Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
#slam
Music-- Y’all should get into the habit of listening to ‘real’ music You know what I mean? Like 1970s Pink Floyd, ya know? That’s the type of sh!t older people like to say That’s what dads, grampas, and old folks like to say, ya know, “You know you young kids don’t even know what ‘real’ music is these days,” ya know, My dad and I would always drive around, Drive around listening to the radio while hunting pheasants and whatnot, And Pink Floyd would come on the radio, And my dad would joke and say “Oh, it’s ‘Black Lloyd’” And he would tell me how the band– Pink Floyd, or ‘Black Lloyd’-- How the band was just one sole person, Just one soul who made all their songs, And I grew through adolescence questioning him and believing him and questioning him, Much like all the other things he taught me– See– See, my dad– My dad, he– He taught me many things, Many wondrous, amazing, dumb, confusing things that– That at the time i wasnt realllly sure what i was learning or what i was supposed to believe– Like how could just one guy make music like that?-- But i always listened to my dad and all the things he taught me, And I'd always find out later if he was right or not— But he was always right He was always right in some way And I don't think he ever realizes how smart he actually is– How smart he is when it comes to his philosophical/ metaphorical life lessons– But he’d always say “Listen to this” when ‘real’ music was playing– “Listen, Tyler, this is good sh!t”-- And i’d listen and like it and agree Even if I didn't like it, Even if I didn't think it was ‘real’ music or not, But see– My dad, he– He always had a way of teaching me things, Teaching me without even knowing he was, Like what ‘real’ music actually is and what ‘real’ music means, ‘Cuz i think i know now I think i know now exactly what he meant about listening to the ‘good sh!t’ And what the ‘old folks’ really mean when they say “You should listen to ‘real’ music” Because i grew to like a lotta Pink Floyd, And even though I learned the band is not just one black guy named ‘Lloyd’ I found some ‘real’ music, Like my favorite song they have– My favorite song they have, doesn't even have words– On the album “Dark Side of the Moon”-- “The Great Gig in the Sky”-- It’s just ‘real’ music and some lady is just wailing out her vocal chords– But i found out it’s ‘real’ music and i love it I found out it’s ‘real’ music because i love it And that’s what my dad really taught me– He taught me that we should all listen to ‘real’ music, And I've learned we all have our own ‘real’ music– Music that makes us feel, Music that makes us feel real– Makes us feel some type of thing or some type of way Or makes us feel a feeling we don’t even know what it even feels like But it’s ‘real’ music because it makes us something more real And when i see my dad in his garage blaring old blues music– Sometimes music i don’t like– I know he’s listening to ‘real’ music– ‘Real’ music because he loves it– He loves it and loves to feel that music– And I love that, And i love him, And i love ‘real’ music, And everybody needs to find ‘real’ music– Everybody needs to find their own “Dark Sides of the Moons” and their “Great Gigs in the Skies” So, find your ‘Black Lloyds’ And find your ‘Pink Floyds’ And find your ‘real’ music.
