Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Zywa Mar 5
If I behave, I can participate
half as a half-grown as if
it were fun in that world
on its head that thinks it can

cheer me up with a smile, kid
the best time of your life...
Cynics! Down with them! Down with fake!
I have square shoulders

just wait, I'm beating
the drum, I'm in
the hangout
about to

They have been hanging
for so long that their brains turn
everything around, having no idea
what's real, what's fake
Tarot: the Hanged Man
Collection "Migration"
Zywa Mar 5
Exploring the world,

you better not be afraid --

of getting lost there.
Composition "Verdwaald tussen de noten" for piano ("Lost among the notes", 2021, Gözde Köse [born in 2008], arranged by René van Münster for eight cellos) performed by the Cello Octet in the Meervaart Theatre in Amsterdam on November 25th, 2023

Collection "Migration"
Anais Vionet Sep 2023
You’ve probably seen them everywhere,
the grinning, happy, carefree teenagers,
mere children really.

I’m not a teenager anymore.
I started missing it last week,
because I knew I was losing it,
like a lover at the moment of separation.

Have I lost the fantastic glow of youth?
Maybe shrug
I know I’ve lost a lot of excuses,
“She’s just a teenager,” they used to say.

Well, they can’t say that after today.
‘Cause I’m a twenty-year-old
or am I a twenty-something?
I can’t wait to read the manual.

20, God, I feel so grown up.
xjf Aug 2023
A promiscuous note
floats across the table
I would conjure the answer, if I were able

Time strenuously stretched past comfortability
Yet I
know your fingers hold the agility
to reply in quickened fashion

Your hands lack the desired passion, they lack the action
A pen stroke holds the balance of hope
But all I got back from you was

Zywa Jun 2023
My diligent half

does homework, my dreaming half --

still lingers with her.
Novel "Terug tot Ina Damman - De geschiedenis van een jeugdliefde" ("Back to Ina Damman - The history of an adolescent love", 1934, Simon Vestdijk), II-1, page 109

Collection "Inmost"
aubrey Dec 2022
there is nothing i love more
than being
a girl
i love the way i speak,
with slang only teenage girls use
i love wearing dainty clothes,
feeling beautiful wearing them
i love collecting,
knick-knacks, records, crystals
above all
i love
the wonder of girlhood
romanticizing my life
perceiving my monotonous existence,
as a life worth writing about
aubrey Dec 2022
there are things im scared of
some insignificant
deep water
being lost
none stand a chance against
my biggest fear

growing up

but all my fears,
seem to have similar concepts
to growing up
how far can i go?
before i come crashing down?
deep water:
how am i supposed to know whats to come?
until i arrive?
being lost:
what is growing up?
if not being lost?
im scared to not be a 16-year-old girl anymore
men have never been my forte.
not even my own father has done me right.
I’ve been hurt over,
and over,
and over again.
told constantly of my beauty,
but never of more.
and you know what?
I thought you were different.
I really did.
I thought you wanted me.
not just for my body, but for my mind as well.
god I wish I had known the truth.
did all those late nights spent talking mean nothing to you?
and how about the times that we kissed?
it seemed like we’d never stop.
I could have sworn you felt something
and that I did too.
now I’m not so sure.
am I just a game for you? is that all I am?
do I really mean that little?
I want the real you,
I want more than just your lips.
I want to see your true colors,
but I seem to be blind:
unable to identify what’s right in front of me.
I don’t know if I love you,
but I don’t want to anymore.
I’m tired of guessing,
and guessing,
and guessing.
I’m tired of this feeling,
but I will never be tired of you.
you, my guilty pleasure,
my forbidden fruit,
my biggest secret…
you are not the sun.
I am.
the last poem written by my heartbroken 15 year old self <3 I am happy to say I am now with someone who loves me the right way.
you looked of sanctity
but tasted of sin.
with your wide eyes of blue
& your porcelain skin.

your lips felt so perfect,
right up against mine.
almost as if we were
old stars aligned.

your words were like honey,
they slipped out so smooth.
& so often you spoke,
there was no interlude.

word after word,
I was spellbound.
kiss after kiss,
feelings unwound.

you removed all my layers;
left me stripped bare.
and all that was left were
strands of blonde hair.

were they yours?
were they mine?
were they merely a figment
of my lovedrunk mind?

till now i’m unsure,
but would I like to know?
we’ll leave this unanswered,
farewell my faux beau.
- another poem I wrote at 15 <3 oh the pain of teenage heartbreak…
one morning I woke,
unaware it would be my last.

not my last morning breathing,
but my last without you
on my mind.

I suppose I am to blame.

I am the one who lit the match,
the one who began the game.

now I’ve lost myself.
lost myself in you.

not just in you,
but in your lies
& your lips
& your arms.

you’re everywhere
& now I’m left to wonder…
where am I?
- a poem I wrote at 15
Next page