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Talia Behar Mar 28
The screams and shouts
The running and sprinting
The rumors and secrets
The whispers and murmurs
The dread of knowing your day isn't done just quite yet
The popular kids; and the nerds
The shy kids; and the loud
It all happens in passing period
This is based off of my experience as a middle schooler and what passing period is like at my school.
Steve Page Mar 24
When is a scooter
not a scooter?
When you don't scoot,
and I'm the scooter-
pusher.
I wonder what we're teaching them?
inkedsolace Mar 23
school is frying my brain,
I can't keep up with the strain,
my neurology is down in the drain,
this workload drives me insane,
my backpack'll lend me a sprain,
and my posture will give me back pain,
these textbooks shall be my bane,
I lament this hail and rain,
of takeout and shirt stains,
of dreary weather, snow and rain,
I feel like I've been hit by a train,
every word I say is incoherent and inane,
so tell me, how do I stay sane?
i love (hate) chemistry
bellamy Mar 20
I have a D+ in chemistry.
I have a D+ in chemistry, despite doing my best work throughout the quarter.
I have a D+ in chemistry, so I hired a tutor.
I have a D+ in chemistry, so I obsessed over it for a while.
I have a D+ in chemistry, but my hard work continues.
I have a D+ in chemistry, but the laughs of me and my friends still fill my school halls.
I have a D+ in chemistry, but my scars remain healed.
I have a D+ in chemistry, but I can still listen to music late at night, while the summer air fills my room through an open window.
I have a D+ in chemistry, but the wind still hits my face when I step outside, lifting my hair from my shoulders, the sun wiping my cheek.
I have a D+ in chemistry, but the moon still shines behind the clouds, reminding me she’s still there.
I have a D+ in chemistry, so I’ll do better.
another thing I wrote late at night while listening to Kendrick Lamar (not what I would usually listen to while writing but yknow) and trying to tire myself out bc I have to get up in a few hours. again, may delete in the morning bc it may be trash but wtv
Like a sweet fragrance
It lingers, the memories of your childhood and youth
Vague, some lost to the years
A few remain, un-erasable
Like a mark
An impression on your heart

A part of you that you forgot
A part of you erased
Relived again, even if for a few moments
As you meet friends from school
Recalling the times and some incidents  about each other
Even though fragmented, these memories and moments, like a treasure remain

Breathing light through stained glass, from the school Chappel that we visited
Felt divine and the memory transcends
Even closer to the heart, lest the present buries the past
A promise made to keep in touch
Until we meet again
izzmidnight Mar 19
I've never felt second best,
Being a twin, you get asked a lot of questions:
"Who's older?"
"Who's smarter?"
"Who's the favorite?"
But you never gave into them:
"They were born at the same time"
"They both have straight A's"
"I love them both so much"
What's changed?

I've learned that I'm younger,
Only by a second—a moment,
My birth certificate bears a different time,
Yet we still tell people we're the same age
Because the difference doesn't define us.

Now I'm starting to fail my classes,
Not a single A to my name anymore.
You must think of her as the smarter one,
While I'm the one who can't be bothered:
No homework, no studying, no perfect SAT score.
Have things changed because you've finally chosen a favorite?
And of course, it's her.

I've grown to hate myself,
So it's not surprising you do too.
You see yourself in me and loathe it,
Support no longer feels like support
Because you can't imagine I'd be anything like you:
Of course I'm not sad,
Or anxious enough to pass out,
Of course I'm faking when I'm throwing up
So you'll send me to school.

But when she wants to stay home,
You shower her with love,
Buy her favorite foods,
While you'd take mine away to keep me thin.

When I want to disappear,
I'm still second best.
You'll cry, but still yell,
Making me feel guilty for wanting you to care.

I'll keep my head down—float with the majority,
And try to live with being second priority.
But know that I am more than your reflection;
More than a twin, more than second best.
I am my own person, worthy of love,
Even if you can't see it yet.
I appreciate comments and feedback! :)
Every single sunny day,
There's a magic place,
A brown bench by the baseball fields.

Such a basic grace,
When the sun shines down,
You and I walk the way.

Right on down to our favorite seat,
Whether its summer, whether its spring,
I can hold you all the same.
Our little afterschool hideaway
Wake up in the morning,
Grab my cap, tie my shoes,
Get in the car, can't wait to see you.
<3
Get dropped off,
Walk into the school,
Wait in the cafeteria for you!
<3<3
Wish you didn't forget your hoodie,
Grab mine, I don't need it,
Get some breakfast and go, I love you so.
<3<3<3
At the end of the day, no matter how mature I write I still am.
JayJay Mar 8
I’m sorry I got that question wrong.
I’m sorry I can't move on.

I’m sorry I'm not smarter.
I’m sorry I couldn't be stronger.

I’m sorry how I take on as much as I can
only to ***** it all up.
And I’m sorry I couldn't find the man
inside my empty cup.

I’m sorry I waste my time away
trying to find a dreamy way
to happiness
when of course,
there's no such thing.

I’m sorry I don't talk much anymore
or that I let on how my heart is sore
from all the roughness
and how it keeps beating
without a source.

In fact, I must confess,
I am dying under boundless stress.
Each day my depression attacks,
reopening these countless cracks.
So many times have I walked this hall
feeling so weak and so small,
bracing for a final fall
just waiting till my lifeline snaps,
like any second I’ll collapse,
but of course I never do,
I know better than that.

But if I were to give my final words today,
this is exactly what I would say.
But that I won't undergo
I suppose you’ll never know

how sorry I am that there's nothing I’m on top of
and for dormantly letting endless piles of work tower above.

And how I’m sorry for caring more than I should
and letting myself be so consumed.

I’m sorry for impeding the impedeless
and for hoping in the hopeless.

And finally,
most especially,
I am sorry
for wanting to be so important
and that I became nothing but torment.
I am sorry for wanting so hard to be heard
when it's clear I’ll only ever come third.
I’m sorry for thinking I could matter
or that I could make things better.
I am sorry for believing
that I could amount to anything
at all.
This idea started brewing up in my head earlier this week. Recent events made it come to life
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