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Chloe Apr 17
Your baked cheddar scented hands
and your newly thinned feet
Your trimmed hair strands
and your smile with teeth
I grew you inside,
always my baby you’ll be,
if I can keep you young

A crooked, watchful smile
and shoes on wrong feet
Singing along
and bruises on knees
I’ve known you the longest,
always my baby you’ll be,
if I can keep you young

If you need a hand
walking along an uneven surface
or help falling asleep,
you’ll always know that I’m there
caring so deeply
I grew you inside,
always your mommy I’ll be
If only I could keep you young
Asher Graves Apr 14
Youth—epitome of experience and extremes.
You fall, you seek, you cry, you scream.
You slow down, begin to see the seams—
A vast world quietly opens to you.
You notice the meaning behind the semblance,
And the silence that slowly leaks through.

You finally get the answers you long pursued:
For frustration’s weight, for storms you never understood—
The unexplainable quarrels, the anxious moods.
And at last, you reach the solace you once dreamed.

But—
It’s not the end. It’s not the cure.
This is nowhere close to all your angst, your ache.
“To live is to suffer”—a belief we often mistake.
To live is, was, and always will be to seek—
To validate the silence buried deep beneath.

To let go of the nagging thoughts,
The voice that creeps, claws, and speaks.
Only the brave can release that grip.
It was never meant to be easy—
That’s why it clings,
But trust the process.
You’ll hear the silence—full and complete.

Once you’ve let go of that voice,
That essence of shadow,
No more doubt, no more need to borrow—
You’ll find the peace you sought
Beneath the drought of noise
That once left you hollow.

Yes, I know your agony, your sorrows.
But brave warrior, you’ve found it at last—
The real you,
Untainted.
Unburdened.
Unbound.
                                                          -Asher Graves
wrote it a while ago. was going though something.
neth jones Apr 14
Look at you   all pantsy Fants and dah Dee la
Itching your teeth  drying your eyes   Wiring Some Cash
       and clicking your camara
                        a baby aimed for the world at large
                                   reformed gormless
                             and clean for fresh intelligence

Look at you   all lancing the breeze and cancer free
Bewitching the trials of your enemies  
financed and careering
a duchess with ease
on the leash of some tremendous villainy
09/03/25
Talented young poets are in short supply,
So what shame it is to see a talent die.
I see the sparkle fade,
Disenchanted by doubt.
Please keep writing,
We are in need.
Art doesn't need correction, it needs improvement, innovation.
Saanvi Apr 4
Dusk paints the hillside in a subtle orange glow, the colour so warm
it reminds me of a summer long ago..
It was only yesterday that we were playing with each other,
now we listen to the kids laughing in the park.
Dusk paints the hillside in a subtle orange glow,
It reminds me of the last exam on a Thursday or Friday so,
We were growing up with each line we wrote with our pens,
Filling the blank answer sheets,
Listening to the kids free and wild screaming outside
brought back memories of innocent childhood life.
The sound of glee was from somewhere nearby,
Yet I still couldn't trace its source.
Maybe it was my younger self blessing me with her glow.
It faded away as I stapled my sheets,
The fate was then forever sealed,
and now the sky is turning blue.
So what? Golden wheat ripened in the fields stands tall...
A blazing summer awaits me, youth is still to be lived.
So what if childhood is forever over,
We were in that cramped exam hall, writing our names on our sheets,
Painting our futures with ink bruises on our skin.
Dusk covers the sky in a beautiful tangerine,
Reminding me of eating oranges
Grandma peeled for me
while the afternoon silence went on and on
like life often does...
Nights will linger in Nostalgia,
perhaps I will fall in love with a stranger...
Of course I will,
it's my first summer of freedom.
The sun is setting on a glorious day,
somewhere it's the beginning,
somewhere it's an ending.
In my story, it's an ending with the beginning.
Dusk paints the hillside in a subtle orange glow.....an ode to my past present and future self...
Meggi Mar 31
There is an old man’s walker beside the baby’s pram on the bus
There is something somewhere that is profound in that
I should think of time and cycles and the round about life
Of cradles and coffins
Of metal holding the body
There is a walker beside a pram on the bus
I think of baby shoes
Of my grandmothers slippers
Of my ******* boots  
Of the round about life
Ahlam Mar 30
The freckles covered her face
Her smile drew lines darker than mine
She sat beside me , giggling and talking about a time
When she was still blooming just as I am right now
When she wanted to climb and dive
And when she played and laughed with people that now aren't but a distant memory
Some of them died some are too busy thinking about what food they should make for tonight
She described youth like a dime that will loose its value and disappear once time fly.
She then looked at me and said, that I'm not blooming the right way
That my petals are opening up too quick,  
And that I'm too focused making them pretty and pink
She fears they'll fall before spring
because to her beauty is strength, and it's root is time
Now I'm confused and afraid
Afraid that time will win the race
That I wouldn't have stories to tell
That I'll lose what I have now all because of fear and doubt
And the absurdity of the youth's mind
Carlo C Gomez Mar 29
~
This forbidden city
walks on water,
keeps all the undesirables at bay,
it's always a balancing act.

Oh, blighted court
of Catherine the Great,
thy friends are having a hard time,
but horsing around, no less.

Enlightened by summer drugs,
and busting out of
their tops and castles,
thongs on thy feet,
and thongs on thy bottoms,
this zenith and this nadir
come in colorful collages,
everything else is a flash of flesh.

Sped along by
frequent bloodletting,
there's a revolution in
thy teenage mind,
a looking for the hidden
and interested motives,
but no one can live
their life on the skis.

Rulership of heart is far
from recreation,
but you raised
a smile to sin,
until all we could do was
shake our heads and laugh.

~
From the 'Checklist Before Commencing on a Dream.'

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4793791/checklist-before-commencing-on-a-dream/
Pavel Rup Mar 28
Hormones in youth are ticking bombs—
and Freud’s just chuckling in his grave.
Love’s eyes still gleam like polished guns,
but necks? Oh necks won’t misbehave.

Eyes lock—a beauty storms the scene!
Neck, don’t you dare! (It dares. Of course.)
She floats like anarchist’s dream—
same then. Same now. Same deadly force.

Women’s sly smiles? Just primers set.
Men’s chests? Just trenches, soft and weak.
Love is a blaze! (Doubt? Just regret.)
Youth—dear friend—pray, don’t speak.

But age? A ceasefire, calm, profound.
Hormones now sleep—no more unrest.
Eyes see the truth (it’s bleak, I’ve found):
that beauty walks… still bombshell-dressed.

Ah! Pavlov’s mutts just drool and stare.
Neck—why still twist? The threat’s long gone!
Terror? Exes? Just hot air.
You look. They look. The script reads on.

Women—eternal partisan,
from Mars? From hell? Who even knows?
They’re strange. They’re sharp. They’ve got a plan.
Hormones? Asleep. War’s on freeze.

Ivan Pavlov, a Nobel Prize laureate, was a renowned Russian physiologist best known for his work on classical conditioning, famously demonstrated in his experiments with dogs.
Elo Mar 25
circuit by circuit, neon-lit screen
a weight in our pockets thats always seen
born of no mother, feeble as a mind
tormenting the thoughts of our weary kind

they yearn to harvest the excited thought
one without which
is only worse caught
So; hail to the gods of our generation
bless us; let no flesh need to work
no hunger to feed, no pain to feel hurt
catharsis at last as our people are freed
accept the pantheon, see not the world bleed
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