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rmh Oct 2019
i don't write poetry anymore
i sit in my room, naked, feeling the curves of my body, searching for a sort of foreign peace within them
i study for exams, begin books i never finish, watch movies and stop halfway through, wear the same pants three days in a row, go a week without washing my hair
i lay down in the grass and watch the sky move
i laugh, i smile, i talk with friends
i feel alive driving in my car, letting the spring wind blow through my growing hair
i celebrate my mom's birthday, mother's day, memorial day
i go to baseball games and wear perfume
i play the only song i know on the piano when i should be practicing the flute
i stand in the shower and think too long and too hard
i pick fights with my dad because i can
i imagine my future, peering around the invisible bends in my path
(my apartment is beautiful, the one in my head, in case you were wondering)
i travel down 35W to see my family on their farms during harvest, the combines plowing through corn and leaving the fields bare for the snow to blanket in the winter
i sing loudly in church and pray only when i feel like there's something to pray about
i get lost in myself, trying to figure out who i am and where i'm going and what i want, the maze just never seems to end
i realize how much i'm starting to look like my mother-- my eyes, my cheeks, my nose are all bits and pieces that i got from her
i don't write poetry anymore
life has gotten too busy
life has gotten too hard
this poem has been in the process of being made since february, and it sat in my notes app for quite some time before i realized that i could make something beautiful out of it.
i've been dormant on here for a long time, but i finally feel like i'm in a place to start sharing again ;)
Huxley Web Oct 2019
When I think of home it's not
Four walls around me
It's your arms surrounding me.
Amanda Kay Burke Oct 2019
I miss licking strawberry-flavored suckers on the school bus
Gossiping who John kissed and wishing it was us
Passing notes in class-we didn't give a ****
The location of Africa or Amsterdam
The only sponge worried about was SpongeBOB
Wasn't our responsibility to clean, cook, or get a job
"Stinky **** Head" was the most insulting name
Mario unanimously was the best video game
As kids we frolicked fast, funloving, and free
Uncaring if our homemade tire swings were rickety
Doodling margins of each battered schoolbook
A time where if caught in a fight you got let off the hook
Being happy for no reason is what i miss about childhood the most
Awakening to my favorite breakfast made by Dad-french toast
I would jump out of bed looking forward to school
Bringing lunch packed in a brown paper bag was cool
Now I hate opening my tired eyes
This planet transformed into one I despise
Once upon a time I felt whole and strong though so small
Today I'm much bigger but feel nothing at all
Write down three nouns three adjectives and three verbs. Use them all in any order in a poem of any length. My words: sponge schoolbook french toast john frolic jump fight doodle fast strawberry-flavored rickety stinky
Huxley Web Oct 2019
just being near you
I'm loosing my breath.

I wonder if you were to touch me
would my lungs collapes.
Vic Oct 2019
School used to be a bad place, you know?
Homework, stress, and people.
People lie, gossip, and hate.
But then I met you,
And things changed.
School used to be a bad place,
But with the people I am with now,
School is home.
I am home.
A poem every day.
27-10-19
Jeremy Rascon Oct 2019
Some days I wake up
                                                                  Mind torn from    
                                                           stress dreams
                                                                And no desire to breakdown
                                                                             On campus.
                                                                  So I skip class.
                                                        Trapped in my mental jailcell
                                                I dissect my compulsive thoughts
                                                      Only to see they stitched
                                                               Themselves back together
                                                             And are resistant to leave.
                                          On days I can grasp and hold my will
                                                                           I stew in class
                                                     Noticing my classmates
                                        Who speak louder than I do,
                                        Who answer questions more eloquently,
                                        And speak science fluently,
                                                               I am left to boil in my
                                                 Lack of voice, skill, and knowledge.
                                                             At the end of my first class
                                                                   I am already overdone,
                                             A husk goes to the remaining classes
                                                                                 For me.
                                                                     On days I wake up
                                                                                     Already
                                                                                  overwhelmed
                                                                        I skip class
                                                                                  To avoid
                                                                                                   Meltdown
                                                                      Fighting fire with Magma,
                                                                                this technique is
                                                                     purely self-destructive.
                                                                                           And I know it.
                                        Pressure builds like a volatile volcano…
                                                      I FAIL my classes and ERUPT
                                                   The peak that is my self esteem
                                      Shattered by emails from professors,
                                           The lava oozes down the slopes of Mt. Me
                                               “Maybe I don’t Belong  Here”
                                     Starts the a nearby tsunami forming
                                                                      Underneath my scalp
                                                           It gathers speed and force.
                                                           It decimates the cerebrum.
                                                                                       I have to rebuild...
                                              This land is recycled often
                       Tremors with magnitudes that match
                                                        My GPA
                                            Keep me vigilant and mindful
                                                               that collapse is part
                                                                       Of my nature                   The complex societies that are rebuilt within my mind always thrive
                                              ….at the beginning of next semester.
Kai Oct 2019
High school is wrong
mixing and mushing
facts and figures
into students heads
till is bleed out
through their ears

High school is wrong
telling you to sit down
shut up and to behave
whenever we are wrong
we are failures to them
for simply trying our best
Part one of two high school related poems.
else Oct 2019
She may not be the most graceful:
I watched her trip over nothing
And knock over something
Almost everyday.

She may not be the smartest:
I watched her stuDYING, failing math,
And stringing wrong words
Almost every hour.

She may not be the prettiest:
Her hair is a mop, her locks fall
Like willows over her face
Almost every second.

