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Anthea Nov 2017
I sit sideways
I bite my cheek
Watch my pink skies fade to black through the window
The sunflower’s faces turned down
I turn inside myself when the night comes

It’s a subtle ache
The air is light with chlorophyll
The moon is asleep tonight
I sit alone
I still bite my cheek

Our thighs pressed
I laugh
I touch your arm
The wedge of a strawberry moon in the distance
Yet I bite my cheek

The air is heavy with humidity
Your tall grasses whisp my legs
I bite my cheek harder
Pink pools in my stomach
I choke on my words

A strip of white plaster
234 miles thick
Pink starlit skin
Your strawberry mouth
Sweet sunflower hair
I have to bite my cheek

I sit waiting
Wishing to watch my hot white sunrise through your window
Flowers bask in the rose gold sun
I unfold in the moment
Bathing in your citrus air
I keep biting my cheek
Anthea Nov 2017
I was a flower
who longed to be watered
but he didn't like flowers
so I knew I would wilt
and that was fine

He began to water the roses
and my thirst rejuvenated
but he didn't like dandelions
no one waters a ****

As roses bloomed my roots withered
a bright yellow flower turned to white seeds
he steps on me
my seeds blow away...
Anthea Nov 2017
He once told me lilacs were his favorite
For such a yellow man to love a purple flower
Dichotomy at its best
But they say opposites attract

The flower of rejection

I miss him
But he was never mine to start with
These days...
He exists in every lilac I see
Abraham Esang Oct 2017
These kids were guaranteed a superior life. Some picked up this.

This is the narrative of the numerous who did not. It is told from a girl's perspective.

No bitterness filled our adolescence days, my folks did their best to raise

their posterity in a climate of care.

We knew they both were English conceived, transported from an existence miserable,

ousted into a halfway house stark.

A stage they'd needed to repudiate, so till this day we had not known

what they and different transients needed to endure.

A mission by some for reward implied ventures to conclusion could start,

with governments and individuals more mindful.

For tribulations of the past, 'Conciliatory sentiments' have come finally

to casualties whom society denied.

Overlooked once they'd left their field, this descendants of country's poor,

no follow up to perceive how they'd survived;

no enthusiasm for these adolescents' predicament – put out of mind when beyond anyone's ability to see –

the balm of greener fields very much plotted.

Two issues understood by their expel. To help grow, the English fashioned

an arrangement affirmed and shrewdly thought up.

For individuals attempting to survive – no aid to keep their young alive –

this offer appeared the solution to their supplication.

They marked their kids to the plan, surrendering to bait of dream,

"They'll 'ave a superior possibility at life down there."

One hundred thousand crossed the ocean, far from home and family

entangled into the predetermination they'd share:

for probably the first time they'd gone, at that point they were lost, quite recently throw away like deny hurled,

also, the individuals who endeavored to contact them confronted give up.

Survival turned out to be lifestyle, these kids compelled to endure strife

created codes of comradeship to bond.

The feeling of mate ship loaned relief, simply small solace to soothe

the weight of facade that each had wore:

for expulsion to south of Earth persuaded them that they had no worth,

conveyed questions and fears excessively crude, making it impossible to ascend past.

Their stoic activities planned to conceal feelings covered somewhere inside -

the requirement for affection, with nobody to react.

The injuries of the evenings alone, far from all that they had known,

apprehensive and detached, set apart,

while during that time of steady drudge at dairy tasks and working soil,

depleted youngsters combat from the begin.

What sins had brought deserting? No news from family or letters sent,

as mail was screened for wrongs it may confer.

Unpaid-for work, benefit based, saw fundamental tutoring soon deleted -

overlooked, similar to the torment inside the heart.

The stories that were never heard, mishandle by discipline and word,

the pole of iron used to keep control

by gatekeepers yet inadequately instructed, responding to their dread, troubled,

lost, and very unsuited to their part.

Cruel hardship ruled through ruthless measures unexplained

to kids deprived of poise. Some stole

the remainders of their confidence with acts more unsafe than disregard -

debased *** that wracked the very soul.

Too long kept secured, concealed ills, with fear and blame such wrongdoing imparts –

refusals, casualties frightened, staying stupid.

Presently at long last the quiet breaks, affirmation of past oversights

uncovering embarrassments unbelieved by a few.

Oh dear, my Father's not any more here. Those times of hardship and of dread

had made his psyche and body capitulate.

In any case, Mum is remaining close by, she's stood up, reestablished some pride,

she's demonstrated the valor that can overcome.

To state we're sad's only a begin to alleviate unsettling influence of the heart.

No word, or deed, or store can adjust

for absence of home and family rights, for work-filled days and dread filled evenings -

this token is too little come past the point of no return.

But my mom feels finally, through acknowledgment of the past

- contrition for the disgrace that was their destiny -

that injuries now cleansed and opened wide, not left to putrefy somewhere inside,

may mean her tormented bad dreams can subside.

Overlooked youngsters - youth lost, still scarred and hurt, awful cost,

spurned, banished, and by all scolded.

To push forward's their exclusive course, on past lament and profound regret,

the revulsion of their childhood should now be recorded.

Bad form has been exposed. My mom's petition is this may

keep the bitterness of some future kid.

Maybe remorse, cruelly earned, may imply that lessons have been educated -

also, with this expectation in heart, my mom grinned.
Sal A Oct 2017
Doesn't it hurt?
When I say no?
When the words finally spurt?
Doesn't it make you jealous when I glow?

On the brink of breakup.
When the end seems to arrive inevitably.
When you pray for us to makeup.
But show it ever so surreptitiously.

I remember when life was simpler.
When you fought with fists and not words.
When you weren't an emotional stickler.
Now we yearn for school trips, like nerds.

Dark moments make the good ones brighter.
Maybe that's why I fight through quarrels like this.
To see you recover from your issues like a fighter.
How do we get through it: say "Sorry" and kiss.
Benji James Oct 2017
Razor blade cuts
Aren't enough 
Deep gashes 
Ashes to ashes 
Pour salt in my wounds 
I'd only burn for you
People say that its crazy
I think it is maybe 
But I'd give anything 
For her to be my lady

©2017 Written By Benji James
Rylie Lucas Oct 2017
Explicit

I'm sorry I'm not the daughter you wanted
I'm sorry I'm a ****** sister
I'm sorry that I'm depressed
And cry a lot

I'm so sorry I don't do everything you ask
I'm so sorry I'm not perfect and pretty
I'm so sorry that I put such a damper on your lives
And that I'm tired

And antisocial

Please forgive me for being a human being

I'm really sorry I even exist

I wish I could just disappear
To make it easier for everyone
Seen as I'm such a horrible person
Seen as it's impossible to be nice to me

Impossible to deal with me
Impossible to love me

I'm so ******* sorry
I'm so ******* sorry
Sal A Oct 2017
I am South Asian
My skin makes me repulsive
To all girls on Earth
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