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Lovely poets are among my favorite types of people.
Truly fascinating, however, is how many reside here.
Warm comments and personal add-ons to all my poems.
They make me feel as if my stories spun have impacts on them,
and a truly wonderous feeling it is.
Beauty is said to be in the eye of the beholder.
I've beheld beauty of natures unimaginable,
but this,
this,
is truly something to be revered.
Lovely poets
are truly underrated.
maybe i'm still longing and looking for the poem to end all poems.
i need them to mean something
to be great
to be moving
to be from me to you.
i want that recognition from poets
i don't want the attention, just to be told i'm good.
i love to write, and maybe
maybe
i'm still good enough right now
to those of you who heart, comment on, repost or like my work, thank you
I gained a new best friend when you were born.

My beautiful and loving brother.

When you get hurt by people, my heart gets torn.

I don’t think I could ever love another.



Your contagious smile and laughter blooms,

But you cry silent tears inside the night.

Even when you disappear, your shadow looms.

But then I come to you and bring the light.



Always there for me through the end forevermore,

Even though we fight like we don’t even care,

But being your sister can’t be a chore.

I will never leave and I will stay here.



My incredibly funny world of high hopes.

We will always make it through these big slopes.
about my beautiful brother
"I will give you my glory if you promise to give me your heart."
I sang these words to you through fervent texts.
Fingers danced rapidly trying to make you understand the position you put my feelings in.
My fickle feelings are a thing to be hated.
A thing to love nonetheless.
You said you only wanted a good time, nothing more than a silly summer spree.
Nothing more to you, so it shouldn't be more to me.
Oh lover,
This is not my intention but I must lose you,
for my glory is worth more than a knowingly ending bliss of nothing
that would cost everything.
My friends who keep me sane,

the ones with laughter that chimes louder than any church bells

The people with amber, ombre, raven, ruby, teal, and sandy hair.

With sparkling eyes and warm hearts,

comforting hugs and lighthearted remarks.

Accompanied by the giving of equal parts and the openness of our hearts.

We go through each day together merrily.

But at night, we battle with our minds over common ground.

Tomorrow, however, we start anew.

From the tap…tap...tap of our feet down the empty hallways after eighth,

to the face times that relieve us of our worries and daily stresses.

We glide through the woeful emotions and dramatic labyrinths,

these of which are caused by high schools many intricate obstacles.

They are the people with whom I share my deepest secrets and greatest happiness.

Unique people that say “what’s poppin’”, “this is true”, “meeee”,

Peculiar people that will howl song lyrics in hallways bursting with people,

but cannot, however, say how they truly feel sometimes.

The people with the brightest of smiles, but the darkest of hearts.

We break us down only to put on a Broadway standard performance for everyone but us.  

We don’t have to be cheery around us.

We each have our many emotional support items.

From rings, to sweaters, to jackets, to blankets, to pillows, to pictures.

They are the people who are mine,

while I am theirs.

These are not my friends,

But my family.

They are the ones that make sure I will not let the mask of a perfectly sound mind slip.

Wonderful people who know how to make me white and not gray,

They are the memories and inside jokes and photographs and films and most importantly,

they do not care what race, sexuality or gender, or anything I may identify as.

They keep me being me.

My favorite people who keep me right in the head.
this is where i write my words,
words of angst,
words of depression,
words of imagination,
words of me,
words of you,
words of what i wish,  
words of what is,
words,
words,
words,
words.
As the school year begins to end again, I can't help but reflect on my choices and experiences.
I lost quite a bit of friend's this year, my mentality on the subject is that we are in high school now and we shouldn't have to deal with these childish things.
That earned me the satisfaction of strengthening the relationships that I currently have.
I have as grown as a person, whether that is good or bad is still yet to be seen.
The experiences I've had, from a past boyfriend I still can't forget, to the lingering presence of old friends.
I wear the same jacket every day.
Some will find it weird, but if I wash it with the same fabric softener, I can see my grandmother and feel her again.
I'm quite upset still, even though it's been almost 4 years now. And 3 since the other.
It makes me upset knowing they'll never ask about school again, and I won't have the lazy Sunday's watching ****** Toons and eating Cheerio's.
Which leads to something else.
I have become more girly and I do care about my looks now.
The eyeliner and mascara and concealer and eyeshadow and foundation and blush and highlighter and eyebrow pencil.
I feel like I can't get away with how I really look even though I wear the makeup.
I dress more feminine and I try to be kind, but I just really want my oversized t-shirts, knee-high sock, tiny shorts, and messy bun back.
God, if only I could wear pajamas.
I make myself seem like I don't care so I can have a bit of freedom at school.
I don't care for school, but I have to do good.
As I near the end, I reflect on music.
In the beginning, I listened to heavy metal all the way up, the emo quartet a favorite.
Now, I serenade my ears in the wonderful vocals of Freddy Mercury.
Among these include the following: The Beetles, Elton John, The Police, And The Romantics.
This calmer version helps me feel true serenity.
I love it.
I write poetry now,
at first I hated the whole genre, not giving it a chance.
Until I had to write a poetry anthology of my experiences.
Giving way to a whole new style.
Poetry doesn't have to be strict and make complete sense, it can be free-flowing and mad.
As I near the end, I think of the past beginnings and the new ones.
I am nearing the end of my yearly narrative.
This isn't a poem, it's a thank you to a couple of people who reposted my poem "WORK IN PROGRESS". Thank you Perry and thank you to FallenAngel33. This makes me want to keep writing my poems and keep sharing.


