I always thought I knew what cologne smelled like.
It was harsh and made my eyes water and nose burn.
All I knew is that my dad wore it religiously.
I always thought my dad wore cologne.
I was ten years old when I learned what whiskey smelt like.

I was sixteen years old when I took my first sip of whiskey.
It was weak, mixed with diet coke, but it still left my throat burning.
I never liked the taste, but when I brought the cup to my nose and smelt the bitterness and I saw the eyes of my father, I knew that the smell was so much worse.
It was that moment when I understood why people drank to forget.

That night I closed my eyes and I saw the black label of Jack Daniels Whiskey, I saw the long brown paper bags that my dad hid in the cupboards, I saw the coke cans littered around our trash can.

I was too young to understand, but with whiskey running through my own veins I connected each individual dot like each sign a constellation.

I set the cup down and winced.
My friends laughed, of course.
They didn’t know.
They’d never even guess.
They probably thought I was a lightweight, a girl who couldn’t even handle a sip of whiskey.
I smiled, too.

I don’t think I’ll ever drink whiskey again.

lily Dec 7

Don't tell me you love me
for the weight of love
crushes my skull
and love will have a bad taste in my mouth
for my life that i have not yet to live
so do me a favor and never
tell me you love me.

Charlotte Dec 4

In English,
we’re learning about
Winston and Julia
in 1984, but
it’s 2017
all I want to study is

I want to study less
about the
control and freedom
Big Brother has
and more about
the calculation of your

I want to study the way
your knuckles could be an
infant’s home, small
hands reaching out
longing for you
or the way the veins in
your arm makes abstract art,
beautiful enough to be showcased
in any gallery.

I understand now why they say
“as pretty as a painting.” Because
you’re as timeless and
breathtaking as
Mona Lisa.

And your blue iris's,
swirl with dark and light
tones with a slight
a golden glint,
I could stare into them for longer
than any
Starry Night.

I’m just better suited to an art class.
I want to learn the primaries
so I can swirl them all together and
get your dark brown hair.
I want to add the most expensive
white, so I can paint the
faint freckles on your nose and

I want to mix blue and red adding water
until the colour is a perfect match
for the faintest birthmark
on your shoulder.

Instead of the History of Russia,
I want to learn the History
of you.
I want to learn what makes you smile
and what makes you cry.

I want to study you,  
I use each brush stroke to
perfect your skin,
each pen writes down
notes until
I have a whole book
full of each heartbreak,
so I can learn a lesson
in you.

Bina Perino Nov 27

There weren’t many lights
In our neighborhood, but cars
Stacked along the curbs.
They melted into asphalt
After the sun sinks into backyards.
That was when the bikes ran--
Their wheels turning at the will
Of a bloodshot-eyed-teen-ager--
Looking for a fix to snort
Or smoke, no street lights
To guide his primal desire.
One girl melted into the cars
And another let them drown her,
Both with tar filled lungs,
Both covered in metallic gasoline,
Both still girls gasping for air.
He pedals on, itching with his
Chalk covered hands at his addiction.
Ironic neighborhood watch signs
Stare vacantly into dark streets,
Lit by cigarettes and cellphones.

his words are black and red and vomit green
his train of thought's route's picturesque --
but utterly obscene
i know nothing's drawn him to me
beyond pairs of scarlet cheeks and 34Ds

the opportunist strikes; sniffing out and scouting
the internal court case of "when the moment's right"
vs "who else could possibly want me?"

innocence and uncharted thighs
the rarity of a body that might not say 'no'
and maybe i'm a cock-tease for leaping to my senses
but quite frankly, he'll always be a toad

shoutout to Those Dudes™ whose come-ons i almost can't reject because it simultaneously makes my skin crawl and is mildly gratifying. welcome to adolescence and not being used to sexual attention because you grew up unattractive and bordering on obese
Caleb Stevens Nov 21

Butterflies are mysterious creatures,
They choose where they want to go.
Every time I see you,
They seem to be alive in me.

Please follow my page so you can see all my poems and to let me know people like them :)
Jobira Nov 19

I’m so deep in,
she’s far out of sight
She watches me deceitfully,
As lonesome breaks my heart.

She falls so deep in,
there comes my turn-
for I’m so far gone,
A silly, teenager love game,
starts all over again.

@jobiranyc (11/18/2017)

Just a scribble.

Who did the dicks?
I'm wanting to know
             Was it Chrysta or Alex
   Or someone unknown?
            27 dicks chilled my spine to the bone
                  I've seen less dicks on porn sites that I surf when alone

        Evidence was prevalent at the High School and the class fool was pinned as the guy
           Peter and Sam then planned to document everything to figure out who and why

          I won't spoil specifics cause that wouldn't be slick
     I'll let you peruse through a plot so thick
       Keep your eyes open watch for clues in the mix
       And ask yourself this question:

         Who Did The Dicks?

Inspired by the Netflix Original: American Vandal. A mockumentary style true crime drama you should check out.
mk Nov 14

it's dark
and a little cold
you can feel
winter kissing
the air

the stairs
are made
of steel;

we are intoxicated
i am tipsy
you are drunk

we're laughing

my shirt
off my shoulder
your eyes
glow in
the dark
as you throw
back your head

i tease you
by licking your straw
and think of how the
would taste so
much better
off your

you tease me
playing with
my glasses
my leg

"try me"
i say
i am trying
act like i am
bigger than
my body
i am playing
a game
you are a
king of

"oh, really?"
breath is
on my
and i can feel
the heat in
the cold winter
i can
see your
they are brighter
than the stars
in the black sky

we looked at each other
a little too long
to be
"just friends"

- always loved that quote -
lily Nov 12

pardon my lackluster appearance
and my abrupt inherence
but i heard this is what love is like
and i urn for a soupçon

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