Tens of millions of men, women and children murdered
But what do we care?
Genocide-systematically killing, raping, and harming
But what do we care?
We say "never again" that turned into "never again, again"
And twenty-thousand children born for one-hundred days of forced pleasure
Families ripped apart, homes destroyed, and murder-murder
We say it but do we get it?
Do we really GET it?
Do we really grasp the fact of people's lives being ended forcefully for no other reason than someone "disagrees" for no other reason than someone's "different
But what do we care?
Blue eyes, blonde hair, bright skin to the right
Brown eyes, black hair, dark skin to the left
Those on the right go home,
Those on the left no longer have homes for concentration camps are now their homes
The sent of freshly brewed lipton tea has now been replaced by the harsh fumes of zyklon-B
Unsure of their next meal, if you could call it that at all, unsure of their next beating, the next time they'll be raped, unsure of what'll be theirs last breath before death
Feeling unsure and not secure
But please tell me, what do we care?

KittenJesus Jan 6

Shut up!
this thing.. you laugh at...
do you really understand...
It is not funny... not the word
not the meaning...
and especially not the "joke"..
it is death
... it is not a phase
... it is not a saying
... it is not something to smile about...
shut up!
you can not and will not
laugh at something so serious
I refuse to let you laugh at the sad souls it consumed
nor will I stand idle to this generations
ignorance to the word showing their lack of heart
... I hate the word suicide and suicidal
not because it means pain for the victim and more...
but because of how often it is misused in today's
careless world
I hate how everything is
"cringey", "depressing", and "triggering"...
those words used to be safe for the hurt and weak
but now they feel more safe keeping it in
suicide is something that sound not be encouraged
nor glorified
so next time
you tell someone they should "kys" (kill yourself)
think... did I even ask if they were okay

backstory on this poem:
my boyfriend is depressed...fairly severe
and he will make jokes about suicide to his friends and what not...well... i am very very sensitive... and get very scared when ever he says such things... because he is suicidal... and he has lost a close friend before to it... and I almost lost a family member not to long ago... well we have talked about it before and says suicide is dumb and I'm being stupid to worry.... well... he just said that something was making him "suicidal" and I got really scared... thinking something was wrong because he has been upset since we lost talked... and now he is mad at me for worrying again because he just meant it as "i feel like giving up on my work blah blah blah".... and... because I still had so much fear and nervousness... I decided to write... I don't know if this a "slam poem" or not... but... yeah...thanks for reading if you made it this far... and please leave suggestions for improvement below or message me <3
grace Jan 4

i stand in the middle of a hurricane of emotions, unfazed.
i stand in the middle of that haze.
bite down on my thumb.
don't cry.
don't let that meek creature “weakness,” crawl out from my eyes.
hold it in.
don’t let the the panic win.
don't let it in.
don’t let it win.
don’t give it room to breath.
tell it to leave.
say goodbye.
but don't cry.
panic isn’t worthy of tears.
for my panic is the ringmaster of all my fears.
so say goodbye,
but don't you ever cry.
because i am not allowed to cry.
because i am an eyesore to society,
because my heart tends to beat irregularly
when i am forced to speak publicly,
because i,
have anxiety.
so my mind tells me when to at quietly and when to go slowly,
because i am afraid of others acting hastily.
so please,
forgive me when my hands shake and my heart breaks,
because i have anxiety.

this is a slam poem i wrote for my english class
enjoy! :) (leave a comment if you'd like!)
riwa Dec 2016

Don’t fall for me,
simply because
I will turn your kisses into similes
kissing you is like watching a sunset; slow, and beautiful.

Don’t tell me you love me,
simply because
your words will form metaphors in my mouth
you are a thunderstorm my heart is not ready for.

Don’t fall for me,
simply because
I am selfish,
every breath you take, every word you speak
I will find a way to turn that into a composition of letters and sounds
for my own purpose.

Don’t try to be with me,
simply because
I will try to trap you with my words
every space in my broken sentences will be filled with thoughts of you.