❤♥
I love you guys.
I feel numb.
I don't know what mad is,
what sad is,
what happy is,
what anything is.
I'm just not feeling,
it's worse than anything else
I'm numb.
Just numb, nothing else.
I see my old friends in the hallways and I get nervous,
but confident.
I think of you,
and say I don't care.
I don't even really miss you anymore,
just how we felt.
I think of too many things,
but I still feel my mind being blank.
Can't I just feel and be done with it?
I feel numb,
and I hate it,
but I love it.

Nothing, just numb
I'm just wanting to feel something.
Oh, don't you just love me?
the sound or my voice,
my laughter,
my sparkling eyes,
my beautiful smile,
my pretty meaningless words,
my ever-full heart,
the make-up that appears to be picture-perfect.
How conceited I must sound.
Oh, don't you hate it?
It' s a reverse poem too.
(read it backward)
I say that I don't want you back in my life, but I really do.
I miss your hugs,
I miss your hands, so soft and warm in comparison to mine.
I miss the sweet little words and the flirtatious glances.
But most of all, I miss how it was being with someone.
Oh, God.
When did I get to be another stereotypical teenage girl?
Why did I have to like you?
You of all people?
Who I knew would leave, but I chose you anyway.
One stupid text was all it took to see you that way.
But now you're coming back, and it's supposed to be today.
I'll see you in the halls again, fleeting glances.
I asked you, even though I knew I shouldn't have,
"Do you think we can date again?"
But I did, and you just said
"Maybe."
Even through the phone, I felt your disinterest in us.
But here I am, dressing up in hopes you notice me when you get here.
Oh, God.
why am i like this?
Oh, God.
I dreamed of you and you promised to return.
Even through your uninterested replies, I still believed.
You had tod me you were coming back on a Tuesday.
So I waited for Tuesday.
It came and I dressed for the occasion, but it went by unnoticed.
So I dressed for Wednesday, thinking you were just late.
But Wednesday went away too.
So Thursday came and I prayed, it too bore the same outcome.
So I did the same for Friday,
because just maybe it was going to be a dramatic entrance, befitting of you.
And you know what happened?
Nothing, nothing in the slightest.
Oh, God.
When did I get to be like this,
I never cared before.
So I texted to make sure I wasn't wrong.
I wasn't, you just changed your mind.
And even to this day,
it shatters me inside.
Well, I have moved on, I think.
I will dress for me and my happiness.
I will no longer be better for you, or anyone for that matter.
So this is a thank you for showing me I'm better.
Oh, God.
I wrote the first one quite a while ago
Here it is,
one final day left of my peaceful, expectation-less existence.
Don´t get me wrong, dear reader, I´m quite excited for a new school year to begin.
However, I cannot help but to reflect on the time spent away from school in hopes of ending the pandemic.
My peers and I grew significantly during this time.
We faced being alone, like so many of us fear.
We sat and had tea with our demons in the dark.
We dressed like we wanted to and said what we thought.
And we became the children of quarantine.
And while we hated every minute of it, we knew it was necessary and we took the precautions some of our parents wouldn´t even take.
We defied the government,
we spoke up and decided we were done being bullied by those who demand our respect due to age.
We painted and sang and didn't care if it sounded atrocious to others, because it was ours
and ours alone.
I reflect on our final day,
and am a bit saddened by our loss of freedom and I do hope we don´t revert back to the facades that we put forth during school.
I have hope, however.
We are done hiding,
I believe in us.
One single act has changed my whole viewpoint.
As I wished for you for so long, I lost a little piece of myself.
All it took to reemerge to my former glory was one person noticing.
As we talked, he noticed m crying and asked what I felt to be true.
He knows of my wishes for you and I told him of the hurting you had brought.
He whisked away my tears to show me how I was special.
While he doesn't know this, as I sit writing next to him, he helps me see the beauty in the world.
He is truly special and all it took was just one single act to see it.
Soft rains and sunshine
white clouds and blue skies

