Be Bold.
Be unapologetic, be true to yourself
Publish stuff, even if you think it's bad
Evenif you've made mistaks

Because although you might not like it
Others will

Because what we often forget
is that there are 7 Billion and 399 people
who haven't read your poem yet
And who have different opinions
(and that's only the number from 2016);

dear me in the 8th grade-

you haven’t even realized you like like boys yet.
you haven’t realized that all of those gay jokes are about you
so they don’t hurt your feelings, yet.
you haven’t seen what it’s like to be labeled as something, and also that the same label happens to be what everyone will know you as.
you didn’t realize that accepting yourself a lot sooner would’ve saved you a lot of memories you’d prefer to forget.

dear me in the 11th grade-

you’ve realized that after dating so many girls,
something just wasn’t really right.
you couldn’t pin-point it so you just ignored it.
maybe you thought love just wasn’t for you.
it wasn’t until that car ride with dad that you understood why everything was so confusing.
“be honest with me kid, are you gay?”
“oh ****...”
it was something that hadn’t even crossed my mind.

dear me in my 3rd year of college-

you’re definitely gay.
you’re challenged by the fact that you can’t hold your boyfriends hand in public the same way that your sisters and their boyfriends can.
you hate that dating through apps like
grindr and tinder seem to be the
best way to find “love”.
however, you love the fact that you now know exactly who you are, and you are unapologetic.

She won't like
what I've got to say,
Well, should have
behaved a better way,
now I'm here,
feeling my best
and I have no regrets,
tell the girl bye
because I won't cry.

I'm unapologetic,
her act, so pathetic,
she messed with a bad *****,
turned apathetic I'm
moving on to ****,
unapologetic.

And now she better
walk that other way,
better have nothing to say,
the tables have turned,
left her to burn.
You better walk that other way,
because there's nothing
left to salvage,
you messed with a savage *****
and I won't be
providing no bandage,
I've moved on, unapologetic.

- Crimsyy

**A/N: This is what occurs when someone messes with a savage poet. Here's a hint: you won't get away with it. Thankyou for reading! What do you think of this poem?

I am not made of metal.
It does not take
             immeasurable strength
                                           to put       cracks       in me
I bend
                  and I
break
                                 and I
do so quite easily.

I am not ashamed of this.

                                              I will no
                                               longer
                                                allow
                                               myself
                                                to be
                                          the iron bars
                              You think guard my heart.

I will flow like river,
And sway like branches of trees.
                   I will dance,
and you will see
               I am not this unflinching thing
you have created me to be.

Bittersweet lime-flavoured love
An apparition, a ghost, a face I think of
A mere shadow without definition or name
A hopefulness for the fulfilment of why I came.
Stretching into the ghetto of my mind
Is a body, a shape, a stencil of who may be mine
Reaching against the wicked hands of time
Yet never grasping; a drop of sugar, a cup of lime

Down on my knees with my hands clasped tight in prayer
And my will alone shakes the foundation, yet no one appears
Errant tendrils of loneliness grip at my rotting soul and heart
And the rejection, and the hurt, and the hope tears me apart.
I am now a sinister, cynical shell of who I used to be
And I plead, I beg the monotony to set me free
As I am suffocating on the slimmest sliver of a wish
My head turned upwards, lips waiting for a kiss.

Whether love, or like, or grudging intimacy
So be it, for I need it, and whatever else it may be
Thus, I will wait by the water's edge where the waves are violent
I'll wait at the volcano's peak, before it erupts, when all is quiet.
I'll hang to a fraying rope placed miles above solid ground
I'll stand at the edge of a tall building and dizzy myself looking down
Until someone, or something, arrives from somewhere to extend my time
Until the taste finally fades: a drop of the sweetest sugar, a cup of bitter lime.