Stay with me,
I’ll turn your existence into a poem
stay with me,
I’ll engrave your name into my verses
stay with me,
stay with me,
stay with me,

so I don’t have to turn my heartache into a poem of sorrow once again.

I have not felt at ease with the world in a while,
but that has changed,
simply because
you are my world now
everything I do,
I do for you.

So this is a warning;
don’t fall for me,
simply because
I am a thief who is good with words,
I will steal your love
and turn it into stories of malignancy and almosts.

Abby Carpenter Sep 2016

The first glass was smiles,
He’d tell us that he loved us
Or that we made him proud
Warm glow from the fire reflected the sloshing contents of his drink on the walls
A blurred dance of celestial lines and shapes.
We took in his light like the inhale of a breath,
Feeling so glad to have earned his praises.

Fifth glass was slurred words
Crawling from the corners of his mouth like a rat escaping a sewer,
The smiles were gone.
We stood still with anxious ticks unfolding before us
Afraid of what would happen if we were to speak
The fire was fading, the dance nearing an end

Glass eight brought anger
Shouts spiraled from his chest, a tornado that we couldn’t cross
Words flew by us,
Glasses flew by us,
Fists flew by us.
Too scared to move, our backs pressed against the wall
We tried our best to disappear
I closed my eyes and held my hands together hoping that the small amount of pressure would be enough to make him lay his hands on someone else that night

Twelfth glass brought sleep.
With his body still we could move again,
His neck crooked to the side, an empty glass in his hand.
No liquid left to reflect.
A sleeping serpent laying in the center of his destruction
Broken glasses and thrown picture frames at his feet,
It became hard to believe he had caused this a moment ago

Now seven years later I find myself at a party
The bass so loud I could feel my body shake,
Red cup in my hand, liquid sloshing with familiarity
Without a pause I am drinking one glass,
Then two,
Then three,
I wonder how I let myself become the thing I fear most like a reverse metamorphosis into my childhood,
And now when I look in the mirror I don’t see me,
I’m stuck looking into his lifeless eyes
And I don’t know how I can change this,
How can I run when the monster resides inside of me?
I don’t know how I can separate myself from him when every time I see a drink I hear my mother’s scream
Blurred images of memory and reality surround me and I am once again too afraid to move
Back pressed against the wall, hands pressed together.
I am my childhood nightmares,
Completing the cycle and making ends meet
Once again I am back in that trailer and I wonder if I ever left

Llila Jul 2016

(written to be read as spoken-word)
There is a bird inside my rib-cage,
I swallowed it whole four years ago.
Its weight drags my feet further and further into the earth below
And its screeches never cease.
Sometimes I worry that it will kill me
And other times I wish it would.
it would scratch at my lungs and bruise my ribs with its flailing,
It doesn’t do that anymore though,
Sometimes I wish it would.
The talons reminded me that I was still here.
But now the bird simply lies inside my chest making it difficult to breathe.
There is no longer fury in its wings, only the burnt out embers of what used to be.
I fear that the bird has died and that his little bones are the only part of him left to weigh me down.

I dream about freeing the bird, cutting open my lungs and letting his dark feathers seep away,
Tearing skin from bone and bone from bird.
That would surely kill me, but at least the bird could be free.

I have written this poem a thousand times and I will write it a thousand more
Because I want it to be perfect
I will say to you a thousand times that perfection is unattainable
and yet I will try a thousand times to attain it.
That is the curse of the bird
I’m beginning to conquer my bird,
But like a long had pet, it is difficult to let go
A close friend, a pretty drug, it’s difficult to put down
But when I do,
The entire universe will know
Because I will sing without feathers I my throat,
Because I will paint without darkness in my eyes,
And because I will wake up in the morning to see the sun rise
And I will walk for miles because I want to
And I smile and smile and smile
Until my face forgets the shape of a frown

