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Breanna evans Jan 2019
I feel the urge,
I feel the ache,
I feel my stomach
start to quake

must find my throne
exalted seat
a place where I
can find release

I wonder what
it's all about
as lines and verse
just slides right out

and when it comes
the proper time,
I raise my seat,
observe my rhymes

I can't resist
the urge to look
at what came out
at what I cooked

and when I'm done,
I pull the ****
and send it down
to all you slobs

to make you gag,
to make you think
besides, I'm proud
of how it stinks
Dylan Mcconnell May 2018
One day...

One day the anger won't be so hot.
I will subside from being mad at you leaving.
I will have compassion for you instead.
I will lessen my hurt and change it into a beautiful masterpiece.
I will recreate my anger into art.
And that art, that ******* art, will be the most beautiful art I create.

One day the sadness won't be so darkening.
I will be able to breathe from the fact you left too soon.
I will not hide behind you, depression.
I won't **** myself in spite of you.
I won't live in fear anymore.

One day the shame and guilt won't swallow you so whole.
I won't hold myself to everything you said.
I will understand we all **** up.
I will be able to recede the waves from swallowing me whole.

One day god will take me from everything I hold whole, and recreate me.
But not today, not tomorrow, not 5 years from now.
Stephanie Jan 2019
Can I take a day?
I just can't do it, is that enough of an exuse?
I couldn't get up this morning because I felt like vomiting from the simple thought of interacting with others, is that even an exuse?
Is it ridiculous that I cried myself to sleep last night and couldn't get any sleep because of memories and moments that have been long gone for years?
I don't even know how I remembered those certain moments because I'm pretty sure everyone else forgot about that little insignificant slip up I am too cowardly to let go.
If my fingers shake from picking up the phone in order to make a phone call to call out, am I making a big deal out of what other people do so easily?
Is it odd the way I bite my nails in fear of social interactions or upcoming deadlines?
I wouldn't have to fear that deadline if I had just done my work on time but I'm left with extra mounds of work to finish because I got distracted and disheartened from finishing something so easy.
Did you know I lie awake looking at my wrists and wondering what it would be like to cut just one little line?
I swear it will be just one time I wouldn't want everyone to know I actually meant those suicidal jokes, that would just ruin the punchline don't you think?
Even if I feel not up to doing anything, does it matter?
Excuse me for being sensitive.
I apologize for not being like everyone else who has their life together.
I apologize for being such a disappointment to my family.
From the way I burned through books I bet they thought I was going somewhere, preferably harvard of course.
It didn't matter how lonely I was, the lack of friends meant that I wasn't out doing meaningless stuff like forming a connection with other people.
Oh dear me, I was the teachers pet in middle school every adult loved me.
They had high expectations for me.
It didn't matter that I was isolated and considered the oddball.
They thought I was a genius.
Their approval was the only thing that was relevant about me.
Imagine the surprise it was that I didn't get straight A's.
Harvard never sent me an email of acceptance.
I was simply anxiety ridden me.
What a disappointment, they expected me to go to some prestigious university and discover the cure to some fatal illness.
I was supposed to go places.
I am deeply sorry, if I cry could I be excused?
So considering all of that and so much more, can I take a day?
Kathleen M Dec 2018
You're a dumb dude
Secretly filming the ****
You do shady *** **** and write poems about it
35 and writing like your 15
With poems like yours it's not hard to be mean 
Your just a man out of his prime bent on the obsene
The cops coming to your house clearly didn't freak you out
So maybe I'll tell your mom what your all about.

You **** and I hate everything about you. Stop writing poems about me.
A ****** little poem about a creepy guy I was seeing, he did some shady **** and I had to get the cop's involved. I found out the other day that he has been writing poems about me and posting them to social media. So this is my response. I may post this series to his social media depending on how I feel about it, I probably won't but I might.
Red Dec 2018
I still feel your ghost
haunting my weaken lungs
who can avoid each other the most
suffocating when I see you swapping tongues
that mouth used to be mine but now I pour my pain into rhymes
That's all I've ever heard these past five years,
"You just have to make it 'til then."
Preceeded by what?
Relief, Success, an end
But, no, your trial only starts anew
With every break and holiday the same
"You just have to make it til Christmas Break."
But what is the after?
Because after I make it, I don't know how on earth I could ever do it again
But, I have no choice, and that is my choice,
So, I'll make it to Break and then I'll start it again
And make it to Spring Break
Then maybe to May
Maybe to Junior year
And maybe til I graduate

But if this is the way I feel
Through all "making it"
****, I don't want to
Just frustrated. Some things seem to never change.
Abdulrhman Dec 2018
People
love
me
In
every
situation
Except
My successes
EP Robles Nov 2018
Tiny Tim with droopy eye went out
with corpse-woman (she’d heard
he’d died)

Had a cigarette between two finger’d
bones called life and when living
ladies heard he’d died the world
began its wailing from the other side.

LAPD roped off the scene but the
ribbons were too low for ghosts and
all his demons.  Detective Mister
found his ****** revolver and no cell
block too secured assured for dead
men so police officer said, “Tiny Tim
was too beautiful but he died today;
the judge had verdict match the
coroner;  misadventure in love case
closed casket so move along move
along my fiends.

:: 03212016 ::
Copyright © Ernest Robles
Cryptic Nov 2018
I made a mistake
No words to say
I made your heart ache
with your love that I can't pay

Now that you're gone
You leave because you're done
I need to go away
and find my own way

Yes I became dumb
at the same time I get numb
Too insensitive with your feelings
Not blind but not seeing

I do conceal
for me not to reveal
and now that you know
You're now cold as a snow
To someone I caused too much pain
Julian Delia Nov 2018
Hello?
Is there anything left? Body heat, perhaps?
Is there a pulse or a deft heartbeat?
Any rough oceans of emotions?
You sit there, phone to your right,
Laptop in front of you, adjusted to the adequate height.

You’re motionless for most of the day,
Inebriated or mindless for most of the night.
Your only movements change channels,
You’re lonely, for your soul never travels.
You remain in the same place,
Occupy the same space, the same nook;
The only humanity you see, you don’t touch or feel, you simply look –
No interaction, only to laugh and mock like a rogue crook.

Your friends and loved ones are images on your phone,
It feels like solitude is all you’ve ever known.
You pose for the camera, but only fool yourself;
You close yourself off, you scoff at those who show emotions.
When was the last time you let yourself be vulnerable?
When was the last time you didn’t pretend you’re unstoppable?

Have you ever breached the barriers of your blindsides?
Have you ever gleaned beyond those white lines?
Please, take off those slave-forged shoes,
Run freely in the soil, you have nothing to lose.
Switch off your mobile prison cell,
Don’t let yourself drift back into this iniquitous hell.
Embrace your soul, peer inside;
Be alive, don’t cower and hide.
Well, are you?
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