steady,
Firmly grounded,
Yet her head held high,
Up in the clouds,
Where kingdoms of dreams,
Worked their magic,
Reminding her that she's writing a fantasy,
Not another tragedy.

@byizn
Paige Apr 2017
To be a girl it means that you are frail, right?
That can’t possibly understand a thing
To be a girl it means you stay up day and night
Trying to get that big, shiny ring

But that’s not true, for a majority that is
We have a secret passed down from mother to daughter
The secret is that we pretend to be his
But our hearts belong to one and another

At age 6 being a girl meant you liked pink and played with dolls
But that changed
At age 8 being a girl meant you liked skirts, dresses, bows
That changed too
At age 10 being a girl meant that you were expected to have a crush & kiss him
If you didn’t, you were an outcast
At age 12 your interest in education was to diminish
By age 14 you realized that when a boy slapped your ***, you enjoyed it
And if you didn’t you were a lesbian
Ages 12-18 we as girls are told to not show shoulders, knees or skin of any kind because it might distract the boys
I never heard the guys being told to dress a certain way. Have you?
No? I didn’t think so because it might ruin their ego…

Being a girl means that you are blessed with self hate
It’s automatic and hard to lose
There is always an imperfection…

Being a girl means that even when it’s hot, you wear jeans and a baggy tee
So that you don’t have to deal with wondering eyes
Being a girl means that you must look your best ALWAYS or else you’re trash
But not too good or else you’re a **** looking for a good time

Being a girl means that you grow to hate yourself so much that you can’t even look at yourself
Unless you are in public, then you have to act vain

Being a girl means that you have to listen to guys calling you fake because you hate a girl but you’re friends with her the next day
What those guys don’t know is that she saved you from a situation that could’ve made you lose what little dignity you have left

Being a girl means that when you see a grown man starring at a baby…
...you take that baby’s spot
If that means you have to be his princess, babygirl, WHATEVER, for the night
YOU DO IT.
And when you are called a *****, **** the next day, just remember that you helped that child

Being a girl means that when you’re a mother and your little girl asks you why the boys at the school rate the girls on a scale of 1-10 you have to look at her with the same look your mother gave you and tell her,
That being a girl means that you have to be smart, that you have to work 2-3 jobs just to make the same as a guy with 1 job
      It’s not fair, but that is how it is.  

You have to hug your baby girl when she comes home and tells you that her teacher yelled at her for wearing a tanktop or when a boy touches her even when she told him to stop
To be be a girl means that your are strong
To be a girl means that you are resilient

To be a girl means that you have a secret that is passed down from mother to daughter
And that secret is **Unity
I remember things like this happening to some of the strongest women I know...
I wish that I could also do it from a guy's p.o.v but I really can't relate to that
;3
When the value of what
You might add in a conversation
Is the same of that of a dying sorrow
Share it with the lamenters and the widows
For the ones with our heads onward and ahead
Have little time for a useless need in our heads

Useless ****** are abundance in this world
But dears, the only things
that look good doing nothing are statues
And your looks would pass ignored by the greeks, french, romans, and even the barbarians

Please, do mind me, this is the simplest insult
For the ones that prefer to glue their *****
Watching life passing​ by and the world spinning through
If there's so little you can do
Why don't you do us a favor and fly off
Today I tried to remain as Zen as possible, but you know when you get home and all your barriers melt down and that ball of infuriating fire is still lighting but because of the exhaustion it looked as if it were running out the gas and what remained was the ashes that crept into my mind threatening to evolve into a migraine, well you do? I felt exactly that.

As the fierce soldier I am, I haggled off this reality with that of my subconscious and adventure myself in the depths of dreams. What a journey, I dreamt with verboten love and with abuse, cliffs and heights. What I can highlight and what bedazzled me the most was a peculiar scene: I was in front of a pizzeria and the family in charge was in the middle of a severe argument. The father was holding forcibly the wrists of the mother, this one cried and implored him to stop, while their kids cried and shrieked. In the outlook of my dream I had the pleasure of having subtitles! How crazy is that! the family was talking an indigenous language and I could read what they were talking. Thing was my mother got in the middle of the argument and asked for the kids to take them, as in being their savior. I red that the little baby was in the "highest mountain", the father kept repeating that they were obliged to go there. I decipher it as the highest room in the tall building. Upon arriving no kid was there and despair started consuming me and just THEN my mother woke me up.
Amanda Francis Apr 2017
What if I told you to get out of your head?
If I said humans don't love for methodical reasons.
Your husband is not won by quadratic formulas.
Put down your glossy magazines, they're rewriting who you are.

take off your clothes and be naked, be one with everything you are.
I'm not saying that everybody is beautiful. Of course, they're not!
The multi-billion dollar beauty industry wouldn't allow for that.
I'm saying everybody id here, and human, and present.

No anti-ageing cream can do that!

So shake off your insecurities about the world, for they're manufactured too!
Alex Hill Mar 2017
My Senior English Research Paper Proposal:
I propose to talk about how society and school can affect the youth of America.
I propose to talk about how much we all don't want to talk about this.
How depression becomes common in teenagers and youth isn’t just an emotional problem- it’s societal one.
How we’re told to bury emotions, not to cry but to move on and play the game. But we only get so long before we realize it doesn’t mean anything.
Useless grades for a useless world.
Words that having no meaning besides the ones that we put behind them.
How we teach kids to be quick to laugh at the expense of others and take nothing serious because nothing matters- and how we do that without hesitation because everything matters.
How we bury everything so deep.
How that begins to hurt and overflow.
How we tell them it's all in their heads.
How they’ll outgrow it.
How we push kids to be older than they are.
How kids are shown limited paths in life when the world itself is limitless. It gives zero ***** about how we live.
How kids out of fear and loneliness turn on each other.
How we are all so desperately looking for a connection in this world but draw closer in because people are dangerous and loneliness is safe.
How we are all selfish and eventually lose the ones we love.
How love is a concept and construct warped so far that we can’t perceive it any more yet we all desparetly are told to seek it out.
How loneliness can ****.
How the depression and suicide rates of kids sky rocket in high school because puberty hits and chemicals go wild and you wake up and see that you don’t have anyone who cares about you for you,
how your heroes are nothing more than **** ups like you,
and how there is no point to anything but work and death.
How the point was supposed to be communication and other people, but we washed that out of system.
Stay quiet in class rooms. No passing notes. Ignore your neighbor. Be afraid of everyone on the buses. Loners look cooler. No one really cares about you.
And how that can **** someone, those three simple words:
“No one cares.”
And how we laugh about things that aren't funny, how apathetic we become and how we try to pretend we’re okay with that because if we don’t we’ll look weak.
How we as a society have turned kindness and caring into weakness.
How ****** up we all are.
Let's talk about that.
I was writing an English proposal which turned into a rant, which sorta turned into poetry. I'm tempted to keep it.
I’m angry at the world
For not playing fair
And then mocking me
When I do

I hate all the apathy
That stands and observes
And makes no attempt
To enforce the rules

I’m angry at all
That I have to give up
To wait for my turn
And take only my share

I hate that the meaning
Of good has been altered
To apply to group ethics
That are coated in shame

I’m angry to see
How the cheaters will win
And honesty comes
A poor second

I hate all the smugness
(Check Paul Ryan’s face)
And those who are like him
Cheating their way to their goal

I’m angry to be cursed
With the gene of fair play
Permanent - same as
The brown of my eyes

I hate that I have to
Spend so much time hating
Hate is an acid
Dissolving my soul
                    ljm
I need a good rant once in a while to clear my sinuses.  Rewriting the old saying:  Honesty pays - minimum wages.
Next page