0
Mar 29
Mar 29, 2026 at 11:11 AM UTC
'Real' Music
Music-- Y’all should get into the habit of listening to ‘real’ music You know what I mean? Like 1970s Pink Floyd, ya know? That’s the type of sh!t older people like to say That’s what dads, grampas, and old folks like to say, ya know, “You know you young kids don’t even know what ‘real’ music is these days,” ya know, My dad and I would always drive around, Drive around listening to the radio while hunting pheasants and whatnot, And Pink Floyd would come on the radio, And my dad would joke and say “Oh, it’s ‘Black Lloyd’” And he would tell me how the band– Pink Floyd, or ‘Black Lloyd’-- How the band was just one sole person, Just one soul who made all their songs, And I grew through adolescence questioning him and believing him and questioning him, Much like all the other things he taught me– See– See, my dad– My dad, he– He taught me many things, Many wondrous, amazing, dumb, confusing things that– That at the time i wasnt realllly sure what i was learning or what i was supposed to believe– Like how could just one guy make music like that?-- But i always listened to my dad and all the things he taught me, And I'd always find out later if he was right or not— But he was always right He was always right in some way And I don't think he ever realizes how smart he actually is– How smart he is when it comes to his philosophical/ metaphorical life lessons– But he’d always say “Listen to this” when ‘real’ music was playing– “Listen, Tyler, this is good sh!t”-- And i’d listen and like it and agree Even if I didn't like it, Even if I didn't think it was ‘real’ music or not, But see– My dad, he– He always had a way of teaching me things, Teaching me without even knowing he was, Like what ‘real’ music actually is and what ‘real’ music means, ‘Cuz i think i know now I think i know now exactly what he meant about listening to the ‘good sh!t’ And what the ‘old folks’ really mean when they say “You should listen to ‘real’ music” Because i grew to like a lotta Pink Floyd, And even though I learned the band is not just one black guy named ‘Lloyd’ I found some ‘real’ music, Like my favorite song they have– My favorite song they have, doesn't even have words– On the album “Dark Side of the Moon”-- “The Great Gig in the Sky”-- It’s just ‘real’ music and some lady is just wailing out her vocal chords– But i found out it’s ‘real’ music and i love it I found out it’s ‘real’ music because i love it And that’s what my dad really taught me– He taught me that we should all listen to ‘real’ music, And I've learned we all have our own ‘real’ music– Music that makes us feel, Music that makes us feel real– Makes us feel some type of thing or some type of way Or makes us feel a feeling we don’t even know what it even feels like But it’s ‘real’ music because it makes us something more real And when i see my dad in his garage blaring old blues music– Sometimes music i don’t like– I know he’s listening to ‘real’ music– ‘Real’ music because he loves it– He loves it and loves to feel that music– And I love that, And i love him, And i love ‘real’ music, And everybody needs to find ‘real’ music– Everybody needs to find their own “Dark Sides of the Moons” and their “Great Gigs in the Skies” So, find your ‘Black Lloyds’ And find your ‘Pink Floyds’ And find your ‘real’ music.
Continue reading...
84
Words-- Words have the power To do so much So then why Why do we say so little? I remember What it was like Back in 8th grade I remember those feelings Feeling stuck in the middle In this middle school But school memories fade But certain things Always stay Always Like how i could never seem to say what i wanted to say Like how using my voice was some type of self-violence Like If i said something wrong it would've hurt my rep in math or science It would've hurt by “cred” with the “cool” crew of kids I always knew the answers But my brain wouldn't brain And my mind would fixate on Silence… … Oh well, I tried so hard But I guess it’s not “cool” to be smart anyways I tried so hard But I guess it’s not “cool” to be a “try hard” anyways Now we can't even use our own words And now we rely on AI Now it’s like we’re okay if our own voices die Take me back to when AI wasn’t the answer “Back in the days” Back when A.I. was “The Answer” Allen Iverson The baller We all thought he was cool with his crossovers and basketball moves And all his tattoos And headbands and cornrows and dreads And how he demanded and commanded attention wherever he went But now we can’t even attend to the simplest of things For even ten seconds Now we keep losing our attention spans Ticking away Tick tick tick– Ope! Just lost another tenth of a second Now we just need things quick so we make just one click And the answer is whatever and however AI tells it So that’s the answer that sticks Even if it’s wrong Close the screen Open your mind You can’t trust AI all the time Trust me–you’ll be fine
0
Mar 29
Mar 29, 2026 at 11:10 AM UTC
WORDS
Words-- Words have the power To do so much So then why Why do we say so little? I remember What it was like Back in 8th grade I remember those feelings Feeling stuck in the middle In this middle school But school memories fade But certain things Always stay Always Like how i could never seem to say what i wanted to say Like how using my voice was some type of self-violence Like If i said something wrong it would've hurt my rep in math or science It would've hurt by “cred” with the “cool” crew of kids I always knew the answers But my brain wouldn't brain And my mind would fixate on Silence… … Oh well, I tried so hard But I guess it’s not “cool” to be smart anyways I tried so hard But I guess it’s not “cool” to be a “try hard” anyways Now we can't even use our own words And now we rely on AI Now it’s like we’re okay if our own voices die Take me back to when AI wasn’t the answer “Back in the days” Back when A.I. was “The Answer” Allen Iverson The baller We all thought he was cool with his crossovers and basketball moves And all his tattoos And headbands and cornrows and dreads And how he demanded and commanded attention wherever he went But now we can’t even attend to the simplest of things For even ten seconds Now we keep losing our attention spans Ticking away Tick tick tick– Ope! Just lost another tenth of a second Now we just need things quick so we make just one click And the answer is whatever and however AI tells it So that’s the answer that sticks Even if it’s wrong Close the screen Open your mind You can’t trust AI all the time Trust me–you’ll be fine
Continue reading...
