Victoria Jan 11

You fall in love to easy
and that's alright
Because that means there is a light in you that can't be put out
No matter how hard you get knocked down
You can get up
Because LOVE is what you're after
And when you fall in love
You fall
Well more like jump
Like you can't wait to fall
Falling takes to much time
And when you realize that maybe it's not meant to be
You stand up
Dust yourself off
Take a deep breath
And you're ready to fall again
Well Jump

Victoria Jan 8

I know I shouldn't judge a book by
its cover man.
But half these books have me wonderin.
And if we weren't supposed to judge than why are people dying in the streets?
"I can't breath" yeah guys that really happend
All because his cover was blackened!
Yet a mother got off for killing her babbies!
This shit has me in a daze see
Her cover was innocent and thats all the judge saw
Didn't care to look inside for an answer at all!
And parents teach you not to judge
Except " dont get to close to that homless man. Hes probably on drugs!"
When really that man on the ground he defended our "Great" country
Now hes left in the gutter with the thought "no one will touch me"
All because you let his cover device you.
Preaching to the Millennials that covers reveal true
But rapisit and murderers they look the same
As a friendly neighbor
Or a fucking lame
And now we grow up thinking our cover matters
"Why is my cover bigger, why can it be flatter?"
"My corners are to sharp"
"That covers' illustration is to much, haha, and they call that shit art!"
And we dress up
And we dress down
And try to look interesting
Now there's no story
Something is missing
We've cared so much about judging one another
That all we have left is an empty cover.

Ninah Dau Jan 7

this is the life
i dreamed
drown in poetry
so much truth floating around us
and i want more

Nathan A Brock Dec 2017

"Once an addict
            Always an addict"

I wonder
if that is really true
Will I always
be addicted?

Am I always
going to be worried
about slipping back
into a nightmare
of voices and shadows
haunting my sleepless nights

I think
that is not something
I can do forever

I think
I would rather slip now
than worry about it
the rest of my life

Better sooner
than later

But no
I have come too far now
for such thoughts
and I will not allow
anyone
to tell me
that I will always be
an addict

Yes
recovery is
an unpaved road
filled with stones
and potholes
uncleared of the wreckage
of countless others

But I will
Find the end

All can watch
as I take my triggers
by the throat
and suffocate them

And one day
as I stand on a field
of victory
with my fellow survivors
I will shout to the masses

And I will say that
I AM NOT AN ADDICT

Anymore

My moods name is Kaleidoscope pattern or what is also known as Bipolar Disorder. With the outer of moods being a silver tube- cold and hard. Inside of my moods is a swirl of colours which changes throughout the days and people it interacts with.

Kaleidoscope pattern changes as much as the weather outside. Some weeks will be so full of sunshine and a clear sky with a nice breeze. Those other weeks? Kaleidoscope pattern will turn into a dark stormy cloud following me wherever I go. Kaleidoscope will rain hail on top of me making it hard for me to concentrate on my surroundings, but I am listening through this hail of sadness and destruction.

Kaleidoscope pattern is not hormonal or that “that time of the month” my friends call it. No, it does not make me feel like the women in tampon commercials, it makes me feel like those big pharma ads for depression medication. It makes me feel shameful once every week of every month- there will be that dark stormy cloud following me wherever I go.

Kaleidoscope is my drug. It makes me laugh because it turns me into a maniac. It makes me so hyper I wish I could take more of this drug to keep me going through those dark stormy cloud time of the months. I am not high off of any drugs, I am bipolar.

Kaleidoscope has this best friend, that has set up camp in my head. It pays no rent, does not need any utilities. It is like that annoying neighbour that plays his music really loud in the middle of the night right before 11 pm, so you can’t say anything because it is before curfew. You just have to stay awake and listen to the music. That annoying neighbour in my head is playing music and it is saying for me to feel suicidal and that I am never going to be good enough.

Kaleidoscope pattern is like sidewalk chalk with my memory. Every time it rains, it pours. When it pours all of those drawings on that sidewalk wash away with the rain and into the gutter and disappears with that dark stormy cloud taking over my memory. It washes away the memory of where I put my cards, phone, or keys because I have no energy to redraw those chalk sidewalk drawings when it will just wash away- or the chalk will get soft and wash down the gutter with my memories. I have nothing left to remember, other than this dark stormy cloud.

Kaleidoscope has a father, who has the same last name as mine. He is a minefield, tiptoeing around him and watching where I walk like the mice before Christmas. Except, if you step in the wrong place you blow up- along with his respect for you, and down with his anger. Making you think that love is strategic, and that you have to give him all of your sunny days to avoid those dark stormy clouds he had. Because I am his son of a bomb, and a dynamite stick wrapped in good intentions.

Kaleidoscope gets angry for no reason, that’s how it will digest the depression. As it slides down the back of my throat, forcing me to choke it back up because I have no energy to keep anything down along with the food I need for nutrition to battle my depression.

