"I want to be happy."
"Content woman."
"Successful."
"have a rich husband."

every teen girl's dream,
when asked what the future holds;
what happened to unicorn fantasies,
and our hearts of gold?

now instead of golden hearts,
we want men with trust funds and charm.

turning a cold shoulder to our true selves,
yet complaining about rude names,
when called ****** who're only after wealth.


why do we do this to ourselves?
we're so capable,
yet we'd rather lean on,
somebody who mistreats us,
and doles out small amounts,
of love and care;
we try so terribly hard,
to grasp on,
onto that slippery piece of feeling,
and when it leaves,
we're put back into that pit of empty,
pitch black and dull,
until they come back when they want us,
but we're still left wanting for more.

so, please.
learn from the story of millions.
stories of girls,
with so much potential.
don't force yourself to be content,
when you can bargain for more,
then,
only then,
can we step up the ladder,
to be even to those,
who jeered and mocked,
and took advantage,
of our kind hearts.


                                                              -YYC

There's always more to it than meets the eye.
Two flowers behind the fence house a million stories,
Insurmountable for all to tell by.
For some it's just two unnoticible flowers,
For some it's the cradle of spring,
For some it's imagery of prison,
For some it's lovers in their haven,
For some it's forbidden opportunities,
For some it's consequence of a strife,
For some it's an offering to a loved one,
For some it's just the cycle of life.

Steam in the Valley
See how the pretty valley stream sparkles
Little twinkling lights daylight angels
Everything natural about this beauty

An event after the rain
Sun illuminate
Magical properties

Take a walk on the bank soak it all up
No rush nor hurry just a pause
A moment just for you

Few know of this stream
You’d call it yours
But its nature’s wonder

As are the verdant trees
With succulent fruit
And ****** landscape of desires

There are days when the music is too loud
And the grass looks too green
There are mornings when the **** crows too proud
And mama's cheerful wakeup call sounds too mean

There are days when my dreams seem too blury
When past nightmares seem too scary
There are mornings when my goals are too high
And my arms are too tired to reach for anything but the nigh

There are days when my head is too heavy to lift
When even my eyelids are too heavy to lift
There are mornings when my eyelashes are forced to sweep
My cheeks and be drenched in the tears I weep

There are days when I wake up and wish I had stayed asleep
Remembering how I didn't sleep last night counting sheep
The drowsy feeling of last night lapses into the insomnia of today
And the dreams of yesteryear bounce off my head like a faded light ray

Only on those days when the sweet music doesn't speak to my soul
And the green of the grass might as well be grey,
Do I shamefully and pitifully wallow
In the sweet, sticky, dry tears on my pillow

Only on those mornings when the **** crows continuously, monotony its tone
And mama calls for me to wake up, a few hours after my first wink, in a
voice that's a slow, dull, monotone
Do I shamefully and pitifully wallow
In the sweet, sticky, dry tears on my pillow

Miss Fit

my words are used to having a destination -
a conversion rate,
      a like-to-click ratio,
              a saved post across timelines.
my words are used to being weighed
in golden showers of praise
by would-be strangers,
by eyes almost in a daze
from the internet and its dangers;
my words are more than happy
to be forgotten the next day -
they get that from me.

what happens when your words
fail to tip the scales
in any direction?
what happens when measuring fails,
and the mercy of others
is your only salvation?
what happens when your words decide
that their life is not one worth living?

if a heart breaks
and bleeds words onto a paper,
but no one reads them,
did it really break?

if words spill onto a page,
but no one saw them being spilt,
was a poem even written?

A Poem about “The Justice in Self Love” By Marley Fritel


Someone around you finds justice in haste.
Emotions of yours justify where they're placed.
Leave it to justice to fiddle with games.
Forcing one's will to conform to its fate.

Lead on mournful son, bring justice on home.
Obstacles gleam like most polished of chrome.
View, and greet others as friend before foe.
Even justice hesitates when it need be bestowed.