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ANUSHKA PANDEY Apr 2020
Empty, light and dull,
My school bag rests on one of the walls,
Once full with books notebooks and pens,
Now bear and deserted it looks small.

Yesterday, while clearing my shelf,
My class VIII classwork notebook popped up,
Those were also the days,
When our copies were neatly covered up.

These days I sleep late at night
because Now there is no waking up early rule,
These days I wake up at nine,
As now I am not running late for school.

My wardrobe is full of colourful shirts
But wearing the white one daily I miss,
No sport shoe can ever match
Wearing white PT shoes bliss.

While searching for a bowl I found my Tiffin,
But there was no lunch in it
Also there aren’t those people around,
Who jumped attacked and finished it within a minute.

I still hear the interval bell,
In front of my TV when I sit,
I still hear those gossips and laughs,
While finishing my meal, those several hands I miss.

I was bored of studying the subject,
But I had no water bottle to fill,
And no school corridors to take a round,
I realised it wasnt the fifth lesson in school,
So I quietly turned back to my musics sound.

Every time I doodle
I remember bulletin board
I remember my house duties
Every time my nail grows

It’s raining and snowing these days
But nothing is as fresh as sitting next to the window in the class
Blankets in Quilt dont allow us to get out of our beds,
But nothing is as cosy asSitting on the seat at the last.

Donning my new dress, I was getting my picture clicked,
But it wasn’t as special as our last seat selfie,
CCD’s coffee was also not able to,
Match the taste of a canteen’s tea.

I go out of my home several times,
But never does it match the bunking thrill,
I take various Scooty rides,
But never am I able to showcase my reach school within five minutes skill.

Every time I get a call from my classmate,
Our whispers I miss,
Every second every hour every day
For those days to return I wish

At 2:00 in the noon
I go to bed for my nap
I miss returning Home from school
I wish those days could be swapped..

Sometimes we don’t realise
How the smallest things have a large part to play
And as the days passed, and time flies by,
It’s only memories that we are left with to say.

Every single thing at home
Reminds me of school life
I want to relive those golden days
Just one more time.

A couple of months from now
We will officially be ex schoolites
Teachers scoldings punishments and failures
After that For every single moment we will strive.
A heartfelt from a 12thie
Saige Apr 2020
If I could make the sound of cortisol
pumping through my veins,
it would sound like quarantine

Empty, but full of fear
Tired, but unable to stop moving
Alone, but surrounded by whispers

And here I am, stressed
about homework
Being at home is still hard. I miss seeing people.
Moomin Apr 2020
Some people lead, and decide what we need, they are sure and decisive and proud
Others tag along, in a compliant throng, they have to be part of the crowd
But there are those who are staid, because they are afraid, of the prospect of being despised
And so they withdraw, behind a safe door, and live in the shade all their lives    

She's alone and so tense, when school days commence, enduring the chaos she sees
The object of jest, ignored by the best, chosen last in the sporting decrees
She knows she's no belle and the spots really tell, as she stoops low to appear less tall
They see freckles and glass, they see a clumsy outcast, and an unfashionable scruff at the ball

Yet, away from the crowd, she sings sweetly and loud, tends animals in her kind way
She is loyal and wise, and does not despise, those less fortunate and in dismay
She is zealous and funny, and her smile always sunny, and her failings she does not try to hide
And if they cared to pry, and look into her eyes, they would see she is beautiful inside

There was another young girl, whose flame was unfurled, when she became woman at first
From pain of the past, to smashed looking glass, and the thought of a small breasted curse
With the world she contended, those she loved, she offended, till their love was exhausted and spent
Once lost from its sight, she could not do right, and spiralled, and twisted and bent

Yet, some could recall, when she was still small, and eager and funny and sweet,
when she used to run, to please everyone, and joyfully cuddle and greet
For this girl was true, and genuine through, and barren of pretense and pride
Yet most could not see, that, always was she, so innocent and beautiful inside    