green leaves
shaking trees

pretty birds
close suburbs

tall mountains
low plains

people
places

our pretty Earth is filled with many things.
happy earth day:)
You are possibly the greatest thing to happen to me in a while.
I have written about you before, but the longer I get to be yours, the longer I look forward to the future.
For the longest time, I felt as if I was unlovable.
That I was destined to be somebody's second choice,
their backup,
their least favorite.
But to you, I'm your's,
and you, luckily enough, are mine.
We're getting close to a year of you loving me,
and everything is completely polar to how it was back then.
I was alone, isolated in my room for none to see and none to want.
And then out of nowhere came you.
You filled my quarantined days with excitement,
with inside jokes,
with secret smiles,
with love.
My darling, you are possibly the greatest thing.
<3
As I lay, staring at the ceiling dreading the day,
I reflect on how this is ¨normal¨ now.
Two months ago, I would have never guessed that I would be made to stay inside, rather than my usual complacency to stay inside.
I miss the feeling of the sun shining on my friends' faces as we laughed and walked home from school.
From seeing my friends laugh alongside an inside joke in the school cafeteria.
I long for the day of comfort where painting was my escape, and not my excuse from my house.
I feel completely, wholly trapped in a creation of my own.  
I decorated my room to the brim to take some space from the walls and to make my life feel like a fairytale,
now my paintings and drawings and pictures and trinkets suffocate me, and it is my fault alone.
My brother, however, seems to be thriving from this.
He´s always had more online friends, and from this, he has only been allowed to spend even more time with them.
I see him only when we have to do our schoolwork and at meals.
4 times a day, for 30 minutes a piece.
I feel alone in this house.
My only solace my dog and my backyard.
It is true that we are all mad here,
but
some
are
more
mad
than
o
t
h
e
r
s
.
i feel as if im going insane, do any of you feel that too?
I know it has been quite a while since I have written.
My fingers dancing lazily across the keyboard.

It has not, however, been quite a while since I've dreamed.
Much of my life has been spent not having the auspicious scenarios dreamt up by my brain, but by empty spaces lacking color.

For the past month, I've had vivid and vivacious dreams of the past.
Memories I didn't even know I had.
Stored away in a lifetime of experiences.

I dream of past friends and long past grandmothers.
I dream of friends and foes.
I dream of those who have been one but become another.

It has been quite a while since I have had a full nights sleep.
Waking in the odd hours and reflecting on these illustrious illusions.
Waiting for the presumptuous pieces to connect.

It has been quite a while since I've written,
but it has not been quite a while since I've dreamt.
what are some weird things you guys have dreamt?
I see the reflections of me in everything I do.
If I cry, the pages of my book become smudged.
If I get angry, I break things,  
whether it be promises, hearts, or actual things.  
If I´m happy, I see my mother smile more,    
She´s so beautiful when she smiles, but I always see her beauty,    
but who couldn´t when it´s so apparent.      
If I laugh,      
my brother laughs at my laugh.      
If I say I love you,        
I see their smiles and I´m happy to know it´s because of me.        
I see the reflections of things I do,          
But we all have to learn to see the          
reflections of things we don´t do.            
The reflections are part of us and part of what we do.
And I think that is so beautiful.
As the new year comes around, I look on the dreadful past and the hopeful future.
I look into the forest that houses these creatures, venturing in further.
Armed with my shield and my ever-full heart.
I slice through each one, daring to face my monsters head-on.
After the battle is won, I stand victorious, yet tired.
My brain and heart weigh heavily with my experiences re-experienced.
I bury them, my demons.
They deserve to be out to rest.
Then I venture home, to my bed,
to sleep away and reflect on my self-help.
I'm a senior.

it hasn't hit me how little time I have left.
I can't imagine that after this year, I have to choose what to do with the rest of my life.
How do I determine how much I like something if I've never tried it?
I can't fathom that I have to try to meet new people after this, that I won't be surrounded by the same faces I've had for 13 years.
How am I a senior?
I feel like I'm still just starting middle school.
I'm a senior.
How?
Beauty doesn't begin to describe your stained glass eyes.
Full of wisdom shaped by deep cuts of sorrow.
Yet, they are light, almost airy, and full of love.
Those eyes have caught mine from across the room and have countlessly captivated my conscious.