But she is the best
Amongst the rest,
Her smile, her jokes, her zest,
My one and only jest.
Eileen H Oct 2019
grounded in this reality
always, something keeps me. today it is my jeans, digging into the soft skin under my belly, reminding me
this world was not crafted around my form
Mark Toney Oct 2019
~Dedicated to all victims of bullying, which include girls
& boys of all ages, sizes, and backgrounds.  (That includes me too.)~

Yvonne was very, very, very happy.
She loved her mother.
She loved her brother Phillip.
And she loved swans.
Oh, did she ever love swans!

She loved the way they looked
With their smooth, fluffy feathers,
And colorful beaks of orange, yellow and red.
She would watch them for hours
As they glided over water
In the pond at the park.

Her favorite thing was when two swans
Would get close, ever so close,
Head to head, forming a heart
With their beautiful, curved necks.

Her next favorite thing was
When baby swan cygnets
Would bunch together,
Closely following behind their mother.

She loved swans so much that she
Made a song about them.
Yvonne called it her Swan Song.

“Oh, lovely swan, as you swim in the pond,
Your baby cygnets play—I could watch them all day!
Whatever I do, when I think about you
I wonder if you think about me too!”

Yvonne sang her swan song
All the way to school in the morning
And all the way back home in the afternoon.

Yvonne loved school too.
She was a very good student.  
She studied hard for her tests.
Her grades were very good.
Her teachers were impressed.
Yvonne was helpful to her classmates.
And she was very, very, very happy.

One day a new kid showed up at school.
His name was Harry, and he seemed kinda cool.  
The teacher welcomed Harry to the class
And told everyone to be nice to him.
Harry was a little bigger than most of the kids.
And Harry didn’t smile.  He didn’t say a word.

Harry sat at the empty desk next to Yvonne.
Yvonne was excited about making a new friend.
“Hi, Harry.  I’m Yvonne.  Pleased to meet you.”
“Shut up!” Harry said.  “Leave me alone.”
Yvonne wondered why Harry was so mean.
In fact, he looked rather scary.
“Scary Harry” thought Yvonne.

Every day Yvonne and her friends would try to be nice to Harry.
Every day, Harry would be mean to them.
The only kids Harry liked were the bully kids,
The ones who were mean like Harry.
Harry was bigger and meaner.
Soon all the bullies were following him.

Every day they would pick on different kids.
One day they started picking on Yvonne.
Scary Harry taught his bully friends
An awful poem about Yvonne.  
They would shout it out when Yvonne came to school
And they would shout it out when she left for home too.

“Yvonne sang her swan song
She worked so hard all-day long.
When she came home she fell down
'Cause her legs didn’t have any bones!”

Yvonne was very hurt by their horrible, hateful poem,
And she would cry and run away as fast as she could.
Scary Harry and the bullies would laugh and laugh
And keep shouting it over again and again.

They also made up an awful poem
About Yvonne’s brother Phillip.

“Her brother’s name was Phillip.
He had such big wide hips.
When he tried to drink from a straw he couldn’t
'Cause his mouth didn’t have any lips!”

Yvonne was no longer very, very, very happy,
She felt fear, stress and sadness all the time.
Fear made her not want to go to school.
Sadness made her stop acting like her true self.

She no longer wanted to go to the park to see the swans.
Stress left her stomach in knots.
She found it hard to sleep.
What could she do?  
What would you do if this happened to you?

Yvonne did not want to be a tattletale,
But decided it would be best to tell her mother.
Yvonne told her everything.
About the new kid, Scary Harry, and the bully kids;
About them bullying her and her friends;
About the awful poems about her and Phillip;
About her fear of going to school;
About her sadness over not wanting to see the swans;
About the stress leaving her stomach in knots.
She told her mother everything,
And then she cried and cried and cried.

Her mother wept with her, and when the time was right she asked,
“What do you do when they bully you?”
“I start to cry and then run away” sobbed Yvonne.
“What do you WANT to do when they bully you?”
“I want to hit them hard and make them stop!”

With loving eyes, her mother replied
“Yvonne, I am so sorry for you.  But I know exactly what you should do.”
“Really?” Yvonne asked between sobs.
“Really!” responded her mother.  “Listen closely.”
Placing her hands gently on Yvonne’s shoulders,
Her mother kindly looked into Yvonne’s eyes and said:

“You can beat a bully without using your fists,
If you don’t react to their bullying.  
If you don’t react, the bullies will lose interest.
Don’t retaliate, or be mean to them,
Because that will only add to the problem.
Act confident, don’t be afraid.  
Bullies notice when you’re afraid.

Walk away, don’t run.  
It shows you have self-control,
Something the bullies don’t have.
Don’t walk to school alone.  
Walk with a friend.

Since bullies love secrecy, tell someone.  
Tell a teacher, just like you told me.
Even though you may feel like a tattletale,
You shouldn’t have to face it alone.”

Yvonne hugged her mother long and hard.
She was so happy she had finally told her mother.
“Let’s go to the park and see the swans” her mother said.
Yvonne, her mother and Phillip went, and had a wonderful time.
Yvonne felt like singing her swan song again,
So she sang it loud and strong
In the park by the pond and all the way home.

“Oh, lovely swan, as you swim in the pond
Your baby cygnets play—I could watch them all day!
Whatever I do, when I think about you
I wonder if you think about me too!”

The next day at school,
When scary Harry and the bully kids
Shouted the awful poems,
Yvonne remembered everything her mother had told her.
She even told her friends, so they would know what to do.
And she told her teacher too.

It didn’t take long before the bullying slowed down.
Scary Harry eventually stopped being as scary.
Yvonne was once again very, very, very happy.

She loved her mother more and more each day.
She loved her brother Phillip.
She loved her school too.
And she loved swans.
Oh, did she ever love swans!
4/24/2018 - Poetry form:  Narrative - This poem is dedicated to all victims of bullying, which include girls & boys of all ages, sizes, and backgrounds. (That includes me too.) - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2018
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