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jayebird Jun 4
After all i've earned them
the subtle pull
and swift replacement,
    the golden gain gifted
     from a soul dentist
I accept the strange medicine and sense
Suddenly my core forever
chasing the great
sulfur in circles as I fall adrift
    The wanting sleep which
     closes all eyes after end of sky
Behind mine observes a screen of
Out-knocked teeth and offput blood
Pft out in a porcelian sink
The glass just above
displays swollen
  tears and my
Soul transforming from
Learned lead and
cold iron into
August and
Nothing bleak like my
Now unique two front
It takes awhile but
I have a new smile at me
Twist the
Brass doorknob upside down
on it's axis and
Walk away from the abuse cycle owning
The tired metal middle
of earth cracking
Outer mold revealing a
Levitating ball of God who
Now unbound
Seeks six-thirty post midnight
High plains and
Holy painted solace
With bruises yellowing
I scream drive
into tunnels where the
warm streetlights racing in
my periphery
know I am the glowing go of life
And will never grow old despite
Losing a couple given ones
This is a vague story about someone who had their two front teeth knocked out by a punch from someone close to them, and now has two golden teeth. It is a poem about accepting their self as beautiful and worthy after an abusive relationship. It is about renewal and resplendant transformation. The subjects perspective has also expanded past their story and looks to the sky and universe for their source of love. I hope this inspires anyone who has been through physical abuse and knows the struggle of finding their peace again.
Regan May 23

after tomorrow, they'll be gone for a while.
as summer returns
and my main focus is not to learn,
i'll be alone and older by each day.
don't worry, we'll talk, they say,
but summer returns
and my loneliness yearns
for someone to talk to
but I don't want to bother you.
until august comes back
and my head goes whack,
will you speak to me,
you're not a real friend, can't you see?
I'm sorry that we didn't talk
and I feel as if I hit bedrock,
you'll act nice
and i'll think twice
about letting you back into my life
when it's filled with strife.
but i'll fail and become sad
then i'll drive you mad
until you leave
and i'll greave
until august returns.
last day of school tomorrow. sad. surviving finals.
Tai Roberts May 14
There is a world out there,
A world that I’m not invited to take part in.
Because I don’t think that society is ever going to forgive the crime that I have committed.
The crime of existing. Of surviving in this cruel, desolate environment.
Because life is a game -
You either win by passing each and every level,
Or you die trying to succeed.
This is a poem about how life will try and end you. Only the strongest survive.
Anna Apr 3
This is not a fantasy book.
This is not a story were the girl gets her prince and the boy slays the dragon.
This is not a story with a wicked witch or magic shoes.
This is real life.

The girl paints on a smile and the boy drinks away his fears.
The dragons are our deepest darkest thoughts.
The wicked witch is our crippling depression.
the magic shoes are just shoes we wear to make us seem like we have life handled.
This is real life.

This is not a movie where everyone lives happily ever after.
This is a world were some people don't even live.
This is a place were people are just surviving.
This is real life.
Sometimes our journey seems like a fairy tale but for the majority of the time it is filled with pain,stress, and anxiety.
Tony Tweedy Mar 21
To travel from light to darkness takes but the instant to blink.
To return requires an unknown path and a light worth finding.
Without sense of purpose there is no bus running...
Chantell Wild Mar 14
smoke gets in my eyes
wetness watering the ashes
I rub it between my fingers
there's nothing left
it dissolves into my skin
everything I had, gone
the fireman's hose
waters the flames
fires do as they must
from ashes to ashes
and dust to dust
life will reemerge
they say,
a small green shoot
bending towards
the morning sun
and my tears
will make it grow
it will become a tree
and I will become me again.
Allison Mar 5
Here is to the girls
Who tell their stories,
Not for the fame
But to help with the pain
Here, is to the girls.

Here is to the girls
Who are so weak
They fall to their knees
And pray, as they seek
For a way to find peace
With what happened
Here, is to the girls.