But behind those stained glass eyes, is also beautiful.
So intelligent and kind is your mind.
Not sorrowful, but thoughtful.
That mind understands the world and its paper-like people.

Your mind is not, however, like stained glass.
Rather, it's like a tree.
Strong and unwavering, yet dazzlingly fluid.
How incredible.

God, none other can compare to your stained glass eyes and fluid-like mind.
I have to keep taking steps forward,
  for if I don't,
    I will surely fall backward.

If I take a step back,
  I will shatter,
    from the weight of expectations,
      of judging eyes
        and of false pretenses.

If I take too many steps forward,
  I might just fall into a chaotic beauty
    of problematic situations.

I must not take a single wrong step.
  Not one backward.
    Not one too many forward.
      Not the wrong step, just the absolute right step.


Steps.
Steps.
Steps.
For the sake of summer, I choose not to worry.
I choose not to have my mind obstructed by the obscenities of high school drama and/or its many stresses.
I write to those who listen now to show them that feeling this way is not, in fact, avoiding your problems like so many say.
This emotion, one in which evokes a certain sense of peace only found in little moments of solitary silence, is just us finding a true bliss and living just to live and not just survive, like we often do.
It is okay to take a moment to breathe, but when we take longer, society tells us it is procrastination and laziness.
Please, for the sake of summer, take your moment and do not let them tell you it is wrong.
sorry i havent written in a while
love you guys, take care of yourselves
I want you to take me to the river we visited as children.
I want to catch crawfish and play with rolly pollies.
We can talk about our dreams we had and how close we used to be.
If not a river,  what about the creek behind the house I used to live in,
the one where we cried when it was torn down.
I see you in the halls of this empty, full school.
I see you and I know you see me, but not even a nod is exchanged.
I want to go back to the beautiful times of our childhood where we played in the grass and fought over dolls.
I want to go back to when the biggest things on our mind were when we would get to see each other again.
I want to relive the jokes and revive the laughs.
I miss the river when you would take me there.
The greatest things are not holy, nor are they evil.
    They are not real, nor are they fake.
        
The greatest things do not hurt us, yet they crack us into billions of fragments and fractures.
    They do not define us, yet they are us.

The greatest things are nothing, but also everything.
   They are the winter and summer and fall and spring, yet they don't move.

The greatest things are beautiful, both in horrifying and angelic ways.
    They are breathtaking, but insignificant.

The greatest things are best experienced half-drunk on wanderlust, but also sober in a rooted reality.
     They are satisfying, but they also leave you feeling empty and lost.

The greatest things are the worst things.
This is just my opinion, don't get mad
How I adore the odd ends of time and the weird night hours that accompany them.
In the waking hours of just before sunrise,
and the blissful night quiet.
The things we think, and how we dream.
The odd ends of time are truly, in the purest form,
peculiar.
They called her a witch for she was charming.
She wore black lace and old perfume.
She had a black cat because she knew they didn't cause bad luck.
She listened to Stevie Nicks and Fleetwood Mac.
She had a collection of big hats and feather boas.
She had candles and books galore, filling the empty spaces in her heart with fantastic stories of make-believe places.
She smelled of sandalwood and roses.
Her favorite season was fall, her favorite flavor pumpkin spice.
She was a child of the moon, and she knew it.
She found peace on this website with other children of the stars, one being you.
What music do you like?
Artist?
Song?
sorry, i just wanna know
How lovely the world can be.
It is full of surprises.
Tiny little wonderful moments oh happy.

Only we don't see what's underneath.
Real people don't hide behind fake smiles.

Malicious words bite hard and fast.
Interesting choices make our worlds clash together chaotically.
Stupid little mistakes add up to make heart-wrenching catastrophes.
Somebody should really expose all of this hate for what it is.









what am I doing?!?!?!?!
I just got bored and started rambling.
Being through the screen without you is hard.
I want to hold you and see you smile in front of me.
I want to brush your hair away from your face, even if you like it that way.
Your eyes are just so beautiful,
and I get lost in them so, so easily.
Even if you're not mine.
Still, almost 5 months later.
Looking through the screen and wanting you is the hardest thing I do.
Whether it be the ceiling tiles in the classroom or the hospital tiles in hospice, everyone has a memory of tiles tied in.
These little square pieces that can trigger a violent vision.

