"ashton" poems
“Grades are getting low,
the teens are getting high.
That 12 year old is pregnant
and her parents wonder why.
A 1st grader is swearing,
a 3rd grader has been *****
Just take a look around you,
isn’t the system great?
Who isn’t faded these days,
teens are sending nudes,
kids are getting beaten,
the teachers see the bruises.
No calls for help are spoken,
teens are smoking ****
young girls are cutting,
this isn’t what we need.
The marks of taunt and yelling,
parents are divorced.
That 14 year old is drinking beer,
this can’t get any worse.
A little girl has killed herself,
nobody seems to care.
Another kid has been expelled
for a stupid dare.
But it needs to change.
Our world is officially broken.
It’s time to take a stand;
your thoughts need to be spoken.”
Thoughts are running wild
As the tears stream down my face.
Depressed and suicidal,
But I should just stay in my place.
I’m feeling kinda broken,
Feeling kinda lost.
I wanna make my pain
Just go away at any cost.
Don’t get me wrong, I grew up
In a nice enough neighborhood.
And I did everything that
Anybody said I should.
But it wasn’t enough.
It wasn’t me.
I thought that I could help the world
With the things I’ve seen.
My cousin lost herself
In drinking hard and smoking ***
My good friend tried to run away
And lose her past a lot.
I, myself, have struggled
With thoughts of losing it all.
The pro and cons of jumping off
That cliff into the free fall.
I mean if there's something that can save me
Then it'll show up, right?
It's worth the wait to take a blade to my wrist
And **** it up, right?
The truth is, I don't know
How to do this and win the fight.
I need someone to show me
There's still a ray of light.
I fell into a pit of despair
And it consumed me.
I guess the only way to help the world
Was to lose me.
Finding myself is gonna take a while.
Don't know if I can make it.
Keep giving out my heart
Hoping someone will take it.
Drinking, smoking,
Doing everything to make me numb.
Doing stupid things.
Making people call me dumb.
Popping pills like candy
Just to get me through the day.
Trying to end it all;
To make the pain just go away.
It wasn't perfect. Never.
It wasn't good enough for anyone.
So I always sat alone
And wished my life was done.
~Ashton Grayson Everly
Feb 13, 2018
Feb 13, 2018 at 1:27 PM UTC
Oh nothing makes me happy,
******* creating for days,
Biting gnashing, laughing dying,
Selling always selling,
Oh and you, you'll buy today.
BUT YOU'LL REMEMBER ME WHEN I'M GONE.
OH YOU WILL REMEMBER ME BY MY SONG.
YOU'LL SING
"JOHN ASHTON UPSTON YOU
FOUGHT FOR ME,
THE COLD STARE AT THE END OF THE PITCHER
REFLECTING BACK AT ME
THE EMPTY FEELING OF
AN EMPTY STOMACH
AN EMPTY MIND
A BROKEN HEART
ALL FILLED WITH BLOOD,
AND WE CAN DIE TOGETHER,
OH JOHN WE' DIE FOREVER,
AS LONG AS YOU LAY DOWN,
NEXT TO ME,"
And I'll hear it, softly.
It might even look like I'll,
Smile.
But that was a lie.
Before I died on the outside,
I was long dead inside.
The laughter reached my eyes,
Anyway.
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 12:57 AM UTC
This job is just one long drawn out lobotomy.
Hey quit putting gum on the bottom of these desks you *******
I can think of a few ways to get out of here but I don't think I can afford a ****** harassment lawsuit.
I'm about 2 minutes away from a faking a seizure and about 5 from a real one.
Hey Guantanamo Bay, are your methods of torture outdated and boring? Then have I got a deal for you...
You think you can just drop Seinfeld references and I won't pick up on them? You thought wrong, *****
I think I lost the ability to see color...
All work and no play makes Ashton a dull boy...
I'm still waiting on Betty White to crawl her old *** out here and tell me this is some kind of practical joke.
Homelessness is looking more and more like a serious option
Don't pull the fire alarm. Don't pull the fire alarm. Don't pull the fire alarm.
Enough is enough! I have had it with all these ************* boogers on these ************* desks!
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 6:01 PM UTC
they are not even a boy band, and that name is pronounced five sauce,
they're pretty lame, but they're all i've got,
when calum breathes, ashton laughs , mikey screams and luke smiles,
i swear all i have in my stomach are butterflies.
if you think i dont love them enough,
then you have to read this poem and screencap..