My mattress calls me insomnia.
My pillow complains I do not sleep enough.
My bedroom walls say I need that medication.
Society says “I am moody or too harsh”
I say I am fucking beautifully unique like my Kaleidoscope pattern.

--I am not a very open person--
So this, is a poem opening about my struggle with bipolar disorder- and how it fucking sucks but I have to learn to love it.
I get moody, depressed (severely), and I feel so many emotions and I can't control them so I tend to lash out at loved ones, to cope with it. I feel as if, not many people understand my struggle- so I wrote Kaleidoscope pattern.
Nathan A Brock Dec 2017

Times are wild;
We don't have to go to the streets because the streets come to us.
Meth, heroine, cocaine and ecstasy in every city,
on every corner,
in every pocket.

The prevalence of narcotics is astonashing;
So easy for our children to fall into and almost impossible to come out of.
Every day someone new is struggling with dependency,
falling into the void that will consume them for the rest of their lives;
never finding their way out because no one will lift them up.

Instead we brand them with the label "addict" and tell them that's all they will ever be.
We hypocritically preach that no one should have to live with a label, but then teach the fallen to never forget that they are addicts.

Am i the only one who can see how this might tie in with the patterns of relapse?

If a man is told that he is worthless his entire life, he will believe he is worthless.
If a woman is told that she is a whore her entire life, she will believe it.
Why would we tell anyone that they will always be addicted and think that it would help them?

The truth is that when we give someone a label such as "addict", we only degrade this person.

So what is the solution?

Rather than assigning a label to these individuals, we need a new method that will encourage them.
A method that will lift them up rather than push them down to a lower level of existence.

I think about crystal every day.
I dream of twisting glass every night.
My cravings kill me with relentless anxiety but I am still sober.
I am still getting better every day.

Because someone lifted me up,
Instead of branding me with a label.

This is my first attempt at a spoken word/slam poem so i didn't want to make it too long. I hope it reads well. Any feedback is welcome
deery Dec 2017

i can not realize
if i am dying,
you may find me dramatic
but i have a twisted obsession

sometimes it makes me want to run
far and fast
instead of having this trapped feeling in my chest
causing me so much internal pain
making me feel like its pain is mine
its problems are mine
since my problems are suddenly its now.
i do not know how to help
because everything i do to try to fix this
makes things worse.
i feel as though
i do not deserve it
because it gives me so many things
that i can not give in return.

i am crumbling underneath this pressure
to fix what is broken
to fix it without wanting to change it
because that is wrong.

when i try to reach out i am pulled back by such regret
since it is so kind to me
and it does everything it is supposed to
and gives me so many things i do not deserve
so why am i still sad.

darling
i love you
but i think that's my problem
i love you but you are like a slow acting poison
i love you but you are a ticking bomb strapped to me
i love you but i do not believe in love
i know you are killing me, but i love how you kill me.
when i want to be alone,
darling you miss me
i can see from a distance i'm dying
and i know you want to try to help it
and i know that my better is your worse.
darling we are a match
we make a huge fire
and we burn each other out faster.

you accept me for who i am
even when i don't
and when i want to change
and improve upon myself
you are the molasses stuck to my feet
seeping into my skin
leaving me still
dreading who i am
unsatisfied because i know
i can fix my problem
but you think i am lovely right now.
i embrace change
but darling you dread it.

this isn't me breaking up with you
because you may never see this, darling
this is me telling you that despite all this
i'm still here
because i'm still invested
in every extending branch of your life
darling this doesn't mean
i won't go down swinging
because i can fan our fire
until we burn down forests
and then some.

i am not always sad
its just often
often i'm sad
often i feel little to nothing
but you don't accept nothing
you accept sad.

darling you warned me
you told me that you would get boring
and i couldn't believe you
but these days it seems like
you've told me everything
and its all the same
you try to help my problems
all the same
you answer trivial questions
all the same
i keep digging
but i feel i'm at the core.

i'm the "right here right now" girl
because there were girls before me
and there will be girls after me
and you may forget me
and i may break your heart
and you may act like its the end of the universe
but it isn't
and you'll move on.
you aren't the "right here right now" boy
you are the first
and i don't want you to be my first mistake.

i wish we moved slower darling
so i could get to know the real you
before i volunteered
for something i didn't understand.

darling
this isn't goodbye
because i'm at the core
but ill keep digging
i will sit through this
until i can't,
because i'm alive
and i believe i can be happy
with you, darling
this is just the hurt
written down
so i could know
when someone finally says goodbye
when i found out
that i'm dying.

a compilation of poems
Eleanor Webster Dec 2017

Faulty factory toys are fun to use, at first
Blue eyed girl with the white blonde curls
From dads side of the family
They coo at her
Before she learns to walk
And talk
And talk
And talk
When they built her in the baby factory
They must've forgot the little red button
The one that says
"Shut up for one single solitary fucking second and let someone else speak"
She doesn't pause to allow the other person the liberty to flit words through the air like songbirds
Instead hers land like pheasants
Shot in the skull
Trickling out opinions that were never asked for
With the brain fluid.

