"allyson" poems - Hello Poetry

She wrote love on a screen, copied and pasted Death Cab lyrics most sincerely. But sincerity in high school leaves few friends. It is ostracized like curly hair and blemished faces. So she followed her forgotten heart into the dark. Obit quotes of friends and family vacant of responsibility. Everyone blind-sighted, to the scholar they wanted to see, leaving her final breath warrantless, as if advanced Chemistry excused her from Depression. No one payed attention. Her suicide was a crime of pain. Her favorite song was the beauty of Death And with her friends gone, family busy, and identity lost, her soul embarked on finding light in the dark. Allyson, you found it, suffocating your isolation to cardiac arrest, so I didn't have to a year later, crumbling next to a stuck window screen, next to a world that didn't love me, rationalizing two stories wouldn't **** me, crying in the flashlight of remains below I feared being. Sleep peacefully, Allyson Rose Green, because your soul is forever breathing in that song, at least, for me. And eight years from your death, hearing it again, I wish we could have been friends. Maybe then, high school, you could have survived. And I could have lived it with at least one lonely friend. I barely scraped by.

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Oct 2, 2014

Oct 2, 2014 at 2:45 PM UTC

courtney-pruitt

I won't follow you into the dark

She wrote love on a screen, copied and pasted Death Cab lyrics most sincerely. But sincerity in high school leaves few friends. It is ostracized like curly hair and blemished faces. So she followed her forgotten heart into the dark. Obit quotes of friends and family vacant of responsibility. Everyone blind-sighted, to the scholar they wanted to see, leaving her final breath warrantless, as if advanced Chemistry excused her from Depression. No one payed attention. Her suicide was a crime of pain. Her favorite song was the beauty of Death And with her friends gone, family busy, and identity lost, her soul embarked on finding light in the dark. Allyson, you found it, suffocating your isolation to cardiac arrest, so I didn't have to a year later, crumbling next to a stuck window screen, next to a world that didn't love me, rationalizing two stories wouldn't **** me, crying in the flashlight of remains below I feared being. Sleep peacefully, Allyson Rose Green, because your soul is forever breathing in that song, at least, for me. And eight years from your death, hearing it again, I wish we could have been friends. Maybe then, high school, you could have survived. And I could have lived it with at least one lonely friend. I barely scraped by.

53

Your brain is plugged and foggy; Your mind is on the freaking fritz; The poetry is lost and boggy; You hold your pen in woolen mitts. Try a senryu about your life Or a haiku on the froggy pond; Cut through bloc de l'auter with a knife, And slog out of the slough, Despond. Sometimes it helps to focus long On a single spot on the wall of life And see what image comes along... (I like to think of my pretty wife). This writer's block's a funny thing Tied somehow to the lives we lead, And sterile writers need a fling To let their stubborn poems breed. So walk a while, or take a Jeep; Visit the county fair... Milk a cow or shear a sheep; Wear flowers in your hair. Or be like me and go take a nap; Read a good book, or call an old friend; Some poems are babies not yet in the lap, Developing elsewhere, somewhere in the When.... Be sure they'll show up when they're ready to shine; They'll trip off your fingers; they'll flow like red wine; They'll sparkle or spark, or they'll whimper and cry, But your poems will arrive, and I'm telling no lie. Be patient, Good Allys..., the block's not an end, Your poems are waiting ahead, 'round the bend.

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Sep 5, 2016

Sep 5, 2016 at 11:36 AM UTC

don-bouchard

bloc de l'auteur (for Allyson)

Your brain is plugged and foggy; Your mind is on the freaking fritz; The poetry is lost and boggy; You hold your pen in woolen mitts. Try a senryu about your life Or a haiku on the froggy pond; Cut through bloc de l'auter with a knife, And slog out of the slough, Despond. Sometimes it helps to focus long On a single spot on the wall of life And see what image comes along... (I like to think of my pretty wife). This writer's block's a funny thing Tied somehow to the lives we lead, And sterile writers need a fling To let their stubborn poems breed. So walk a while, or take a Jeep; Visit the county fair... Milk a cow or shear a sheep; Wear flowers in your hair. Or be like me and go take a nap; Read a good book, or call an old friend; Some poems are babies not yet in the lap, Developing elsewhere, somewhere in the When.... Be sure they'll show up when they're ready to shine; They'll trip off your fingers; they'll flow like red wine; They'll sparkle or spark, or they'll whimper and cry, But your poems will arrive, and I'm telling no lie. Be patient, Good Allys..., the block's not an end, Your poems are waiting ahead, 'round the bend.