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 5:54 AM UTC
things that fall:
petals
teardrops
snowflakes
rain
stars
time
shadows
leaves
the sun
and me
for you
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 4:26 PM UTC
I once met a boy on the school bus I used to ride
I find it ironic that I was walking down the aisle
When I saw him
---
He had a girlfriend and charisma
I had a heart and innocence
In one weekend he took both of them
---
That Saturday I snuck out to see him
Alcohol had him intoxicated
Infatuation had me
---
A single cloud hung in the sky
An entire galaxy composed of water droplets
He pointed at it *"If I wasn't so wasted,
I'd swear that's the Milky Way"*
"We're standing on the Milky Way"
---
"I want to kiss you right now"
"You don't even know me"
"What don't I know"
Everything "Name a hobby of mine"
"Writing"
Lucky guess
"My favorite actor"
"Ashton Kutcher"
I shook my head
"Leonardo Dicaprio" then "Patrick Dempsey" then "Ryan Gosling"
"He was"
"Past tense - Who is"
"You are"
"What role have I played"
"A role in my life"
He laughed then insisted that he wasn't playing anything
He promised me that he wasn't acting
---
"You won't even remember this in the morning"
"If I do"
"If you do, tell me-"
"Last night we were standing on the Milky Way"
"Yeah tell me that"
---
"Last night we were standing on the Milky Way"
He laughed when I tilted my head
"You remembered"
"Everything"
I folded those words and put them in my pocket
He folded my heart and placed it in his
---
But his promises were
Shorter than my nails.
(When I bit them)
And that evening, his mother found
My heart in their washing machine
A victim to the rinse cycle
---
He deserves an Oscar.
Jan 26, 2012
Jan 26, 2012 at 9:46 PM UTC
Ashton,
Oh Ashton,
You make even the darkest parts of me smile.
Even though you will never notice me,
you make it worth the while.
Ashton,
Oh Ashton,
Pound those drums Hard,
Sing,
Sing your heart out,
dont worry,
ill keep gaurd.
Ashton,
Oh Ashton,
I wish you good Luck,
I watch you at the bottom,
Now you've made your way to the top.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 12:29 AM UTC
My teacher told me,
"Write something.
It's required."
So, I did.
And it hurts,
to put it down
on paper,
to share it with the world.
But I was inspired.
He inspired me.
It's a mess of all the things in my head,
but it all comes back to him.
it hurts
when you see someone this attractive.
he has messy brown hair
with golden streaks
and eyes
like a oceanic abyss.
he smiles as if
i'm the funniest thing in the world.
and his laugh
is the music
my ears have unknowingly longed to hear
all my life.
he's a musician,
an actor.
his voice is like the rocks on the shores
that sirens lured sailors into.
it's the rough,
raspy,
most beautiful kind
of angelic.
he's beautiful,
and
i think
i love him.
~Ashton Grayson Everly
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 10:53 AM UTC
My feet are cold.
The black stove in the bottom right
corner of the room must've gone out.
Grandaddy's thick green army blanket
tops just above my feet.
I can feel my sister's breath,
warm on my neck, as we lie on Grandma's black leather sleeper sofa
across from the black stove.
My cousins are on the other side,
Ashton's asthma is acting up.
Mamma and daddy are in the other
room. The dog, Lady, is snoring on Grandma's pink armchair.
Grandma's in the kitchen banging
pots, preparing Sunday breakfast.
Auntie's walking down the hallway.
I can hear her blue cotton slippers
shuffle 'cross the carpet.
Mamma starts the tub in the
small, green bathroom down the
hall from the ancient white
washer and dryer.
My crisply pressed black suit
Is laid out on Grandma's
master bed.
My suit is on and my Bible
in hand. Seated on my
father's shoulders we all filed out
the door, twenty people staying
in Grandma's tiny, old house
beside the pasture that kept the
two brown quarters that were as
old as the house itself. The rose
bush across from the screen
door at the front of the house
had flowers, the same color
as those on my sister's Sunday dress
deep blood red. A blood red rose
on every breast short, tall, young
an old. A tradition carried out
until the rose bush across from the
screen door, at the front of the
house, beside the pasture that
kept the two brown quarters as
old as the house itself, died.
Oct 19, 2011
Oct 19, 2011 at 4:13 PM UTC
Help me
by Ashton Ard
Help me,
is something I wish I could say,
Just waiting until the day I can finally be freed from this prison I built around me.
Everyday gets harder to breathe,
I tear at my skin
ripping off the weights holding me back,
making me hold my breath.
It's too late for me to be better,
I've been bottled up for way too long.
