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Danielle Jun 2018
Ravens dance upon highwires.
Flashing pinwheels spinning in their beaks.
The merry-go-round grinds,
Its rusted gears, squealing into the wind.
Book pages whirl and fly off into the sky.
The fox’s cry to the butterfly
Went unheard in this whitewashed night.
Probably going to end up re-writing this for a fourth time, but for now it's good enough to post on here and see what kind of feed back I get for it.
Rose Aug 2017
I’m the sand at dawn, quiet and alone.
I’m cold and untouched.

A shift in the moon and then the waves come.
And those waves, they crash.
Leaving salt in my hair, in raw deep cuts.
I’m a slave to the current, a gravitational mass.

Beautiful to watch when you're high and dry,
But what happens when you're wet behind the ears.
What happens when it cuts off your supply,
Leaves you whitewashed with salted fears.

And i’ve been held under, I know that feeling
Is it the water or tears i’m choking on?

I’ve felt that water in my lungs, cold as ice
But i also know, We never stand in the same water twice.
The Wordsmith Jul 2015
These whitewashed walls scream out my discontent,
The faces of inmates line the corridors, impassive and unimpressed,
I bang on steel locker doors, but I hardly make a dent,
My words are not replied to, and my screams go answered,
It doesn't matter though, they are silent screams of aid,
They resound through these hallways like the echoes of a gale,
The cold of locker steel is an ever foreboding constant.
They line the hallways, like the vigilant sentinels of a jail,
And I can help but think, how familiar the two seem to be,
And how in one a perfect illusion is created, of being free,
These whitewashed walls are filled to the brim,
With students and inmates, angels and demons alike,
Teachers and wardens stalk these halls, hidden behind their hollow faces,
Bullies and inmates swarm these halls, hidden behind unfamiliar faces,
In these whitewashed walls, there are blackened souls and empty holes,
Holes where hearts used to be, and coal where souls used to be,
These whitewashed walls are alive, and they bear witness to it all,
And here these whitewashed walls remain, through our rise and our fall.
This poem was to try and show the similarity between school and prison by gross exaggeration. Leave a comment on how it can be improved. I'm open to criticism.
steven Jul 2014
My culture betrayed me at birth,
Abandoned me on the West Coast
And stripped the heritage from my
Rosy red tongue
                                       the Cali sun
Kissing my ****** skin, carefully, softly,
Wrapping me in her white bed sheets
Calling me one of her own.

— The End —