Valantine Jun 7

I’ve managed to keep space neat and clean to the unwashed remarks that never settled 
HOW WOULD I KNOW THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE Mistake I mentioned your skin nearly deprived of what sense made
You as you became with little you surrendered knowing a mere justification clearly let advice take its place, I didn’t mind you taking your own seclusion of your mind IN the desperation of someone reaching at your blinds-curtains to make measures worse the cover fell and you faced a transparent reflection, fearing your heart and the face resembled the way you took to walk in the streets-blind to the happy forgotten thought of how to space the people from one of I, but, who is the same when the breath is Sex in the motion of how to be treated in the arms of who, when the window is paned two the space where I would dare breath for the lost reflection can’t take place, so, in the end you lose the perception that would have been found in a collapsed trace of how to stay green earth blade ready every week to be trimmed into what you kept reeling a life denoted in the eyes of others revealing the complication of a my heart beating,
Save a caption stay in and devote to petty sheds of when you should be cut-off from the remarks of this earth-culture in a vase I keep my flowers and the vase will reflect the make of my intrusion, when the resembling of my face, distinguished the difference between the love and the Make, who arrived in dear time, say your not sorry, never in the day would I make the tearing of your depravity, An illusion to surface a scratch made to itch as the in between of every hair of my beard, I scratch away, Nearly bleeding in a way to the tune of the face I WILL NEVER PASS THE PAIN Into the real of any who get the feeling of, IM In the world to the water filled and the drink of of my first love, The flower

Sometimes,
One has a lot to say.
One might have just had
A Profound Epiphany.
At other times,
It's just an angry political rant,
Or a complaint about a relationship.
In any case,
As a poet,
One just keeps going.
One doesn't get discouraged
Because even the WORST poem
Is Practice.

Mica Kluge Feb 2

There is a special kind
of heartache in wanting
something so desperately
and being forced to know
that you can never have it.

Breeze-Mist Sep 2016

Why do you insist
On insulting my friends
I'm wondering if the complaints
Will ever end

When will you stop
Mocking and making fun of
The celebrities and characters
Whom I follow and love

And I understand that
You have your own point of view
And you wouldn't like them
But I am not you

And I understand that
You might just need to blow air
But your comments leave me wondering
If you really even care

Because what if I agreed
With them more than you
What if I had traits in common with them
Then what would you do

Would you still accept me
Just as I am
Or would you turn me away
Like a criminal on the lamb

Ryan Hoysan Sep 2016

This isn't a poem and it's not meant to be. I just want to make one thing clear. This is more of a rant so ignore this if you'd rather not read. My girlfriend broke up with me tonight. She keeps telling me I'm an amazing guy that I'm a great guy. But yet she's leaving me. For another person nonetheless. The things that does to a person... To be told that they're so amazing that their girlfriend is about to leave them behind for somebody else. I really don't know how to deal with this. I'm trying not to just stay here in my brand bawl my eyes out.

I'm not succeeding very well.
Kat Sep 2016

All of those things
Yes "those" things
The ones that keep you up at night
The ones you never want to awknowledge
The ones that haunt you
Yes "those" things
Your weakness
Your pain
All of "those" things
They make us human
And without them
We wouldn't be who we are today
We all have "those" things
We carry them around in secret
We can act as if they don't exist
But "those" things will never be gone
"Those" things will be buried deep within us
And they will haunt us
Till death do us part

Walker Marema Sep 2016

I write this opening line
Such that you will understand the overarching theme
I am disorganized
I am rattling around in a cage within myself
And I don’t want to come out

Listen to the way I communicate
I have fleeting visions
By the time I finish this thought
There is a new beginning
Washing away everything there was before

It is a constant river of thoughts and thoughts about thoughts
That think themselves about themselves
Down the water toward the ocean
Thoughts can only be thoughts
I am rambling you are listening
Take notice of me

Watch me try and traverse this vast stream of consciousness
I cannot reach the shore and if I did it would be disastrous
Got it?

Charlie Wonder Jul 2016

Love is no joke, but it's funny
She can make smile with just one look
Love is not a game, but I play it
Pretending to reason is my best move

All the laughs ran out though
Now I'm stuck in mirror wishing it was you
My plays are outdated and you know them all
It's a contest I can never win, but I'll keep trying

Not a lover nor a fighter,
That's what I tell myself when it hurts
Just an artist like a writer
Yet with these lines the pain gets worse

Decided to rhyme at the end because it felt appropriate.
Ross May 2016

You madman ranting in the train
Time sold in that bottle should delay your pain
But what has poisoned you to disordain
Professing the impossible over and over again
"My manhood into" Britain! you claim
The universe is all to blame
Your wishful dreams are driving you insane
To hell with all but what remains
Is just a madman ranting in the train

Sky Mar 2016

I don’t know
what the future holds
There is no horoscope, no spell, no psychic
to tell me
what to expect
And when I have family members,
whom I’ve trusted and loved my whole life
telling me that
I’m not ready
I take the words to heart
and doubt myself even more
Why would they tell me that?
I’m already anxious enough
And now I just want to cry
Because I don’t know what to try
I know I’m not ready,
I already told you so
But, as usual, you didn’t listen!
You don’t listen to me,
and then you wonder why I won’t listen to you?
And then you look at me and wait for an answer
and I just can’t respond
Because my brain isn’t processing your words fast enough
And my mouth doesn’t want to open
And apparently that means that I agree with you
“Get a job, you’ll learn,”
conversation over and done
But I’m still processing and you’ve just walked away
And I still have nothing to say
Oh, I’m trying my hardest not to cry
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t be a baby
You’re seventeen years old, don’t be a baby-baby-crybaby

And I wonder what you would do if I told you
there was once a time when I just wanted to die
But that “kid” that I’m “wasting my time with”
saved my life, and
He’s fourteen, dammit, not thirteen,
and he’ll be fifteen next month
But you clearly don’t care
That my emotions are a wreck
and he is the duct tape holding it all together
so I can survive my senior year
You just see the immaturity, irresponsibility, the “hormones” and the “attitude”
You see a stupid lazy teenager who doesn’t have a drive, just a passion
She has potential, but she refuses to tap into it
except for things that don’t really matter in the grand scheme of things
And she takes it all for granted: the toys and the trips, the money and the tricks
And she thinks her life is soooooo hard and sucks so bad because she doesn’t have wifi

NO!
Shut up,
Stop right there.
I know that there are girls my age who have to get dirty so they can eat breakfast,
I know there are girls who live much worse lives.
I know that I’ve had a pretty cushioney life, oh, I definitely know that

And I’m a spoiled brat who can’t think for herself:

Well, yeah, because no one ever gave me a chance to think!
It’s not my fault I’ve been raised as reliant and dependent,
not my fault I wasn’t taught the skills
You want me to learn it? Then teach me!
Don’t wait for me to ask, because I won’t until it’s too late

No, I don’t know what the future holds,
and I’d rather focus on the now
Because even if you’re right, and I end up in a K-Mart working minimum wage,
at least I’ll be alive
At least I haven’t given up
like so many people my age
At least I never ended up on suicide watch
or stashed mind-numbing drugs under my mattress
or stole a bottle of booze
Just be glad for that right now, please
Just let me live my way.

this is more of a rant than a poem...for a seventeen-year-old, i’m somewhat underdeveloped mentally, and admittedly not ready for college in the fall...but not ready for work, either. and maybe that’s just my anxiety talking, who knows? but, yeah, i’ve been getting a lot of pressure the last couple of months, and just...needed to rant a bit.
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