Here is to the girls
Who are scared
Of the future
Because of the past
Have no fear
The past doesn’t last
Here, is to the girls.
two roses-
growing in the same bush-
surviving off the same soil-
growing into something beautiful-
becoming something greater-
growing as one

the sun-
shining bright upon them-
encouraging their growth-
lighting up their future-
calming their senses-
kindling the passionate affair-
moving them closer together-
more intimate and dear

the sun neglects its obligation to one of the roses-
refusing a light source for the bloom-
leaving it wilted and begging for nutrients-
brown and fragile-
dying as the sun proceeds to rise over the other rose

the second rose continues growing along with the sun-
in spite of the downfall of the latter-
almost mocking the lesser decaying bloom-
because it has a source of light encouraging its growth-
safe and sound-
not giving any pity to the rotting flower beside it-
soaking up its own source of light-
and not sharing any rays with the decaying blossom-
rendering it useless and unwanted

the selfishness of the one rose-
refusing to share its sunshine with the latter-
results in solely one rose-
instead of two roses
stop taking my light, i want to grow, too
vera Feb 19
how do i describe the feeling of that january morning? the serenity of the cool air nipping at my skin, while the chilled lake water rocked the wooden dock beneath me. i took the peaceful walk from the house to the lake barefoot. the coolness emanating from the cobblestone seeped into the soles of my feet.
      i walked down the winding pathway and allowed my eyes to scan over the greenery that flanked me on both sides. tulips and lavender flowers blooming in the cold air. mulch filled the area around grass and flowers, keeping them protected and safe. bees kissed flowers and mingled as i strolled passed. how beautiful and tranquil a scene i was honored to witness.
      i dragged ironically eager feet over wobbly brown planks on route to the dock ahead. i felt water sway aggressively beneath my feet as a boat raced past the dock. a glimpse of a small hand waving graced my vision with the passing of the boat. my balance fumbled, but my mentality stayed steady. when i finally lowered myself onto the wooden box on the edge of the dock, the warmth of my coffee finally began to soak into my palms.
      my eyes continued to glaze over the scene before me, and for the next few moments, i felt the serenity of the universe consume my entire begin. after sixteen years, a moment of fulfillment. finally at home.
      the sun sent droplets of his sunlight down to caress the lake and offer her the gentlest of kisses. the droplets glistened off of the lake´s ripples and flirted with the water. they danced and bounced upon the lake until she shone so brightly it was hard to look directly at her. as the two became familiar, i felt the sun retreat. his light slowly faded away and his kisses disappeared all together.
      as the hours passed and he was seated back upon his throne, the lake was left empty, deserted. her sadness did not go unnoticed, the wind understood her pain, so she picked up and pulled us both out of our trance.
      the lake was offered the kinder kiss of the moon, and she accepted. the fainter light and the lighter kisses became what kept her whole. there was a air of mystery surrounding him and the lake soaked it up. he became her new lifesource, she found something that kept her going.
      me, i received my sustinance from writing this poem.
- based on a true story
Dawn Jan 23
We cling and attach to anyone who stabilizes;
sway in the wind wistfully high as dandelion seeds carry.
We plant ourselves in the ground for survival, but some make the mistake of planting into others.
Our survival relies on those we feed on. Dependent and Fastened. My skin adhered to the thick of your heart.

Why do we deem it necessary to grab fistfuls of each others flesh?
Our instinct reminds us that we are grains of sand when not connected in tandem with one another. We rather starve than feel alone.

Id rather starve and strain every cell of myself.
Breathing seems difficult as your absence weighs heavily on my chest. I cant tell if i'm a lost grain of sand floating along seeding dandelions or if i'm rooted and heaving.
Either way seems unbearable without you.

But in your absence, instead of clinging onto flesh, instead of treating myself as adhesive and surviving for the sake of your breath;

I am living with the pain you made.
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