30

No place to sleep My bed is all there is Let me take care of you, Allyson Allyson. That name on his tongue You feel heavy You don’t feel **** anymore Sweating You’re sweating and sweating and sweating and sweating Hands on your hips Hands On your Hips God you’re so STUPID You’re so so so STUPID Lie down Keep to yourself Nothing will happen just keep to yourself Look at the ceiling You’re ok You’re ok Throw up You’re ok Leave at 6am It will disappear It will disappear But it doesn’t People are saying something about crying **** No you just think he made you feel uncomfo- You never said anything about ra- You’re a feminist You’re a contradictory ***** You’re a gazelle and four cheetahs are Ripping You Apart You’re losing touch Hives Hives Hives All over your body Steroids Steroid pills Steroid injections Mom it’s poison ivy Mom it’s the laundry detergent Mom it’s the overwhelming anxiety that is consuming even the largest ***** of your God-forsaken body and it’s on your hips Hands On Your Hips You’re sick You’re sick again You want to die again Prozac again 20mg this time the dreams the dreams are so vivid google search: how to tell your boyfriend his best friend violated you in a nightmare for the third night in a row friends losing friends fights and fights and fights no one cares and you don’t either how are you supposed to care when all you see when you look at them is Hands On your Hips And the dreams. The ******* dreams Who would believe the dreams Who would care give them the glare, give them your signature glare they don’t understand they will never understand they don’t want to ever ******* understand walk alone eat alone read alone alone alone alone it’s better that way it’s almost over

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Feb 1, 2016

Feb 1, 2016 at 1:04 PM UTC

allyson-d

senior year

No place to sleep My bed is all there is Let me take care of you, Allyson Allyson. That name on his tongue You feel heavy You don’t feel **** anymore Sweating You’re sweating and sweating and sweating and sweating Hands on your hips Hands On your Hips God you’re so STUPID You’re so so so STUPID Lie down Keep to yourself Nothing will happen just keep to yourself Look at the ceiling You’re ok You’re ok Throw up You’re ok Leave at 6am It will disappear It will disappear But it doesn’t People are saying something about crying **** No you just think he made you feel uncomfo- You never said anything about ra- You’re a feminist You’re a contradictory ***** You’re a gazelle and four cheetahs are Ripping You Apart You’re losing touch Hives Hives Hives All over your body Steroids Steroid pills Steroid injections Mom it’s poison ivy Mom it’s the laundry detergent Mom it’s the overwhelming anxiety that is consuming even the largest ***** of your God-forsaken body and it’s on your hips Hands On Your Hips You’re sick You’re sick again You want to die again Prozac again 20mg this time the dreams the dreams are so vivid google search: how to tell your boyfriend his best friend violated you in a nightmare for the third night in a row friends losing friends fights and fights and fights no one cares and you don’t either how are you supposed to care when all you see when you look at them is Hands On your Hips And the dreams. The ******* dreams Who would believe the dreams Who would care give them the glare, give them your signature glare they don’t understand they will never understand they don’t want to ever ******* understand walk alone eat alone read alone alone alone alone it’s better that way it’s almost over

81

Remember the "Surrender to Love" sticker we got signed to us by Alex and Allyson Grey? Oh, the irony with which this situation oozes: I saw it again this morning and I can't help but laugh, despite all the Pain. I venture to say I am "blessed" to be able to laugh at that.

0

Sep 14, 2013

Sep 14, 2013 at 1:10 PM UTC

Anubis-the-Philosomancer

Surrender to Love

Remember the "Surrender to Love" sticker we got signed to us by Alex and Allyson Grey? Oh, the irony with which this situation oozes: I saw it again this morning and I can't help but laugh, despite all the Pain. I venture to say I am "blessed" to be able to laugh at that.

10

Allyson was someone I got to know through words, Be it fake or authentic, Humans specialise in creating characters, But when do characters stop being characters, And represent a deeper truth of our own. Maybe Allyson has been fabricated again, Or that Allyson has been real all this time. In the end, it's impossible to tell when, Fiction diverts from reality.

0

Feb 6, 2016

Feb 6, 2016 at 10:10 PM UTC

dissipate

Where Fiction Meets Reality.

Allyson was someone I got to know through words, Be it fake or authentic, Humans specialise in creating characters, But when do characters stop being characters, And represent a deeper truth of our own. Maybe Allyson has been fabricated again, Or that Allyson has been real all this time. In the end, it's impossible to tell when, Fiction diverts from reality.

9