She's got a lot of them too
Opinions
And they're all right
She knows everything there is to know
At seventeen as well
What a prodigy, she thinks
What a nuisance, say the wise men
What a delusional idiot
What
A
Bore into her skull and all you'll see
Behind the kind eyes and philosophy
Is a witch
Entranced by the enchantment
Of her own voice
A selfish piece of shit
Who buys her birthday presents at the last minute.

At least the parents got to have a test drive
A prototype
So they knew what to do right this time
Factor out whatever it was
The ingredients with the sell by date
That made this thing so near to right
But odd enough to be 'not quite'.
This time make one that's not lazy
That's not selfish
That doesn't want to be a fucking artist
That lets others speak
That can contribute and participate
Not sit on the sidelines
Heading for burnout
Heading for disaster-

Uncheck the box this time that says
Sordid mind
That says
Can't reply to texts
Even when friends are on the edge
of suicide, For fucks sake.
Tick the box that unveils the beauty of humanity
Fix it's eyes
Teach her to see these sacks of meat
The way others do
The way you're supposed to
Instead of like puzzles or pictures or packaging for a soul
Create a person not afraid
Of making mistakes
that can make her own decisions
This time make a mind
That can jump through the hoops
Society left behind
Fix her this time
Don't make another freak
On the fringes
Never quite fitting in

And the funny thing is
Even after this fucking perfect kid
Comes along and shows that blue eyed blonde-haired girl
Just how to do it
She's an old bitch
No use teaching her new tricks
She'll shut out little miss pretty perfect project two point oh
She can't seem to help it
She thinks the best company in the world is her head
Her head?! Have you seen it
It's barbed wire and sunshine
It’s a rose choked by thorns
Do not touch her-
She will make you bleed.

This is a poem I wrote when I was in a really dark place, which is paired by a poem I wrote later on which was a much more positive self-reflection. The original ending was 'I'm a poor older sister and I am not a good daughter', but I felt that was too personal, so I changed it to be much more visual. This is a slam poem that I performed in the final of UniSlam 2017, where my team came fourth in the country!

//

The definition of thot [that ho over there], via Urban Dictionary

A woman who pretends to be the type of valuable female commodity who rightfully earns male commitment—until the man discovers that she’s just a cheap imitation of a “good girl” who is good for nothing, and definitely not for relationships or respect.

If women are products, then thots are cheap goods. More than that, they’re knockoffs: low-quality merchandise that attempts to masquerade as luxury items.

They generally dress in cheap clothing, try to act like they're better than they really are, or think they're not trashy but high class when they're nothing close to classy. They demand respect, money, gifts, dates but do nothing to deserve any of it because they have no self-respect, no manners, low self esteem, little education and on top of all that they are thots because they have no self worth.

//

he called me a thot.
the same blood-boy nightmare who bragged about his foot fetish and double cup. too cheap to buy actavis generics, so he drank himself into a stupor on walgreens brand dye-free cough syrup. he acted black, said words white boys shouldn't have near their mouths. his friends were ableist at the best, and misogynist at worst.

he called other girls thots too.
but i was different. stick-and-poke told trans king who told american spirit who told blood-boy what i confided in a friend. a story that ends and begins with my tears, tears from gagging, tears from telling my mother about the worst three minutes of my life and how my knees and heart hurt afterwards.

i embodied thot.
left my family for friends, joked about the pain until it hurt even more. i found myself crying in bathroom stalls, looking down at my body in the bathtub as my eyes leaked. the girls said i was thick, i didn't know if they meant it in a good way. the boys said worse. i wore camouflage pants, comme de garçons tops, air force ones. i jumped on trends like a wild cat stalking prey. but i could never catch anything worthwhile with my soft, clawed paws.

he smiled like he was better than me.
after blood-boy stunned summers and winters alike, burned spring and fall, and for what? to call me a thot? i knew what i was to him. but that didn’t define me anymore.

he called me a thot.
and this time i fought back with my eyes, didn’t just sit there and feel words welling up inside.
because even thots are queens.
because i used to be deciduous, but now i’m evergreen.


//

Quit that high class act, lady. You’re a thot.
*- Urban Dictionary

Chelsea Dec 2017

If you come to preach to me of love, Don’t.

Don’t tell me how great it is because I know.

Soft skin colliding, moving, connecting in perfect harmony. Warmth against warmth. Lips against lips. Hands upon hips. Enclosing – embracing –enchanting.

Don’t tell me how fantastic it is, cause I know.

I know the ins and outs. The beauty, the passion, the sparks and the moon and the stars bursting into a kollidaskope of vibrant wonders waiting for the two of us to explore.

I cant phrase it just right but I know.

And now there is a whole list of cannots that I can not seem to master.

Your love left fragmented shards scattered through the memories in my mind. So I think in splinters.

When I see you with someone else I feel that pang of jealousy I am no longer allowed to feel.

You dropped me like hot coal fresh from the flame. And I fell.

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