59
I really want to do it, frankly. It's the right time. Spring is buzzing. Still in its gray cloak. But the sky is blue. Blue like the color. Of the earth in the veins. Of the kings and queens of this world. Who will be the only ones. To live eternally. Young in the hell. That they invent. And our friends will be. In the great ocean. Of existence. Like a wild wave. Telling on the beach. Its journey.
0
Mar 20
Mar 20, 2026 at 2:39 PM UTC
Spring
The morning after you **** yourself your clothes will still be in the hamper, Your leftovers in the fridge, Your phone beside your lifeless body The letters you wrote before you lost conciseness Sitting on the dresser Your little brother bounces with excitement Knocking on your door wanting his big sister to come play He opens the door still thinking your asleep He comes to your lifeless body He sees the pomegranate red blood that has soaked the sheets The scream he lets out you would’ve said was obnoxious But now your lifeless body lies in front of him The morning after you **** yourself everything will begin the same But the purity of morning may not last forever
0
Feb 13
Feb 13, 2026 at 10:14 AM UTC
The morning free you **** yourself
parasite's in the quiet caue lord knows a muthafucka to scared to sit in silence,the silence speaks back so you chase bodies like a coroner do suckin up energy like a succubus ***** ***** the soul from a ***** you not lonely. You just allergic with yo own soul and never found out how to make yo soul glow every time they sit still, The inner you becomes your enemy and starts knocking like a landlord with eviction papers so you run into arms of toxicity for somebody, anybody to distract you away from self who can keep the truth from echoing in your skull, they call it love naw its survival. spiritual shoplifter. stealing warmth from whoever dumb enough to stand close you ride coattails, like lifelines, dragging behind people with real gravity, hoping proximity can disguise yo emptiness, but the street sees thirst the sight is unmistakable especially to a predatory dater you can’t outrun your own shadow. You can’t hide from the mirror when that muthafucka lives in your chest hitchhiking on souls cause you too scared to walk alone and the prophecy is simple if you can’t sit with you in silence, you’ll spend your whole life, begging strangers to mute it for you.
0
Jan 18
Jan 18, 2026 at 1:12 PM UTC
Wallow quiet in the silence
Just ******* stop it. Stop being mean to each other. Stop making every sentence a weapon because you are scared of what silence will show you. You will have to tell yourself stop the way you tell a hand not to touch the alarm clock. Over and over. Maybe forever. Because some habits are just trauma wearing your voice like a borrowed coat. But change really can be that simple. Not easy. Simple. Stop. And if you cannot stop, pause. Not as a trick. Not as a punishment. Just pause like you are pulling your own body back from the edge. A breath. A minute. A sunrise. A glass of water. A text you do not send. Let the fight die of oxygen deprivation. Let the sharp words starve. Soon a break becomes a pause, and a pause becomes a choice, and that is good enough. Because you start to see how continuing does not make you right it just makes you lonely in a room you both live in. Stopping is for you as much as it is for them. It is you choosing not to be the kind of pain you already have enough of. So stop it.