This lad is not strong, and he has never belonged, to a gang or a club or a team
For stammer and blush, are easily crushed, by the boys who are considered the cream  
No sport and no game, no President's name, but the task of retrieving the ball
Dismissed and derided, by those that decided, that a man should be seven feet tall

But his mind is a place, where wonders take place, and brilliance comes to the fore
Pouring out words, and music unfurled, which causes the spirit to soar
When he sings, he's not slow, and his closest ones know, that his rare gift cannot be denied                
Though hidden away from the world's selfish gaze, his voice is so beautiful inside

And another is she, a mother of three, who's fleeting love has long disappeared
Yet the blame she will take, and guilt she can't shake, as she pauses her dreams for some years
Mistakes, she has made, and her children will pay, and gratitude she is denied
And she must run with the crowd, and pretend she is proud, when she really is dying inside

Had they known her, before sadness occurred, they would have seen trust and a friend
Unselfish and wise, swift to empathize, and never would her principles bend  
For she would have shone, a rare companion, one that would stand by their side
Through danger and despair, she'd always be there, because she is so beautiful inside  

He now lives alone, since his beloved passed on, taking with her his passion and pride
He still rises at dawn, though his work is long gone, and his home is so cluttered inside    
He dreads stepping out, where the young taunters shout, of his baldness, his stoop and his skin
In a world that thinks age, is a lonely dark cage, where you go when you're ready to give in

Yet stored in his mind, is a library in kind, that holds so much wisdom and lore
He found joy, and true love, searched for God up above, knowing peace, yet enduring a war
A father, a son, a hero when young, supporting the poor and the tired
Once loved and adored, by many who saw, the man who is beautiful inside

When we think of our friends, and what drew us to them, was it their job, their hobbies, their smile?
Or the music they chose, their hair or their clothes, or was it something we could not define?
Because we need to be sure, it was something more pure, something worth the investment of you
Cos, Good looks don't mean kind, and pretty fades with time, but loyalty will always hold true

For a good sense of fashion doesn't breed compassion, and a hot date can often cause burns
Bravado is fleeting, and self-confidence self defeating, and sarcasm often returns
Do we want fun, and affairs on the run, or are we really looking for more?
If not, then dig deep, and be ready to weep, for calamity stands at your door

For, when all's said and done, we fear being alone, and we fight for the souls that we choose
Whether kindness or cruel, the wise or the fool, with them we will win or we lose
And hope  settles down, and wanders around, searching for one who'll be kind
So don't settle for less, but administer this test, and see if they are beautiful inside
In loving memory of my sweet niece, Toni, who took her own life
Eleanor Apr 2020
On a slightly battered couch,
In a warm yellow room,
I learned about a sparkle
Forgot my doom and gloom.

In a small kitchenette,
With pancakes by my arm.
I spoke about my history
Tried to defend you all from harm.

A plate of cookies in my hands.
Overjoyed smile on their face.
A feeling of contentment
Of knowing my place.

In a small music room,
With a ukulele and some drums.
O sang a sad song for you,  
But without feeling glum.

Table quiz in my hands,
Staring at a Christmas tree.
Wondering about carols
Forgetting the ever-present negativity.

Planning a celebration.
A festive rainbow Ball.
Knowing you’ll all catch me.
But also, wouldn’t let me fall.

Contained within a collection  
Of brightly coloured hair,
Was a sense of unity.
Knowing someone was there.

In a circle on the ground,  
A revolution to deploy.
I wonder how this happened,
When did I learn joy?
Written for a school competition, inspired by a lovely group of people i met at my local lgbt+ youth group
Eleanor Apr 2020
My mind has gone blank.
Yet I have so much to do.
A cacophony of voices critiquing  
But those helping are so few.

How could the instructions be any clearer,
Than how they were written down?
How do I get people to realise that
If they don’t stop piling on this ****, I will drown.

