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Amanda Jun 19
If love was not hard
It would not be rewarding
Trophies must be earned
It wouldn't be a prize if anyone could win it
Haley Jun 16
Around this time of year,
Everyone is excited for their brand new shining school trophies,
While I’m sitting there,
In silence.

Because I already know what’s coming.
The praise,
The praise,
Even more praise,
About my stupid ******* grades.

I am seen as a number.
It fluctuates,
But it is always higher than a 3.7.

I am only seen as my number,
Nothing more.
I am not seen for my two hard years in improving my voice,
Or how I learned how to play the clarinet in less than a week,
I am not even seen for just being meek.

It’s like affluenza but with grades.
The numbness is still fresh in my brain,
As it is every year.

Because I am just a number.
Its all i will be,
To everybody I will ever meet.
-I wrote this because I am sick and tired of always amounting to my grades, even through my numerous other achievements that has nothing to do with my grades.
Elsie Greek Apr 16
Stick to whatever,
She told me.
Get it wrong, right
Or do not.
Flee to your scarier
Shelter,
One that is easy
To spot.
Drink wines
From glasses
Of doubt,
Worship your
Local canons.
Stretch them
Within and without,
Stan the unpardoned
Of lords.

Having it all
Given to you,
Acting completely
Exposed,
Trophies in pain
Excruciate you:
None of them **** you,
Suppose.
Amelia Sapp Dec 2019
you were a rare specimen,

i wanted to catch you with my words,

paralyze you with my gaze,

dissect you with my tongue,

and stuff you with my love,

i wanted to keep you as a trophy,

but you were wild, and i was eccentric.
Erin Esterberg Aug 2019
In your eyes, I find a map,
And so far it has led me past the stars
Into a galaxy of happiness and joy,
Through my own heart and into yours,
And it has showed me
Our love is a universe,
Expanding and compounding continuously,
Forever.
But this expedition has brought me no treasure to display in my trophy case
And that just wont cut it anymore.
So for now-
I'll just head back up to the stars.
Perhaps I'll find you there too.
OpenWorldView Jan 2019
I exposed my heart.
Love put on a silver plate.
She took her trophy.
Beanie Dec 2018
you think the heads
hung on your wall
define you,
prove your masculine worth.

to me,
they are a warning
to stay far away.

women and animals
are not yours.

we are not yours,
we are not trophies for your wall,
we are not notches for your bedpost,
we are not prizes to be won.

yet you would treat us as such,
equate me and my sisters
with the lion in the savannah,
and reduce us to what you can take.

you would hang us on your wall,
furs and maidenheads,
displaying us as symbols of your prowess.

we do not exist to stroke your ego,
to let you show off to the others,
to have you carry us as the mantle on your shoulders,
the crown upon your head.

our blood,
the lioness and mine,
is on your hands and your walls,
and we will make you regret it.
I wrote this after watching the documentary "Trophy"
There is such a thing
as
the Hollywood Blonde
They all seem to know one another
Each one thinks that
They
Alone
are the most sublime
The most inspirational
The Musiest

Like Water Nymphs
They form their group instinctively
The Hollywood Blonde
And if you are a Brunette, say
Or Chinese
I know one and she has the most magnificent *******
Nevertheless
Irregardless
the facts
The husband and the house
The hotels and private jets
Know
Know that those Hollywood Blondes will do a lot of stuff
Without you dear one
“Sorry” they will shrug
They swim
And dine
And gather together
Luminously
And will let you know
after The Fact
Even movies
Or just returning phone calls

Why do they form the horde?
Perhaps they really are genetically special.
Why do they pride themselves in their isolation?
A mystery still.
Courtesan?
Geisha?
Cheerleader?
Mystery Side-Piece?
Wife?
Ex-wife?
Widow?
Oh yes.
Is it an unknowable path that they are on?
A hero’s quest in a bottle of peroxide?
Applied every three weeks.
I’d like to think so.
I wish that they would share what they know.

But we already know.
A mind is not necessary
although helpful
Chic? No. You can wear anything.
A steady, warrantied beauty?
No
No just hair
the color of wheat
Or a corn tortilla
It’s never spun gold
No matter
What you’ve read.

36
18
33
Are Barbie’s measurements
Can you imagine the pressure.
When the lines appear and it’s over?
Hathere Nov 2018
Bow
I look down on you
From high upon your wall
Gaze fixed by surrender
Trust was my fall
Though the forest did whisper
Still
The curtain called
Jack L Martin Sep 2018
Hanging on the wall, next to my bed post,
A friend of the forest looks surprised, most.
Oh dear, she did not hear the gunshot near,
Nor tree nor hill nor her fawn shed a tear.

Over there, the finest hair of the hare,
Cute and fluffy hopping into my stew.
It's seat is sweet and hard to beat I swear,
Though his hide is gamey and tough to chew.

A sow, a cow is how I eat for now,
I feast on the beasts with the finest meats.
Fresh flesh on my breath, fresh blood on my brow,
Slaughtered, like their daughters; fair market treats.

I feel nothing for these creatures I hunt.
Would you rather feast on the yeast they shunt?
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