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Beinghonest Feb 2016
And I'm thinking of you -
while studying maths -
I wanna say hi,
but it will just make things harder to bear,
as I realise you've finally moved on...

And well,
*I haven't.
It's fine, it'll take time to erase her name from my heart - but I have to try, for I made the choice...And I have to deal with the consequences :3

-just being honest
Rachel Julia Oct 2015
Billy Collins said "high school is the place poetry goes to die."
I would have to disagree.
High school is monotonous and horrible
and awful and wonderful.
Some do not understand poetry and they may hate to read and write it
and poetry may not be written.
but does it have to be?
We are living high school poetry.
Poetry is exploding onto life's pages.
When else do we have the emotions that we have now?
every teenage love affair,
every essay,
every night of studying until we cannot stay awake,
every audition,
trying to find yourself over and over again,
the practices,
the tears,
and the accomplishments.
That is poetry.
We're busy, and may not write it,
but poetry is lived by us.
Poetry is feeling,
emotion,
something that matters,
jumping in the lake,
a late night meeting of friends,
staying home alone on Friday,
wondering if we are needed.
We're living our poems.
To let everybody else know all one needs to do is pick up a pen.
Thank you. x
Baylee Sep 2015
Sitting in the local coffee shop,
Listening to coffee shop songs,
Doing work but simultaneously
Watching people.

Studying psychology,
Of the abnormal type,
Watching behaviors,
But not reflecting inward.

Sipping hot coffee,
Burning your mouth on it,
But trying not to react.
Someone across the cafe saw you; ****!

Studying people,
Drinking coffee nonchalantly,
Watching behavior,
Reflect inward, ******.
Reflect inward.
Hannah Jul 2015
When the music is blasting
When your voice reaches
Notes you know it can't
And you don't care

When your book is open
And for once, just once
In your whole life
You enjoy what you're doing
Enjoy the way the pen flows
Across the paper, creating
Words and shapes that the mind
Can truly comprehend, and the
Best part of it all is knowing
That in a matter of weeks
Not milleniums, not decades
Not years, you'll be done, and that's
Scary, but also peaceful
2 months till end of years are over, less than 3 till national exams are over
tap Mar 2015
the peeling paint is suddenly so exciting
when you have something else to do.
a million pounds of expectations rests on my head,
choking me, scaring me.
but does it really matter anymore?
petty pleas of help tend to fall on deaf ears.
also pretty old!
Jennifer Weiss Mar 2015
Be this world, but a mad mad garden.
I am tilling, and planting with woe.
I eat occasionally, of its fruits
and when full, tenderly, I go.

Pardon-
my nature is of the child, and so
I pull this leaf, pluck these petals,
and stop to smell of the rose.

There is a chill in the air,
a cloud blocking light,
and an odor tickling thy nose.

Be it this time, or past, future
or fourth dimension; How can
I know?

There is no limit to my pondering,
no effort in this wandering,
enjoyable is the quest to know.
mae Jan 2015
All alone,
cold
desperate and confused,
my body rejects you
and so should you.

I have more,
studying
stress and anxiety,
for my brain lacks something
other than babbling.

Vocabulary,
accentuation
factitious and consternation,
I can't handle it
for I am just too dull for it.

Why need it,
with so much pain
suffering and torture,
we could do without
so we don't have dropouts.
Bb Maria Klara Jan 2015
Studying, hear them?
Students dying.
Losing more than the gained knowledge.

Madness, coming
quicker than light.
horrid torrents of things to learn fast.

Lectures, pointless.
No actual skill.
Where's x and why for the speed limit.

Teachers, idle.
Just talk and talk
and talk and talk and talk and talk.

Students, worried
of what to do next.
They learned nothing since school system *****.

Grades, so cruel
but merely so little.
A way too important letter or number.

Lesson, learned.
If you want to die.
Do the student's way. Stu-Dying.
How many students out there relate, I wonder.
BG Ibañez Nov 2014
I let the under cooked carrot cubes play with ginger hues and pork broth in my mouth. Their dull edges slightly carved my tongue but the soup did pass like ocean waves to the seashore. It left me essentially wanting more. Down my esophagus it goes as I cramp down the vitamin C, B12(?) and a sorry excuse to a quick fix dinner. It was good all the same. It was those spring onion stems that bonded together next to the pork. Crunches of fresh grass and a morning Sun.
My laptop holds the key to what could possibly be my ticket to the bed in no where near the intention...the drive to dream. My mind is too tired to think of good planets...of worlds that are created for my craving to rest on clouds or probably fat people that can run for miles against the fit. But my head is still on the screen...Typing and wishing words were closer to my "academic thoughts".
I know its not exactly a poem.....its more of a CNF actually....but I revel at the fact thath Im writing a 10 page paper right nbow and am still able to write stuff like this....@__@ Enjoy! :)
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