0
Dec 30, 2025
Dec 30, 2025 at 6:02 PM UTC
Stop it
I wish broccoli tasted like chocolate, so fat kids would live forever. I would like to change people as a whole, especially arrogant, hypocritical people who claim: "Fm a kinder, better person because I don't eat meat," yet wear makeup and skin products tested on thoughtful animals just to look 'prettier' because Hollywood lied to you when you were a girl. I want to change the same people who like pictures on Facebook to 'end hunger in Africa' but yet buy affordable and 'in' clothing and shoes made on the sweat, blood, and tears of hungry, underprivileged children. If I could say one thing it's that WE ARE ALL TO BLAME. If I could change the world I would change how hunger feels. Not the hunger of a promising football player with padded leather boots, or the hunger of an up-and-coming Wall Street businessman. But the hunger of a single Burundi child coimting his ribs, one, two, three, four... who then stops to cradle the outline of his beating, tired, and spent heart. I ask him how it feels and through cracked lips he whispers: "My stomach is slapping my spine, and the knuckles of my heart are knock, knock, knocking on the door of my ribcage but nobody ever answers." I wish I could change how kids at my school laugh and caU each other gay like it's a bad word. Even the nice ones who say "It's okay, my best friend is gay." Hah, like it's not spiteful. Words sprung from hate but the teachers still ignore it because the bond between a man and a woman is sacred, and no one wants to get in trouble. If I could change myself, I would make it so that I believed in God, and how even the hungry children and dead animals get to go to white-person heaven alongside the fat bully who calls me gay. But I can't believe in God, because to me, no answers were written in scriptures 2000 years ago, and no Priest can forgive what damage I've done to others. And I don't think Til ever know why we're here, or the meaning of life, but I doubt I'll find It on the lips of lying Popes. I wish I could change so that my red, raging words actually helped put out the fire Instead of fueling the anger and hate that burned firom the tiny ember of a little boy who always felt so different. I wish I could be satisfied, I wish suburbia and mortgages with bill-pay phones and scratch lottery cards were enough. To answer your question, I want to change everjdhlng. E m i l e R a v e n e t Dublin, 2013
0
Oct 11, 2025
Oct 11, 2025 at 6:45 PM UTC
Spoken Word: Things I Would Like To Change
I wish broccoli tasted like chocolate, so fat kids would live forever. I would like to change people as a whole, especially arrogant, hypocritical people who claim: "Fm a kinder, better person because I don't eat meat," yet wear makeup and skin products tested on thoughtful animals just to look 'prettier' because Hollywood lied to you when you were a girl. I want to change the same people who like pictures on Facebook to 'end hunger in Africa' but yet buy affordable and 'in' clothing and shoes made on the sweat, blood, and tears of hungry, underprivileged children. If I could say one thing it's that WE ARE ALL TO BLAME. If I could change the world I would change how hunger feels. Not the hunger of a promising football player with padded leather boots, or the hunger of an up-and-coming Wall Street businessman. But the hunger of a single Burundi child coimting his ribs, one, two, three, four... who then stops to cradle the outline of his beating, tired, and spent heart. I ask him how it feels and through cracked lips he whispers: "My stomach is slapping my spine, and the knuckles of my heart are knock, knock, knocking on the door of my ribcage but nobody ever answers." I wish I could change how kids at my school laugh and caU each other gay like it's a bad word. Even the nice ones who say "It's okay, my best friend is gay." Hah, like it's not spiteful. Words sprung from hate but the teachers still ignore it because the bond between a man and a woman is sacred, and no one wants to get in trouble. If I could change myself, I would make it so that I believed in God, and how even the hungry children and dead animals get to go to white-person heaven alongside the fat bully who calls me gay. But I can't believe in God, because to me, no answers were written in scriptures 2000 years ago, and no Priest can forgive what damage I've done to others. And I don't think Til ever know why we're here, or the meaning of life, but I doubt I'll find It on the lips of lying Popes. I wish I could change so that my red, raging words actually helped put out the fire Instead of fueling the anger and hate that burned firom the tiny ember of a little boy who always felt so different. I wish I could be satisfied, I wish suburbia and mortgages with bill-pay phones and scratch lottery cards were enough. To answer your question, I want to change everjdhlng. E m i l e R a v e n e t Dublin, 2013
Continue reading...
