Lena Sheryl: Favorites

May 2018 Lena Sheryl

Dream Boy

May 2018 Lena Sheryl

Mario Bañuelos

It’s easy, to fantasize.
To Imagine what it would feel like to feel your lips.
To be in your warm embrace.
To feel the strokes of your fingertips.

How I would move as you move.
Could you imagine how exciting?
We’d be one step apart,
like thunder and lightning.

But... because there’s always a but.
Things are never what they seem.
All this is a fantasy.
And you’re just a Dream.

#dream #boy #love #like #fantasy

May 2018 Lena Sheryl

Cry for you

May 2018 Lena Sheryl

devante moore

Cry for you

I’ll cry for you
Ball out my heart
So much so
That my heavy tears
Just my split the pavement apart
No more hiding
No more lies
I’ll cry for you
Expose the feelings
That’s been hiding in the dark
I’ll cry until my eyes are no longer red
I’ll cry until the black lines under my eyes give
I’ll cry until the hidden scares are healed
I’ll cry for you
That’s something I usually don’t do
I’ll cry for you
Maybe I already have

May 2018 Lena Sheryl

"Write happy"

May 2018 Lena Sheryl

c

"Write happy"

The other day I showed my mom my poems
"Why do you always write sad poems? Write happy." She says
I just nodded, but I couldn't tell her my code of secrecy.
I write so I can let all the pain go
The pain of yesterday
and the reason that was was that I didn't have anybody when I moved
Everybody was occupied
And on my first day of school, I ruined everything
my words were spoken in clumps
and my pen was my only companion
So I wrote
wrote like the ink was my blood and paper my skin
and poetry accepted my request of being a friend
now my poems act as a mentor and a tutor
I can't give up writing sad poems
because if I do,
I'll lose yesterday

May 2018 Lena Sheryl

tomorrow

May 2018 Lena Sheryl

Chloe

tomorrow

Sometimes I break
Like a building
To a wrecking ball.
Sudden, huge, a mess.

Sometimes I break
Like a dilapidated house,
Slowly falling apart, crumbling,
Inside to out.

And then I lay like a corpse
For hours.

Sometimes I'll feel the warm tears
Running trails down my skin.

Sometimes I'll feel the sharp sting
Of hurt I caused myself.

But mostly,
I feel lost,
And dead,
And useless.

'I'll be fine tomorrow,'
I tell myself
Every time.

And I am.
So I don't deal with today.
I don't deal with
Now.

I sleep it off.
Then I'm fine.
Then it comes back.
Then I sleep it off.
Then I'm fine.
Then it comes back
Then-

I will be fine
Tomorrow.

#mentalhealth #personal #depression

May 2018 Lena Sheryl

Broken brotherhood

May 2018 Lena Sheryl

Sajini Israel

Broken brotherhood

We once dined together on goodly tables
and laughed together at funny fables.

Me was 'us'
back then when the fields were green
Love was the boss
we cared not who was the lord
as long as he could our peace afford.

Time grew taller
and bonding cords grew shorter
our once glittering tables
Decomposed on beign fed upon by unhealthy fables.

Like little foxes
forces of grudges and sentiment arising from resentment crept in
and the bond we once shared was threatened.

Those cherished days are long forgotten
relics of our lost bond keep us hurting
A little 'sorry' would have let it go
but it wasn't in the tune of our ego.

Regrets like matchets cut our hearts deep leaving wounds that time's woo can't recuperate.
rays of hope
make us cope
knowing someday someway we'll return to the land
Where 'me was we' and 'his was us.'

A poem dedicated to all lost friendships and as many that will still be lost

May 2018 Lena Sheryl

Addicted

May 2018 Lena Sheryl

Lucy Mohr

Addicted

I used to be alone.
I used to watch people.
I wanted someone.
But I hated people.

Then I met you.
I had been alone for so long.
I knew you too.
Everyone said it was wrong.

I've become addicted.
You are the drug I can't live without.
I'm addicted.
You are the thing I can't lend out.

May 2018 Lena Sheryl

(F, 19) please be impatient with me

May 2018 Lena Sheryl

city of flips

(F, 19) please be impatient with me

please be impatient with me for I am Female, Age 19 Please be impatient with me.  Three quarters woman in a body, a quartered quartet.  The crying viola, off tempo, present but unavailable.  The boys want me. The men, more, more.  The women most of all.  The American Girl dolls on the shelf dusty, witnesses to all my demander’s impatience to take, to own, possess & desire my poses all to pleasure them, wanting  many morsos (small bites).
Then, when discarded, my body reeks of
con-f u s i o n. A perfect conjugation,  an imperfect conjunction;  Conning my mind into letting my body be-fused.

The dolls weep real tears in the city of my mind;  flipping out, they too, are impatient with me, and flip me off for they have no good words to express their utter chagrin.