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Hardly a day passes by
that I don't see
your mad purple eyes.
Northern girl,
you wandered into me.

I saw your stars,
angry with silver
fall into the earth's atmosphere
with fire,
and it felt like a kiss.

You are not here now,
and the years pass slow
a long dark highway.

Without you,
sparks never reach full flame
I hear echoes of our orange laughter
lost in a hallway with doors that lead to static grey.
Obnoxious buzzing rings through my sleep-deprived head, like usual.
I get up, get changed, don’t bother to eat.
Once again, like usual.
Every day, the same routine,
Go to school, fake emotions, learn useless stuff,
Go home, procrastinate, dive under the blanket and enter the void of sleep.
It makes me feel like a stupid robot
Who can’t do good, no matter how hard she tries.
At this point, the only thing keeping me alive
Is a dog who’s going to die in 7 years,
A goat who’s probably been sold and eaten,
And four mutts who will die in the next 3 years.
Sometimes I wonder why I even bother trying.

I hate having to hide behind a mask,
To hide my true self behind someone who’s not me.
A probably depressed insomniac Autist, hidden by a neurotypical extrovert.
Because the real me is labeled as ‘socially unacceptable’
While the fake me is apparently a ‘good person’.

When I show my true self,
I feel like ending it, right there, right then.
Because nobody accepts the mess I am.
They tell me it’s hormones,
Or it’s not really what I think it is,
Or I’m just faking it for attention.
I want to tell them it’s not that,
I try to tell them it’s not that,
But the feelings I abandoned years ago
Come flooding back as my broken soul cracks even more.

Oh jeez, I’m sorry, I’m rambling again, aren’t I?
I mutter and type as I sit at this desk,
In a classroom too bright for my sore, tired eyes.
Nervously nibbling at my too-short fingernails
And shuddering even though it isn’t that cold.
Rubbing my already half-closed eyes,
I sigh and wrap up this long mess of words.
Wrote this for English class. It's really more of a vent than a poem tbh.
only the pretty girls can break the rules
they are the only ones who can protest against the dress code
"no spaghetti straps, no tank tops, no short dresses or skirts"
but they still do it
if you don't have a nice body, forget trying to do the same
only girls with the sexy bodies can do this
it gives people a show
if you are considered to not have a nice body,
you will be the one to get yelled at
while a girl ten feet away
has a dress so short, it's amazing you can't see anything private
now, supposedly, i have a nice body
because the things i'm wearing are against dress code
and no one has said anything yet
spaghetti strap, belly button showing, bra strap showing
do they just not care,
or am i considered one of the lucky ones?
am i the one with the nice body?
or does no one really give a shit anymore?
here, at this school, it's most likely the first one
it's just the way society is
i'm sorry
this is just the way it is
this is just the way high school is
good luck
Never indulge
In the whispers
Of your demons
While at school.

Blood splashing
On the white dirty tile
Is so much worse than
When it’s concealed at home.
I miss the simplicty
of being yours
being young
in the back of class rooms
in tragic classic novels
with folded down pages
something you always hated
the songs about heartbreak
autumnal sunsets
champagne coloured skies
perfection at the horizon
A Poem a Day : Nostaliga Revisited
Anya 6d
A constantly
chugging train
plugging numbers
spitting answers
as exhaust
out
the chimney
Understandings
Clicking
fitting
snug
like the wheels
on the tracks
...
And all I can do
is my best
to
hold
on
Kada 5d
Education is the key that leads to your freedom.

                                                       ­                                    -Kada
To be free is in your control.
I really like you, do you like me?
A question I ask constantly
Your smile, your laugh
What does it mean?

I never told you this but I think your beautiful
What do you think of me?
Do I look ugly?
If so, look in my heart and see the real me
And maybe we can be beauty and beast
2014
High school love~
Tilda Oct 7
Cheeks flushed,
Heart rushed,
Words pushed
Down our necks

Force fed garbage
We don't want to hear
Rubbish- flowing through our veins
Like mud
Chewing on bitter cud
But we need it,
We need to learn it -
Memorise the words
So white men can put us in
Boxes.
Tick
or
Cross.
Sometimes I get so sick of school...
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