Lanina 1d
Everyone seems to be complaining we aint doing ****,
But when we do step up, you say we're too young for it.
Treating us like we don't know the issues.
Acting like it isn't all over the news.
We're all living in a world that’s trying to silence our voices.
People looking at us sideways when we're making bold choices.
Choosing to speak on all the topics people stray from,
Got suicide, addiction, shootings, depression, sickness, and some.
All of us becoming way too familiar with all this loss.
Accepting it’s a part of life not giving it any thoughts.
It's time to stop saying we're too young for this.
This is something you really don't want to miss.
The fact is: it can't only be one.
So shut your mouth and help get things done.
Sent away by *** to die, lowly, wretched, unloved
Driven away in droves of youth, beaten, broken, and shoved
To stand apart, is a defiant act, means to justify the end
Scars and bruises are ours to bear, to hold, to cherish, to bend
I cannot recall exactly when this poem was written, but I know it was written shortly after I had begun studying poetry in general. It's relatively short, and, in My opinion, resonates well with the battered youth of our world today. I hope You enjoy it's message. *** bless

-Carl
Branched pearl with a swift.
Beyond the scope of the shade of white;
Dazzle the eyes of those without.
Their limited minds fail to comprehend;
Most enticing yet so delicate
To the touch.
The knowing must watch in empathy.
The obviously perfect beauty,
So soon to diminish
In to the utmost depression
Of tar.
Not everything lasts forever
Persistence

sometimes i feel like falling down
but only. cause standing up is boring
why am i storming though a season where leaves fall
cause that's norming
bonds break but tears freeze and that's how crystals keep forming

i should test myself
see what i can find
in the life of my time
or at least what i've been prescribed

to put it honestly to wish is to dream
and that is to put it modestly
but to live is to rip your skin from your body
because comfort is a sad commodity
a place holder for
what you're meant to be
but that's placing your bets on destiny
and that's still a dangerous place to me

reach for the stars or
at least set your eyes on a planet that's not ours
maybe mars
that was predictable but it rhymed so
sorry if i'm presenting my ideas as cliche
or despicable
at least i can decipher what i know is unforgivable
a prison is a person who's microsoft-able

but that's just my angst creating a villain
vaporizing vixens are vain to the core
but the haze of pain is still in
only cause that's what they tell me when i want more
more than a ******* juul i'm
too cool to care about my health
cause the moment is now right, until i have to worry about wealth
for my family or my chemical dependence it makes me wince i mean i just want health insurance sorry i'm not used to the governments idea of
assurance
but jesus christ
one nation under ***
kids get shot for
mowing the ******* lawn
what kind of world are we living in
**** is fueling the patriarchy for the worser
if a fertilized egg is a candidate for “******”
every single guy walks a around wearing ******* or kappa
donald trump doesn’t drink
pops percocets and ******

i'm swimming and drowning and i need assistance
but it begs the question of thoughts that fester in an enemy
i'm sorry, i know that's not fitting my opinion of the human existence
but why am i creating an enemy when all my life has promised me is the empty shell of persistence
Xallan 2d
Their youth has not grown old, not yet
tired, only their age
because their numbers don't add up
They is too big or too small, for this
body or this mind
they cannot be sure
Assurances is not a class they can take

after absolutism was abolished with the sun
uncertainty guides them
and they let it

What they loves is the night, and they
loved their day, and they loves the breath of life
They is not one here for adventure, but seeking it
They finds joy in the sound of silent heartbeats
and in the glow of closed store window lights
and coffeeshops and money not well spent
in excuses and experiences
down aisles and between crowds
of excessively loud and side-eyed people
infused with unseen smoke and voices
that hang in the air

in pointless conversations
about self-care and self-hatred and self-acceptance
because connection does not happen
with shared cables or hugs or fingertips

it's gotta be the craniums
tuned in to the same radio color
They smile at the time lost
and the temperature fluctuations
at warmth and unread newspapers
at insulating their takeout with their poor choices
even drinking forbidden coffee at 10 at night
vintage or handmade thrills
They laugh at the idolatry of merchandise
and the idolatry of spirituality and religion
even as they bow to the ground for their ***
 
and they pray

listening to his ears for revelation
or any enlightenment left in his neurons
Input without limitation, and enjoy now
all of it is a distraction from the restriction
from the wrong place and wrong time

from the wrong skin
concealed by binding clothing, huff, huff
They inhales the world, and all the kindness but
only to exhale carbon dioxide

and that is the breath of life
This is my youth,
These are the days I am beautiful-
And only for a minute.
What do I do with it?
Waste,
As most do.
How dreadfully average of me.
Suddenly, I understand it all.
Yet the world is a mystery and I am lost in it.

Ages are a time and emotion.
13 is mid afternoon. Lagging and energetic.
15 is the morning sun. Rising groggy and regretful.

17? 17 is the night.
17 is the span between 11-1.
When you aren't wild yet but things are certainly different.
17 is the city lights and no seatbelt.
17 is the teenage cliché,
shadowed by the unknown of what is to come.

17 is crying in the hallways and stargazing on the lawn.
17 is having a bottle of ***** under the bed,
but being too scared to drink it.
17 is Ribs and loneliness,
As you watch the night slip away and the knowledge hits you that you now have to wait for morning.

17 is the unknown.
17 is taking risks.
Not because you are brave,
but because you don't have anything left to give.
17 is to be lost,
but to be okay with that.

17 is slowly coming down from the high of growing up,
Reflecting on all you have lived,
As you patiently wait for your life to begin.
Written at a very strange time of self-awareness, when you are helpless, but the world is expected from you.
People say that
because I'm young
I haven't felt
I haven't experienced
I haven't learned
I couldn't possibly know
pain and anguish
but there's a chance
I've gone through more
than they ever will
and in that case
they shouldn't tell me
what they think
I should and shouldn't
understand
kk 4d
I’ve kept you in my head so long
That the walls of my mind
Are painted with colors from the day we met:
Clouds scattered against the bluest sky
I had ever seen.

The floor is littered with poetry
Some of the finest I’ve ever written.
On the side is a locked box
With a barely closed lid.
Inside are the words I have yet
Spoken and said.
And they will stay
Unspoken and unsaid.
I  sit across the cold box
With my back pressed against the wall
Reminding myself that it’s time
To let it turn to dust.

Your voice won’t stop echoing
From the record player in the corner.
Dents on its side and
A fire under it
That refuses to engulf
The oil I spread.

The door in the back leads into a room.
Puddles of tears littered across the floor.
The record is barely audible as I approach
The center,
Which despite the pain and memories,
Still beats.
One day, I will be strong enough to paint the walls white.
Zywa 6d
Bruises on my hips
from a growth spurt, long days
of practising my brains
and always cycling against the wind
in the winter over polder ice

A doctor's prescription
with jealous eyes of my sisters
who also want to eat sweet
cream every day, but then
they'd have to grow faster

make long days of practising their brains
and always cycle against the wind
in the winter over polder ice
(for their future, for themselves –
..the party will be later)
Collection “Bruises”
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