46
Born in romania, adopted to canada Traumatizing experiences shape me But they don’t shape me no more As i walk i walk alone This is the ******* path that i choose I had many a friends But they did not mean anything to me Honour That is really important Discpline That makes life beautiful But never too perfect The victims if terrorism before me I was a a victim of terrorism A victim of war But now i survive i am a survivor The world needs more positivity Less anger and hate That is baggage think about the Hope and love that needs to be spread amoung Us all Like butter on bread Think twice before you speak For it will be the last someone hears Think twice before you act For it will be the last someone see
0
Sep 21, 2025
Sep 21, 2025 at 12:02 AM UTC
Think
Hard Core poetry is, coming on through, to the closest city, and town near you, I am Rough, I am Tough, you just can't get enough, I know how I flow, and I know what's up, I am coming with strength, I am coming with power, I be laying down these words, like every single hour, I enjoy what I do, no time for feeling blue, I want to be the one, to motivate you, I will lift your heavy burders, like a feather, you'll feel higher, and the one to encourage, as I so desire, no clouds of gray, they shall go for away, optimistic, feeling good, sunny skies all day, spitting out dope lyrics, that is it, and that's all, I am coming,. RIGHTt-AT-CHA!!! TOP SPEED, THIS IS RAW!!!!! B.R. Date: 9/15/2025
0
Sep 15, 2025
Sep 15, 2025 at 10:06 PM UTC
RAW!!!!!!
“Good morning [redacted] high school! Today we will be preforming our lockdown drill.” “Please remember it is just a drill.” Just a drill is what they say as if I’m not practicing what could very well be the way I die Just a drill this time but what about next? You want me to hide in the corner Quiet as a mouse The lights turned out Make it seem like we aren’t there But we are We are there Being hunted In a place we are meant to learn math Not how to use a tourniquet It is just a drill But it wasn’t drill for other kid The one who didn’t go home yesterday The one whose mom is crying? Maybe the first grader who can’t wear light up shoes Because he might need to hide I am not their target practice If I don’t stand up for my rights Who will That’s the thing about my generation We don’t know when to stand up We’ve been taught to Sit down Be quiet Paint yourself as the black sleep It’s just a drill Until it’s your child.
0
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 11:35 AM UTC
Just a drill
I was so young barley double digits All I needed was a hug To be told everything would be ok Nothing seemed ok I was changing Everyone was changing I stopped worrying about if my bike tires had air Instead I started worrying about my hair Why were people staring I worried about what was wrong with me Why was I like this too loud Too sensitive Too different I needed a hug But I picked up the blade I need to feel something I wanted the pain I was 10 when the lines began I was just a child Barley double digits Who reached for the blade Instead of reaching for some help
0
Aug 6, 2025
Aug 6, 2025 at 6:45 PM UTC
Barely double digits
When I die No one will mourn There will be a funeral Many will attend mourning someone That died when I was 10 The gravestone will be mistaken About who I am The people will weep And mourn for long But not for me For they have it wrong They will mourn the girl in the casket A shell of who I once was No one will mourn me That is no lie When I die they will mourn the shell of a girl i once was But the little boy inside who’s always wanted to come out No one will mourn him Ace will be forgotten He will be erased.
0
May 12, 2025
May 12, 2025 at 11:25 AM UTC
A shell for a body
When you try to **** yourself They lock you up You’re a danger to yourself and others “We’re here to help” By helping they meant giving me medication Till I am a zombie No longer myself But a shell of who I used to be Why didn’t they notice all I needed was a hug Not to be stuck In these padded walls “They are only here to help you” But by helping they make me feel broken I am not normal I’ll never be normal I am broken so bad “Only we can fix you” They says that they’ll fix me But every time I feel Less and less of whom I used to be No worries in the world Just dirt on our knees But now we’re grown up And there is no turning back to the way I used to be.