Nobody seems to want to talk to each other
Yet they expect me to know it all
With several teachers whose tones want to crucify me
But who’s words say I shouldn’t take the fall.

And it’s not my responsibility
To do this work for you
And really it would get finished a lot faster
If you did some of this too.

And I understand that you have lots of ideas
So, you want to change things constantly.
But do YOU understand that everything you change
Is a few more hours work for me?

I've no time to finish this poem  
Because I have to go complete another task.
So, I’ll leave a copy right here for you
And hope it helps you see through my obvious mask.
Written during a time of great stress and pressure. Sometimes when things are tough you just want people to Shut Up.
Do you remember
When we aimed to happy and pleased
Remember the days when being normal was being happy?
Now that I am in this horrid years
Between the age of 12 and 20
I am stuck with feeling unhappy
Amidst so many others
With less than maintained roads ahead
Remember the days when we didn't wish for death?
Remember when life was easier
Instead of shrouded with hate
Just looking at another person
And waiting for the feeling to fade
Remember the days when we didn't care?
When we didn't care about our clothes
And what made us look fat
Our faces or who we make laugh?
Remember the days when I was loved
And not just seen as a miserable *****?
Remember the days when I had you
To soothe my burning hateful itch
Remember when we didn't have to fear adults?
When we didn't question their intentions
Remember when we were just obnoxious adolescents?
When life was just making your parents annoyed
And butting heads
Remember when life
Was actually fun to live?
Hope you enjoy this depressing little poem
need to be alone now as I walk up the steps,
make my way through book stacks heading to the back.
there, there's a hidden staircase, just barely within view.
i travel up quietly, hope returns anew
but voices from around the corner tell me I must move on
climbing up more flights, becoming more withdrawn
silently searching for something not quite so loud.




Close my books and pack my bags
Shoulders and eyes begin to sag
It's 12 o'clock at night
as I wander away from the lights.
to a place that touches the stars
that little space off the charts.
where heaven meets earth is where I'm bound
but I cannot reach it unless I am Found.
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
The Desk
by Michael R. Burch

for Jeremy Michael Burch

There is a child I used to know
who sat, perhaps, at this same desk
where you sit now, and made a mess
of things sometimes.
                                     I wonder how
he learned at all . . .

He saw T-Rexes down the hall
and dreamed of trains and cars and wrecks.
He dribbled phantom basketballs,
shot spitwads at his schoolmates’ necks.

He played with pasty Elmer’s glue
(and sometimes got the glue on you!).
He earned the nickname—“teacher’s PEST.”

His mother had to come to school
because he broke the golden rule.
He dreaded each and every test.

But something happened in the fall—
he grew up big and straight and tall,
and now his desk is far too small;
so you can have it.
                                  One thing, though—
one swirling autumn, one bright snow,
one gooey tube of Elmer’s glue . . .
and you’ll outgrow this old desk, too.

Published by: TALESetc, A Bouquet of Poems (for children of all ages), Better Than Starbucks. Keywords/Tags: desk, school, spitwads, glue, teacher’s, pest, broke, golden rule, failed, test
Kailey Jones Apr 2020
His name is Carter
And he’s all alone
In school
At home
Even on the bus because
no one sits next to him,

(But I’ve made an attempt
To be his friend
But I can’t break free of the honesty
That he is extremely annoying
So I will leave him to himself
Whenever I can)

One day his bag was extra heavy
And I could see it
But I did not ask about it
To not let out the brutal honesty
At the end
That I really did not care
Except my mind went there
Courtesy of the news
And I looked at the shape
Which wasn’t outlined as a rifle
So I looked the other way without paying attention anymore
And when I knew my safety was not compromised
I did not care about why it was so heavy

I stood behind him in line when
His bag bumped against me and
I pushed it out of my face because
What a nuisance!

He turned around looking annoyed
and quite frankly I did not care about his feelings
The rest got carried away. Not real. Based on a real person but not a real story.  Part one.
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