I wish I could be strong,
like you all want me to be,
choking back my tears, I wash away my fears,
hoping to leave no trace of who I was.
Who was that girl,
who everyone thought was a lesbian?
I don't know,
because that was never me.
I forced myself into a box,
girls wear pink,
boys wear blue,
Help me,
is something I wish I could say,
just waiting until the day I can finally be freed from the prison I built around me.
Boys play sports,
girls play dolls,
No!
I scream,
This world doesn't see the many colors of who you can really be.
I rip at my chest,
I rip at my hair,
why can't I just be happy?
it's the worlds fault for pushing us back.
We're people too,
We love just like you,
Help me,
I whisper underneath my breath.
The prison walls around me fall down,
I stand in the middle of a field,
A single rainbow stands before me.
Finally,
I'm accepted,
I'm loved,
I'm happy.
Thank you.
Feb 28, 2018
Feb 28, 2018 at 7:20 AM UTC
Oh you, you champion.
You have won us
(some by losing us)
We all adore your scissor-shaped
mouth: even unsettled goslings
honking claims of flying south.
Shine on, halo of a man.
Shine on, newsie flash in the pan.
Apr 7, 2010
Apr 7, 2010 at 4:34 PM UTC
My account was accepted today
I was so excited to start.
I read some poems.
so good
This place
Hello poetry.
Is really nice.
I read a fiew people's words.
Ashton
Bleeding diamonds
Toxic moon
Its gonna make sense.
But they have some **** good poetry.
Ashton proves life can be livable.
Bleeding diamonds proves that he can havr fun and be serious through abuse.
Toxic moon has a genre of relations.
And ita gonna make sense lays it down flat for ya.
Hello poetry
My first night tonight
And i know
I love it.
Smash the hearts
Repost my words.
Though i have some questions
Like
Why does bleeding diamonds bleed?
Or why does ashton feel so trapped?
Things I'd love to learn
Here
On hello poetry
Jul 19, 2016
Jul 19, 2016 at 12:02 AM UTC
The world is a great whirling place.
The wind is always moving,
Jets streams, high and low pressure,
Hurricanes and tornadoes and sweet-smelling,
Gentle afternoon breezes accompanied by sweet iced tea and
A smooth, southern belle accent.
It’s all a reaction, a string of effects that affect another
Effect.
You sneeze, you end world hunger.
You cough, you **** a man in France with a
.22 that you stole from your mom.
The Butterfly Effect
An interesting movie, that one
Though the only scene I’ve ever seen
Was Ashton Kutcher waking up and somehow having
Spent the night with his boyhood crush as an adult
In her college dorm.
(Did I imagine that?
Who knows.)
Regardless: I’m curious
What each of my heartbeats does to the economy of Taiwan.
What the smell of my shampoo does to the eruption of a volcano in Hawaii.
What the cut of my dress does to the graying hair on an old man living
In a flat in central London.
Excuse me, I meant greying.
It’s also funny: what does one random smile from me
Do to a stranger for the rest of the day?
What does my stumble up the stairs
Do to a Spanish teacher as they come back from their lunch break?
If we’re all connected, then shouldn’t everything we do determine something else?
And isn’t everything we do determined by something else?
So was everything determined by one singular action at the very beginning?
Can there be an origin action without an action to originate that, and one to originate that, and-
Well, I’ve heard that’s God: he’s the hand that tipped the first domino,
The only thing in existence that defies all science and reason;
Whether that’s true or not is for a different day
With a different girl with a decent amount of sleep.
Oct 29, 2020
Oct 29, 2020 at 3:54 PM UTC
Let go
and glide
down the happy
tunnel
of healing
forgive
The heavy coat
of care, weighs
down to the
cellular level,
exhausted.
It breaks down the
fibers of health
that holds
now folds
bending
from
carrying too many
burdens
ours
others.
Resistance leaves
and an open door
for a foreigner to enter
at the cellular level.
Let go
and glide
down the happy
tunnel
of healing
forgive the unforgivable
free them from the
prison state
healing at
the cellular level.
Allison Ashton©
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 11:40 PM UTC
Master of puppets cease the chatter and ruckus find what life's sum is
Climb to the summet notice the smell will be pungent
I can see his sights clear I hold no fear you froze in the middle like headlights on a deer causing the cataclysmic fate into which you peer
I'll try not to get too wordy, to many word patterns while I chop this rhyme up in fury tell me what might the cure be ?