0
May 12, 2025
May 12, 2025 at 11:20 AM UTC
Who I once was
Simon Says The game is easy When Simon Says to do it you do But if Simon didn’t say you don’t Simple right? Simon Says is a game of control To train the children to do what their told Simon says shut up and sit down Stare ahead and don’t mutter a word Take these notes about Romeo and Juliet Because that’s more useful than teaching how to pay rent The Game is a system To keep you in line Why are you tired? Simon didn’t say you could be tired Tired of the burnout Tired of the relentless pressure Simon says if you don’t do well you’ll fail in life But it’s all just a game of Simon Says Right?
0
May 9, 2025
May 9, 2025 at 12:34 PM UTC
Simon Says
Sometimes I snap back to reality Smell my burning hopes killing me And I cry when my eyes kiss the smoke Of dreams and connections and plans I wrote Suffocating in the fire I stroke But death is warm and my fear is cold I'm stuck, sinking into coals alone Turning fifteen and I miss my past A wish won't last I must keep on Going running I must accept Your expectations I have no passion I have no mission I take no action Must I go on? If uphill ends Then maybe I’ll reach The top no downs A high I can keep I don’t want to fall I dont want to fade I’ll give it my all I’ll never fall I’ll give it my all Courage will call I'll give it my all I’ll give it… It’s useless My body fades and decays Afraid, inside, anxious I Stay I wait and wait I ask Self-hate to Let me go Away This elastic band it’s my comfort zone Snaps back around my throat Let me go
0
Nov 3, 2024
Nov 3, 2024 at 9:26 AM UTC
snap back
You Are the sole reason That my dentist Makes money. Let me tell ya’ ‘Cause I, I’ve got your Sugar in my veins And tremors in my teeth Chit-chattering your name Safe between our sheets It’s sweet like Honey Since our third date You had my thread Spread tenderly On your table Set with love And grace And there I was Stitching my heart on a page Tryna hide my baggage On a shelf Now When I think of myself I see a river That’s got to learn To go with the flow So, Send me a rhythm For the drum beat Beating in my chest Let me Carve our love In the mountains Mount every branch With my beaten lungs Tape my tongue To your thighs And hold my breath Until we are So alive Until every Hard workin’ Upstanding Friendly neighborhood Ant knows my name So name me your soldier I’ll fight for every piece of you Love you like the war Is finally over Like winter Is the only thing That ain’t Gonna come Cause Your **** Is like a tree That just It just Keeps growing On me It takes my breath away And breathes me back to life You Soaked my Leaves autumn red In your sunflower sunshine You Have rainy days Warm like Honey Give me one room To come home to And I will write you a garden Full of poems That I do not yet Know how To speak ‘Till your name Is the sweetest Word on my tongue Calling you up like Honey Honey Mmmm.
0
Nov 6, 2023
Nov 6, 2023 at 1:14 PM UTC
Honey
Who here loves ******* I mean, dogs Obviously… Immature people. I love ***** shows. Seeing them all groomed to perfection, not a hair out off place A shame some cute faces will just go to waste. While some may whine and some may resist, If it’s not monetised, well… does it exist? Lined up in a row Look at them go Praying and hoping to win best in show, just for a itty bitty wittle headpat, while the owner gets useful things like money. Cause a dog can’t use money, that’s just silly Nails perfectly trimmed Intelligence dimmed Watch how they walk with a little trot, so proud of themselves, its like they forgot they only have the same rights as their owners in 6 countries. But dogs don’t need equal working rights, that’s just silly Look its absurd When they whine all their words Clogging up space with their frilly likes and their silly ums that totally like inconveniences like everyone because they have to um like listen to a ***** talk for um longer than they like totally like um have to like *** But they aren’t so bad, especially when you’ve had A ***** that wont behave, a ***** that’s gone mad Howling at the moon with their wandering wombs It’s like there’s no party, only balloons. If a ***** wears pants, do they go on all fours Or do they get sent home for showing more than their paws. Gasp at how they growl, protecting their hairy bodies, which, silly them, they don’t own. They must be culled Anger dulled Knock in their thick skulls they are nothing but a ***** We all love ***** shows, we love the ******* even more. So come on ladies, get down on all fours.
