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Sarah Maher Jun 2018
To the "friend" with the ratty red hair.
How dare you say that I was the one who was unfair?
Did I not provide shelter for you to lay your head at night?
Why are you always wanting to start a fight?
You are the one who disrespected me.
All I asked was for you to pay a small fee.
I don't know why I have chosen to rhyme.
This will probably be the very last time.
I am confident enough to say our season of friendship has probably come to an end.
I thought you were actually my very best friend.

I WAS WRONG.
undefined May 2018
we are past apologies
we are past 'new starts'
with flesh baring scars
and a bloodied heart
there's something i have to say

i wronged you

you stuck by me
never once lifted
your power above me.
i was showered with
bliss- material, or not.
your tshirts, your heart
it was all mine.

i wronged you

you stuck by me
stood up for me
when the world
cracked down its whip
you lifted me up from
the ground that bore
nothing but pain for me.

i wronged you

you stuck by me
when i became the devil
i had been running from
all my life.
i feared my reflection
in the mirror but you
kissed my lips everyday.

i wronged you

you stuck by me
i did not stick by you
for you, it was about us.
for me, it was about me.
i've been stuck in myself
all along.

untangling these memories
and wishing i could make amends
going back to that summer
for which i'd always pray never to end.

we are past apologies
we are past 'new starts'
with flesh baring scars
and a bloodied heart
there's something i have to say:
*i wronged you.
لگتا ہے کچھ نہیں بچا
so
sorry

she cut herself with an ***** bottle
her birth date
on
her
thigh
slipped
on
through
her ******
pools

drags her hand
down my chest
smell
of
*****

on
her
breath
baby
you
no
I
love you best

we wiped her last kiss

as she finished

cutting

her

flesh

we loved her through

her foggy morning

***** mess

she

fell from that star


think she knows who's watching her fall

we are
?











...
..
.
title me
...
..
.
Brianna Duffin Jan 2018
I had a teacher once-
Actually, I had him for four years straight-
Who wasn’t quite like the others.
I hated testing with him.
He insisted it had to be individual,
So he could really know everything he had to know about us.
It’s only a few times every couple months
But still, it’s a nightmare no one is ready to endure
He’d take you into a teeny, tiny room
Lock the door. Lock the windows.
Pull all the shades down.
It’s very important you be alone, in a cocoon of privacy.
And you have to make music for him;
You never know what he’ll ask for
But once he asks you always have to do it,
Exactly how he likes it.
Even if how he likes it really isn’t right.
He calls you “darling”, “honey”, “dear”
But you know he doesn’t love you like he pretends to
Because it gives you chills, and not in a good way,
When he strokes your back or touches your shoulder or arm
He always has to be making eye contact with your chest
But that isn’t why none of the boys ever have to test.
All the girls get it though, have to wait in line for it
He stretches the process out so it takes weeks to burn through all the girls
I think he likes that none of them have a way of escaping;
I didn’t escape until right before I reached high school.
But I still call myself one of the luckier ones
Because most of his girls still haven’t escaped testing.
The tests will be extra long today. “We’re halfway to goodbye”, he’ll say.
“A lot to do today,” he’ll tell them. “You can’t escape this, line on up.”
He controls what you wear and how you stand,
He guides your arms, so they only go where he wants them to.
That tiny room is a prison, and I’m so lucky I escaped.
But the story will not end as long as I’m alive.
It was a few months after I set myself free.
I was walking down the street, feeling much happier than my 14 years.
And it felt like the world was pretty and fine.
Until I walked past a group of boys who thought I was pretty and fine.
They swooped in, catcalls aplenty;
I ignored them. Outrage.
They grabbed me.
And by time I was alone again, boys nowhere to be seen,
It felt like nothing was fine,
And everyone was a predator
And it forced me to dwell on the facts
That I don’t feel brave or strong anymore and…
That I don’t know where the old me ran off to and…
And…
That I’m not fine anymore.
Who are these people?

I baked them bread. I made them welcome
And they left **** and ***** on my lovely carpet.
They smiled as they stole my Gramma’s silver teapot
They pulled down the curtain in my dressing room
And mopped the bathroom floor with it

They each got a Jeep in ’59, parlayed it
To a better place to be and live
And perfect superior attitudes that
delegate those with rounded eyes
To the lonely space beneath contempt.

Who are these people?

I learned their songs and sang along
But they stole my record player
And sold it for a dollar ten
And gave me only half the money
Saying that was all they got.

They rob their kids of childhood games
To run the shop and study hard
To be the best at everything
And social mores and etiquette
Are something for the native born.

Who are these people?

I helped them when I saw a need
And never got a thank you
I smiled when they pushed me aside
To reach the goodie table first
And take the biggest piece.

They piously bow heads to pray
On entering a holy place
(That serves as Country Club)
To listen to the words of God
And leave to serve the devil.

Who are these people?

They are the winners in an evil game
A hive that can’t be overcome
I watch myself go down in flame
And wait for justice to be won.
                      ljm
Two more weeks until I am unemployed and I turn my lawyer loose on them for the back overtime they don't know they'll owe me.
she
To her friends, she is the angel created to save
To her lovers, she is the demon built to ****
But only a piercing true man enough to be brave
Can see she is an angel made by the devil
Ako Jun 2017
One day,
There was a man
Dancing gracefully
Beneath an azure sky

He was an angel,
To every living being
That paint his body
With a red color

He was a joy
Living in a man,
No other jester bested
The way he laughs

Beneath it all,
Is a wandering soul
In a world full of foul
(A wandering body)
(A wandering shell)

Beneath the mask,
A mask where his eyes
Tell what the hidden color
They have painted,
Is a burst of erratic pain,
A holocaust,
A disastrous despair,
Misery, sorrow, anger, suffering,
Any devil has wrought upon him.

And... the mask fell...
He is a shell...
Leigh Marie Aug 2016
You were tomorrow's promise
cause knowing you'd be in my future
helped me get through today

But you left
Then tip toed back
only for a second

So now, I don't know if
you'll be there when the sun comes up
Or if someone else will be waiting to tangle in my sheets

I heard you wrapped yourself in her the way you once did with me
Is that what you call a goodbye?
Jem Tatlonghari Aug 2016
Had he been proud of you
all these summers, all these years
had he walked you home holding your hand for everyone to see? Had he been taking you to the beach, proud to hold the corners of your waist? Had he worked hard for this girl you gave him for him to deserve her everything?
So does he really love you more than the blinds closed in his windows,
more than the sheets to cover you under, more than the ****, the kisses, the passion of cravings, does he really show the love as he say. As he says "I love you". Had he really dedicated all the sweetness to calling you Sweetie? Or he's a sugar coated guy with plastic gloves and masks in advertisement of a sweet temptation to a diabetic?



(j.t)
for Y.U
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