Lines lay down like corpses in a morgue dissecting you into a gord you life hangs by a thread or cord
Empathy is something I can't afford
Bitterness hate enacting my raging states leave you stiff In a lake
Your body's bloated like yeast in a cake you existing was a mistake
Your a ****** and who's body was turned stagnant your mind devoid of thought life in fragments rigamortis leaves you muscles tight together like magnets
**** it , the bay harbor butcher with looks like Ashton Kutcher leave you with cuts you can't sutcher
Put ya in a state of endless suffering no pain subsiding or breaks ,there will be no buffering
Let it end ,feel the life you want go and the agony tear your mind apart slow, you have nothing left to learn that I don't know I will forever domineer your soul
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 8:55 AM UTC
I look for something more
when He's knocking at my door.
Grace
Around me, in a smile, in a face
sometimes in an embrace.
Or a song, I sing, maybe a prayer
I breath
Not Grace but Grace
No one looks, nor includes me
I feel alone, then lonely.
I question wildly why?
I want to ask questions, reason
and finally understand but
I can't. It's cold,
I am alone.
I look for something more
when He's knocking at my door.
Grace
Calling to my heart
when faces leave me
and voices silence and the
boxes are empty, calling
to my heart to a place
far apart.
Home, calls me to His heart
His smile, His arms, His face,
His Home,
Grace.
Allison Ashton ©
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 17, 2011 at 6:42 AM UTC
He used to deliver
Groceries to Mrs
Ushmore as a kid and
She’d say, bring it into
The kitchen, Henry, and
Put it down on the side,
Why, you must be thirsty
After carrying that
Heavy load to my door,
And he’d go in with the
Groceries and lay them
Down where she had shown him
And looked around the place
Trying hard to avoid
Looking at young Mrs
Ushmore who was dressed in
The skimpiest of things
And pretended to be
Looking around at the
Shelves and gas cooker and
Out the large window.
What are you having, she
Asked, Coke? Yeah, that’ll be
Fine, he replied, looking
Over her shoulder at
The wallpaper of bright
Yellow flowers. Have you
Seen my ***** She asked.
Miss Glissy, I call her.
Henry shook his head and
Looked briefly at her. No,
He replied, getting a
Quick glimpse of her big *******
Fighting to escape from
The black bra. Here, she said,
Have a Coke and don’t go
Rushing it now, don’t want
You to get the hiccups
And have your mother come
Over here telling me
Off. No, I won’t, he said,
Sipping the Coke, tasting
Each mouthful, letting it
Rest on his tongue. I love
My ***** she said, but
My husband, Clive, he has
Little to do with her,
Says she’s nothing to be
Too fussed about. Henry
Swallowed the small mouthful.
His eyes settled like small
Butterflies on her thighs,
Focussing where her black
Suspenders met the brown
Stockings and the skin stretched
Out there like nothing he’d
Seen before, not even
Amy Shortdove, showed him
That much for her two dimes.
Would you like to stroke Miss
Glissy? She asked, giving
Henry a wide-eyed stare.
No, I better be off,
Henry said gulping down
The last remaining Coke.
Mr Ashton don’t like
Me hanging around and
I’ve loads more to do and
Maybe another time,
Mrs Ushmore, I can
Stroke your ***** Sure, she
Said smiling, I’m sure she’d
Like that. Henry rode his
Bike away not looking
Back, not letting her see
He was interested,
Not letting her think he’d
Ever stroke Miss Glissy
In a thousand years let
Alone days or weeks,
And he never did see
Or stroke Mrs Ushmore’s
***** but he often
Dreamed he did and enjoyed
The dream, with him and Miss
Glissy purring and both
Of them licking the cream.
Apr 4, 2012
Apr 4, 2012 at 4:30 AM UTC
*Oh little one you were created to live
not knowing the pain of
rejection
humiliation
misunderstanding
would come upon you.
You were soft in your mother’s womb
growing and feeling safe
waiting for the moment
to know the one who carried you
and thinking of all the things you would be someday.
But as the merciless poison filled your
warm world
the pain of
rejection
humiliation
misunderstanding
filled your mind
And no one heard you saying, but
“I want to live”
“I want to live”
You were discarded in the dump ground
of others just like you
who cried just like you
who hoped just like you
Oh little one you were created to live.*
Allison Ashton
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 10:37 PM UTC
From Grandma to you, a clock for Christmas
To hang on your bedroom wall
To show you time is useful
And important to us all
At first it's pace can seem too slow
You want to hurry up and grow
Then the years begin to fly
Till you're nearly as old as Grandma and I
But for now there's time to learn
Hundreds and thousands of things
And we hope you will enjoy
All that time soon brings
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 10:38 AM UTC
A String Pull Away
Do we cry a thousand tears
or die a thousand deaths?