However, it might not be physical tiles either.

They may be tiles your run across as you try to escape from the monster your mind creates.
The pieces falling out from under you, giving way to an immense fear.
These tiles are background characters, always looming.

The tiles we see are mere placeholders in our minds for our most substantial moments.
Do you have memories of tiles?
guess whose back
What does it mean to be truly alive?

Is it the glittering tales of love and its rose-colored glasses?
Or can it be the solitary solidity that we find in special relationships, both platonic and romantic?

What about the stories spun to entrance us into their mystifying glory?
Or is it the memories of those who have so greatly influenced us?

What will it feel like?

Will it be the brush of delicate fingertips between lovers?
Or will it be the sacred, shared smiles of siblings?

What about the tapping away at a keyboard to express our bountiful desires and ambitions?
What about the feel of paper as our eyes dance hurriedly to finish a captivating story?


Even though I am young and have not experienced the world like the wise seniors before me, I believe I have captured in my mind what it means to be truly alive.

I believe it is the stories and the dancing and the singing and the smiles and all the little moments we have so much of but do not think are important.
These little momentous moments are what make us human.
The little pieces of others we collect that harm and heal us.

I believe being truly alive is what makes us human.
this poem was inspired by a webcomic called 'Winter Woods'. This comic made me really evaluate what it meant to be really alive and why we are human. If you have the time, please do read it, you will be greatly moved by this lovely piece. It's on Webtoons and it is free.

srsly go read it.

Also, if you have any suggestions to help me better my writing, pls share because I always want me to be better.
music is part of the vitality
to which we stand
on hollow ground.

it's a sweet serenity
so let's listen and
get lost in the sound.

this sense of unity
is a vast land
to which we're found.
I don't know what this will be about.


I don't know specifically why I'm mad at you.
I think it may be a combination of a tiny thousand needless prickling me right where they know it hurts.
I have no clue what I am to do about this emptiness I feel now that you're gone.
I know now that there is truth in old lovers words.
That when they say they can still hear them
When they say they still remember things at the most random of times.
God, why can't I just be so mad at you that I don't care anymore!
I hate feeling this way.
Why do I have to be the one you left and have her be the one you chose?
Why do I have to see you everyday smiling and laughing and not being upset like I am?
WHY?
Why?
why?


w
h
y
?
i just had to tell someone, even if it doesnt matter.

my dress has pockets.....
WAS
WAS
It was beautiful.
It was maical.
It was enchanting and breathtaking and stunning.
However, it was fake.
I wish I was as fluid as water.
Just drip, drip, dripping.
I wish I could just mold to fit anything.
I wish I was as fluid as water.

I want to be as fluid as water.
Just crashing beautifully.
But also flowing freely.
I want to be as fluid as water.

I will be as fluid as water.
I will flow and bend and crash all at once.
I will love in abundance, but make sure not to stretch too thin.
I will be as fluid as water.

I wish
and want
and will
be as fluid as water.
Here you are again, after leaving
you come back and expect to pick up where we left off.
I don't know if we should, I loved dating you,
but it was hard to let you go
and be friends 2 1/2 hours away.
Just friends because it was too hard to be with you.
But here you are again,
popping up in my life with the promise of forever.
Just like before,
and I let you.
The problem is not that you're here,
but that I let you be.
I want you to hold me and call me beautiful again.
But why?
I hate and love you.
Is it the first?
Or the latter?
And why do I think it's the second?
I am a work in progress.
A half-baked pie and a runny omelet.
A party-shaded masterpiece and a book waiting to be resumed.
5 nails painted and 1 earring put in.
A marathon half-ran and a bearly put together bed.

I am a work in progress.
A page colored outside the lines.
The only remembered lines of a song.
A site without a link and a cut cake.
A sunset on a cloudy day.

I am a work in progress.
I am not a bad thing.
I am not a good thing.
I am not pretty.
I am not ugly.

I am a work in progress.
I am not tall.
I am not short.
I am not stupid.
I am not dumb.

I am a work in progress.
I am me and you are you and we are perfect.
4th line-that's what she said

— The End —