I wrote this a while ago and then added the last grouping of more positive lines later on when I performed it in a drama class.
Sean Dunne May 2016

ive never been really good at explaining how i feel and how it connects to what's happened. for example one might say "i feel x because of y." i, on the other hand, would say something like "i feel x and k and b, and also y happened to me but i cant tell the correlation between x, k, b, and y." and that just confuses people and they're like "yo dude why you so sad all the time" and im like "im actually not that sad its more like an array of different emotions like all of them at once, or none of them at all." and then they look at me funny because i dont know how to elaborate on that. so rather than that mess, to explain how i felt when the first girl i fell in love with broke my heart, i more or less started collecting facts. mostly these 9 things that have come to be true, like:
     1. you are going to spend the whole night crying. no way to avoid it, the stunted breathing how everything feels like its collapsing the whole nine yards. when you say she broke your heart its not because the organ on the left side of your chest is hurting, its because saying something is the heart is saying its the very center of you. she broke your heart and now your core is collapsing, your very structure is destroyed and it's her fault. not yours.
     2. youre going to want to see her right away. dont. she'll tell you what you want to hear because she'll be burning in the heat of your sadness and just want to leave. she's going to say that it wasnt your fault, that it just sort of "happened," that she still wants to be friends. if youre going to have any hope of getting over her, you cant still be friends. not right away. it'll seem normal and easy but underneath you are holding back a lion of a heart while she is already on to her next prey.
     3. the ghosts are going to haunt you. there will be the good morning and goodnight text ghost. the "can i see you today?" ghost. the ghost of where you shared your first kiss, your last. where she asked you to be her girlfriend sitting on the living room floor at 4 in the morning writing things on each other's backs she was burning herself into your skin. the ghost of her will still be there. in hawaii there's this urban legend of these ghosts that visit tourists in hotel rooms and resorts at night and sit on their chests until they stop breathing. he will haunt you. hes going to be there not just when youre sleeping, when you scroll past the first picture of her kissing this other girl, when you're sitting on the living room floor, when you see her and you've no idea what to do with your hands he's going to try to stop your breathing. it won't feel any different than seeing her for the first time except this time you'll wish you were actually dying.
     4. you are not actually dying.
     5. you will want to keep her clothes at first because they still smell like her and they are a constant reminder of ownership. her sweatshirt on your body, her fingers on your skin, her mark on your heart she owns you. you'll wear her clothes as a reminder that yes she was there once and sometimes as a hope that she will see you in it and realize how well everything fit and she'll want you back. when they stop smelling like her you'll put them in the closet as if they are foreign and you'll choke up every time you see them. eventually they will just be your grey sweatshirt and that cool band t-shirt. even months later when you put them on you'll still be hoping a little bit that she sees you in them.
     6. you will not ask for your clothes back. they are hers now just as every other part of you is. they smell too much like her and although she's probably just going to shove them in a draw or let her new girlfriend wear them sometimes, at least she still has them and you are still in her room. you wont have much else to hold on to besides that notion.
     7. green will no longer be your color. she used to say she loved it on you, when other girls looked at her and talked to her she'd laugh while you grabbed her hand locking your fingers like a promise like a threat to anyone that made you slightly jealous. you are going to get jealous all the time now. because now if you tried to grab her hand she'd back off, it'd cause too much pain its just another broken promise another thing that cant be fixed pushed to the back of the closet she won't laugh anymore. green is not your color you have no right to wear it no matter how often you do, you cant even mention it to her. it'll creep up and seep in it'll settle right underneath the surface. people will ask you constantly if youre feeling sick. yes, which brings me to
    8. maybe not always, but for a while and then sometimes here and there youre going to feel so sick you'll think you've somehow brought back the black plague. when she tells you she's leaving you'll spend the whole night crying so hard you'll throw up 3 maybe 4 times you'll think youve emptied your entire body in hushed sobs. im so sorry if you're afraid of heights because every time you see her with this other girl you'll feel like you're dropping out of the sky so fast you'll have trouble standing. sometimes my chest hurts so badly from thinking about her i have to lay down and breathe deeply for hours. eventually you wont feel anything except empty when you see them together, or think about holding her dont think about holding her never ever think about kissing her dont you dare because then youre going to drop out of the sky all over again i have no idea how long this is going to last.
    9. its not going to last forever.