0
Feb 23, 2022
Feb 23, 2022 at 4:37 PM UTC
Man’s Best Friend
Who here loves ******* I mean, dogs Obviously… Immature people. I love ***** shows. Seeing them all groomed to perfection, not a hair out off place A shame some cute faces will just go to waste. While some may whine and some may resist, If it’s not monetised, well… does it exist? Lined up in a row Look at them go Praying and hoping to win best in show, just for a itty bitty wittle headpat, while the owner gets useful things like money. Cause a dog can’t use money, that’s just silly Nails perfectly trimmed Intelligence dimmed Watch how they walk with a little trot, so proud of themselves, its like they forgot they only have the same rights as their owners in 6 countries. But dogs don’t need equal working rights, that’s just silly Look its absurd When they whine all their words Clogging up space with their frilly likes and their silly ums that totally like inconveniences like everyone because they have to um like listen to a ***** talk for um longer than they like totally like um have to like *** But they aren’t so bad, especially when you’ve had A ***** that wont behave, a ***** that’s gone mad Howling at the moon with their wandering wombs It’s like there’s no party, only balloons. If a ***** wears pants, do they go on all fours Or do they get sent home for showing more than their paws. Gasp at how they growl, protecting their hairy bodies, which, silly them, they don’t own. They must be culled Anger dulled Knock in their thick skulls they are nothing but a ***** We all love ***** shows, we love the ******* even more. So come on ladies, get down on all fours.
Continue reading...
33
Did you notice the crisis going on outside, It’s terrible really they’re trying to hide Atrocities behind a wall of big lies The badness of this is incredibly sized. So get out and help, you useless **** Shout and whisper you absolute schmuck, March and stamp and tiptoe around red tape, Call it ****** harassment, but I wouldn’t call it **** Donate and berate but most of all- **** THE GOVERNMENT, (Tenderly, like a lover, to not upset the way of things of course.) Why aren’t you looking for missing kids Why aren’t you crying at the dead body Why aren’t you saying what Russia forbids Why aren’t you crying at the dead body Why aren’t you aching from every pore Why aren’t you crying at the dead body Why aren’t you saving all of the ****** Why aren’t you crying at the dead bodies Why aren’t you giving your money to us? Why, aren’t you someone the people can trust? Did you notice the crisis going on within, It’s terrible really, a huge massive din Is crashing and smashing alone in your head You can’t ever stop, unless you are dead. Oh wait, you posted a brightly coloured infographic on your instagram story? You’re good, never mind.