Do we live in shadows
and bury our hearts in sand?
Do we control the heart that beats
or the blood that rushes through?
Do we live in fiction worlds
that only a mass of fiber conceives?
and forget a bigger world
that longs for our eyes to see?
The blinds are only a string pull away.
Allison Ashton©
Nov 9, 2011
Nov 9, 2011 at 11:05 PM UTC
IMGAYGAYMEANSHAPPYIMFEELINGGAYTODAYYOUSEEMYFINGERSSNAPPINGIWANNASEETHEWORLDDONTFEELLIKENAPPINGTODAYIMQUEERLETSBECLEARWHENISAYTHEWORDQUEERIMEANECCENTRICORWEIRDANDLETMETELLYOUALLIMBEINGSINCEREWHENISAYTHERESNOTHINGWRONGWITHBEINGQUEERILIKEMENMYFELLOWMENWOMENANDMENANDEVERYTHINGINBETWEENANDBEYONDWOMENANDMENILIKEEVERYONETHEENDOKAYIMGAYBUTTHATSNOTQUEERWHATSSOSTRANGEABOUTHOLDINGMENDEARIMCHEERYBECAUSEIMGAYANDIMOKAYWITHME
-THOMASSANDERS
~Ashton Grayson Everly
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 1:14 PM UTC
A garden I planted one day,
full of flowers in colors arrayed.
But, as the hours went by
I wondered when these
would rise?
Impatient, I dug them up
and said,
"why have you not grown?"
Then, I planted again
patience was not in my hand.
The hours went by and
I began to sigh
when these would rise.
Impatient, I dug them up
and said, "when, when, when
do your begin?"
But, what I failed to see
in the deep darkness
of the earth, God's quiet working
would soon give birth.
And I held my hands
folding them in His plan.
His timing not mine,
His will, not mine.
Allison Ashton©
Nov 12, 2011
Nov 12, 2011 at 11:00 PM UTC
Ghosts cover the sky like a large, grey sheet with the sun trying so hard to shine thought that it's breaking into a sweat. Bus doors open, feet appear on the black wet pavement. A woman appears, the doors close and the bus is gone in an instant. It's been a very long time since Alaska has seen the graveyard. With each step she takes memories shoot her mind like a bullet shooting through her head. The air is clear, quite. Alaska clears her throat, raises her head and keeps walking with her chin held high. She walks up to a white marble colored gravestone, kneels down and kissed the ground. The engraving read:
Ashton Thomas
January 1990 - September 2013
A beloved soul mate, son, and father.
Her eyes were closed, soaked in her own tears. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a wrinkled small piece of paper. She unfolded the paper while shutters ran through her body. Finally, the paper was opened and slowly fell to the ground. Instead of picking it back up, Alaska brought her head down to the ground and read the paper. She skimmed it once, and then twice, raised her head, and then her body also bringing herself to her feet. She cleared her throat, and then spoke with confidence:
Hello there soul mate of mine;
Are you missing me now?
Hello there veteran;
Did your honor let you down?
From your head
To your toes;
Covered in clothes.
With your gun in your hands,
and the helmet on your head.
Did they put you in the right bed?
The bed you stay in for the rest of eternity,
Covered in dirt and dampness
The bed of death.
So here I am, forgiving you.
Leaving you.
Forgetting you.
Until the day, I join you.
And then she turned around. Wiped away the wetness from her eyes. She felt new, as though something had risen from her. The weight of the world is no longer there. The grey clouds in the sky soon disappeared and the sun was shinning through. Alaska walked out of the cemetery proud that day.
Jul 1, 2012
Jul 1, 2012 at 8:13 PM UTC
Nothing about my answer is final
Because I, too, like you more than I should
But I can't answer to your beck and call
I wouldn't if I could
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 6:30 PM UTC
A circle noon is here and we message awhile
or oft right assuage the view of Ashton Hayes
as these will meet with hardly a shiver forthwith our hindsight there harbors a polite politic without polemic.
As observations finish at sunset and measure loft during sunshine with embankment that has marked us with sheen inside.
Therefore heathers disappear as smoke clouded conditions now our gazes in the fog of the air as the ashes still in the rain only go away if we accompany legislatively hence rescue reform yet seen in glory.
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 7:55 AM UTC