its 2:44 and ive decided this is the last poem im going to write about you breaking my heart
Christina Low May 2016

Be loud and be proud
be quiet and keep to yourself
be upfront and demanding
be reserved and stay together
be beautiful and pretty
be hot and sexy
be dainty and quaint
and rock the damn world.

Be you.
Be whoever you are comfortable being.

Don't let them tell you to shut up
don't let them tell you to talk more
don't let them tell you you're a bitch
or that you're too nice.
Don't let them tell you you can't be beautiful, pretty, hot and damn sexy all at once
because you know what?
You are.
Don't let them tell you to be rougher
don't let them tell you to be ladylike.

You are mother-effing lady
and you get to decide what that means.

To anyone who is a girl - don't let them tell you you aren't because you don't meet some standard.
August Mar 2016

Cursin' like a sailor
It's okay, right, avail her
Commanding the ship so strongly
you thought you finally had it off me
bullets keep bouncing off me like a trampoline, except this one isn't so fun, you see?

As It hits a slow curve
you seemed to have the nerve
to throw your whole crew overboard
just to save yourself first
the empire state of the south
never got to the party
left with the crumbs in the corner
and your mouth, only clarty

with a quick tongue
and a sly smile
a small smirk
so easy to beguile

Razerblades and Punk madness
colored hair with your tears of passion
brainwashed and bleached
compelled by your freedom of speech
tears so frequent, indecent, and cement
you're looking for my impeachment, what's your reason?

Knuckles hurt from punching pillows
rusting walls and weeping willows
Wanted so badly to be broken
so you tore out stitches

called me coward
but i'm not the one cranking out
poems that have been soured

I live to empower.

gc Feb 2016

when i was a kid i used to be able to taste the sunshine on my tongue, let the raindrops roll off my fingertips like it was nothing. i guess as i got older somebody started poisoning all that water in the clouds, or maybe God forgot to check up on the ones above my city, because now the rain burns through all my umbrellas and i’m left with too many useless pieces of plastic and never enough bandages. what happened to the little girl that used to gather rain in her palms and giggle when she dumped it out? because now i can’t seem to hold onto anything anymore, all that water just slips right through the cracks between my fingers. and mom, dad, i stopped hurting myself, those tendencies are dusty hiding in the bottom drawers of my shelf but i still can’t bring myself to throw them away. it’s been months, i lost count after christmas, but it’s been long enough for me to realise that they were my home and i’m sleeping on the streets now and i just really want to be in my own fucking bed again. and dear anyone who cares enough to listen to me scream, the next time you ask someone if they’re okay you should consider that they’re never going to tell you the truth, because i can’t count how many times i formulated lies on my tongue just to tell you i was fine. and God, if you’re listening to me as i stand here and talk out my window, when i come to see you i want to know why you never held my hand when i prayed to you, because i doubt you every single day of my life, and i only want you to make me feel like i’m talking to something more than just the ceiling. so crack open my bones if it means you’ll finally hear the truth from me because you know i’m never going to spit it out, there’s sin hidden beneath my tongue and blasphemy woven into my fingertips and maybe that’s why i can never touch you. i don’t know how old i was when i started sleeping in a different bed at night and dreaming different dreams but at some point i stopped feeling your warmth around me, so i had to borrow blankets from people who told me you weren’t real and maybe they rubbed off on me a little bit and maybe that’s why i stopped praying every night and maybe that’s why i stopped talking to you, because your phone number got lost when our old house burned down. and i still don’t know if you heard me the first time i questioned the reality of your words, asking you where you had gone, but just in case my whispers never got past the clouds, i’ll tell you right now that i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry.

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