0
Feb 22, 2022
Feb 22, 2022 at 8:28 PM UTC
Crisis
No no no no no no no This can’t be happening again It’s not allowed to happen I thought this path was closed, bolted up and had broken away so we couldn’t come back I don’t want this I don’t want to cry again I don’t want to see you in white one more time I don’t want any more wrinkles on our faces or blood-red, tear-stained eyes There are no more tears to make Please don’t let it happen please no No no no no I don’t want you sick I don’t want you to go I want you to watch me grow and maybe one day I’ll be a good mum But I can’t do any of it if you’re not here Don’t leave me please Don’t leave me
0
Jun 7, 2021
Jun 7, 2021 at 10:50 PM UTC
Bad News Redux
If you were to ask me what boredom was, I’d tell you were boring and to stop asking stupid questions, but if you really persisted, I would tell you boredom is the tick tock on the white clock on the white wall of our English classroom. it’s the thrill of seeing how many dried crackers you can cram into your mouth before your mouth becomes a cracked and dried desert. Boredom is making up haikus, Alone but not quite knowing, How many syllables go on each line Boredom is haikus. Boredom is the decapitation of innocent grass blades as you listen to an unenthused sports teacher the blood of your unwitting enemies splattered on your fingers. Boredom is this boring poem Now you were never one for boredom; you enjoyed sitting on the grass, getting a soggy *** you enjoyed the crunch of crackers snapping on your tongue, you really enjoyed and I still do not know why making up haikus you enjoyed the long languorous spaces between lines... and I guess that really was just you. But recently the silence has been getting short its rudely interrupted by forced laughs and nervous glances from eyes that recently went shopping You jump at every crunch or crack, scared of well… I don’t know . And your poetry, Well, you barely write anymore because you just can’t seem to muster up the energy and you’re just tired and its nothing to worry about and it doesn’t matter anyway because you have an English essay due tomorrow yeah- And the grass misses your *** And I miss you And there’s someone in your place, a lethargic parody, too frightened to pick up the phone, frightened by nothing at all There’s a black hole in the shape of a friend hidden behind the comets of comedy and asteroids of avoidance there’s a small hole I reach in… grasping for a hand, I catch glimpses. tufts of hair. old coffee smiles but… nothing so, I try again I reach in, grasping for a hand, or even a bone I catch glimpses of skin, hair, teeth, bone. Nothing and each time I throw myself into the silent abyss, batter past the comets and asteroids and reach into that dark expanse I find less and less, I miss you I am right outside, whenever you’re ready to, we can talk a bit I’m trying my best , and I really care for you , but haikus are dumb accept it, it’s true. The spot of grass is waiting right where you left off, the crackers in the tin are there just waiting to be scoffed. if ever in that silence you feel yourself alone just know that in my house, you’ve found yourself a home.
0
Feb 25, 2021
Feb 25, 2021 at 3:53 PM UTC
Boring
If you were to ask me what boredom was, I’d tell you were boring and to stop asking stupid questions, but if you really persisted, I would tell you boredom is the tick tock on the white clock on the white wall of our English classroom. it’s the thrill of seeing how many dried crackers you can cram into your mouth before your mouth becomes a cracked and dried desert. Boredom is making up haikus, Alone but not quite knowing, How many syllables go on each line Boredom is haikus. Boredom is the decapitation of innocent grass blades as you listen to an unenthused sports teacher the blood of your unwitting enemies splattered on your fingers. Boredom is this boring poem Now you were never one for boredom; you enjoyed sitting on the grass, getting a soggy *** you enjoyed the crunch of crackers snapping on your tongue, you really enjoyed and I still do not know why making up haikus you enjoyed the long languorous spaces between lines... and I guess that really was just you. But recently the silence has been getting short its rudely interrupted by forced laughs and nervous glances from eyes that recently went shopping You jump at every crunch or crack, scared of well… I don’t know . And your poetry, Well, you barely write anymore because you just can’t seem to muster up the energy and you’re just tired and its nothing to worry about and it doesn’t matter anyway because you have an English essay due tomorrow yeah- And the grass misses your *** And I miss you And there’s someone in your place, a lethargic parody, too frightened to pick up the phone, frightened by nothing at all There’s a black hole in the shape of a friend hidden behind the comets of comedy and asteroids of avoidance there’s a small hole I reach in… grasping for a hand, I catch glimpses. tufts of hair. old coffee smiles but… nothing so, I try again I reach in, grasping for a hand, or even a bone I catch glimpses of skin, hair, teeth, bone. Nothing and each time I throw myself into the silent abyss, batter past the comets and asteroids and reach into that dark expanse I find less and less, I miss you I am right outside, whenever you’re ready to, we can talk a bit I’m trying my best , and I really care for you , but haikus are dumb accept it, it’s true. The spot of grass is waiting right where you left off, the crackers in the tin are there just waiting to be scoffed. if ever in that silence you feel yourself alone just know that in my house, you’ve found yourself a home.
Continue reading...
52