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Derek Wings Apr 2012
my heart is in a cage
the cage is invisible
but my heart is barely visible
hidden behind so many bars that are practically invincible
because every bar is made from a scar
i dont even know how many there are
so many; it seems more like a prison
everytime feelings have risen
they couldnt get break out
and who wants to break into a jail
when every attempt seems to fail
it seems ive been trapped in this cell
ever since that one time i fell (in love)
how long have i been here
i cant even tell anymore
sometimes i just sit and stare at the lock
and everthing that is blocking the door
someday it will open
as long as the lock isnt broken
atleast thats what i'm always hopin
I do believe one day
you will find the key
to this invisble cage
but you better hurry
it only gets stronger with age
beware of  the jokes
and meaningless conversations
that never get serious
because they will turn you away
as i try to run away
but i hope you swill stay
and break these scars
so i can let go of all the pain
and all this rage
stuck inside my rib cage
Rinsha Razak Dec 2016
My childhood was alluring days,
I miss those days in many ways.
I was so adorable on those days
And delightful like sun rays,
When I was a child,
My heart was painted with full of colours
And filled with beautiful imagination.
The whole world was like a pearl to me.
It was the most happiest days of past.
But I miss those days in many ways.
I played with my childhood friends and brothers.
I played with different types of toys and flowers.
They are like my lovers.

My life filled with happiness and joy.
Those days was heaven for me.
First day my mother left her hand,
She went away with a crying face
It broke my heart in many ways.
It was the first step to my kinder garten.
It was a new atmosphere for me.
I cried and played with ***** mud
And mud caked to my new shoes.
I miss all the fun and beauty of my eyes.
In my childhood i wished for many things.
Now I wish ,I want my funniest childhood days.
I realise they were the big things to me.

All are going through many stages in life.
The day I found my little tricycle in the backyard.
My mind run backward fastly.
Like a super car and all my memories shuffled,
Until I reach the memories of evergreen childhood.
Childhood is the best or world to all.
Everyone want to be a child atleast one day.
I want back my lamp,
To remove the darkness of world.
Music is inside in everyone's heart,
But It won't show out in some case.
Like childhood memories are inside us,
But still it keep fade in our heart.

Never stop playing, screeming, laughing,
It will carry your childhood with you.
We never and ever become older,
We all have an endless breathing and stages.
It can't take back and go back.
Look the world with child eye.
It seems more beautiful than anything.
Reminiscence of childhood were the dreams
That stayed with you after you woke.
Childhood is being carefully held like a glass.
My anguish wishes to be a youngster,
I want my souvenir back and
Blow it Up into a bubble and live inside it forever. ?
Khaab Oct 2020
She was happy and angelic
Just like a Disney princess...
Believed in an asthetic world which never existed...
Believed in people who didn't know how to love...
She celebrated each and every day with them
Gave them her heart and trust....silly!
But how could she forget...
Neither it was Disney nor she was a princess.
They hurt her with their knives of words and actions.

She bleeded everyday more and more...
But she was not a loser...as it ain't in her blood
She picked up her sword and the bruised pieces...
Put them back with the bandaids.

They thought of her as a dream...that could be broken easily,
But she is a nightmare...dressed up as a dream.
In this world of princesses,
She will be a Queen...
Now don't get near her...you'll get burned
Her heart is all black...
I saw her pretending to be happy.
But now I guess.... she is tired.
The demons that once played and made her cry
They are bowing down to her.

Even though she is all black  
But I'll miss the old her...whatever she was
Atleast she was mine.

🖤
To all the girls out there who first lost themselves but then found a Queen inside them.
Emma Amme Apr 2014
Next two years, college, poetry, poetry,
You, me, ***, condoms, birthcontrol?
Mother, permission, cleaning room, cleaning life, windex, lemon scented windex.
Windows, escape, Ani Difranco, 32 flavors, 32 flavors and then some
I am 32 flavors and then some.
My grades are 1 A, 2 Bs, 3 Cs and 2 Ds?
Atleast I vary. Colleges look for variation.
I can cross my eyes. Only one other person in my family can cross their eyes.
This was my last quarter to make an impression.
Impress. Smile. Eye contact. I have to meet your mother.
I have to go shopping
With your mother.
I lied to my mother
Mothers dont like lying
My parents asked me if something tragic happened to me
I used to wish that something tragic would happen to me
Nothing tragic has happened to me
Unless you call immense boredom with tiny people on a tiny state tragic
Which for a matter of fact I do.
You ask me whats going on
I’m a smart girl
Im flattered that you think so
But I doubt your surgeon parents will agree
How many AP classes am I taking...
0.
This is so out of character.
Youve never avoided your problems like this before
Silly parents
You’d avoid your problems too if they were
Life ambition, college, ***, condoms, birthcontrol?
1 A, 2 Bs, 3 Cs and 2 Ds, cleaning room, cleaning life
Cleaning out my character
Because I have to impress your mother.
Should we get you a therapist?
We shouldve gotten you a therapist last year
Dealing with stress is hard for anyone
You just need help.
I do not want your help.
Dealing with stress is not hard
Put your head in the sand and listen to Ani Difranco
32 Flavors
32 flavors and then some
I am 32 flavors and then some
OneCorn Dec 2012
You see me
I know you do
you act like you can see through me
Yet I know you can't
I wish I knew why you act like this
Will you ever tell me why
Is it my fault?
Do I make it hard?
Could I make it be simple?
I try to understand
but I just can't seem too
I want to be your friend
You want to be mine
Or atleast thats what you say
Yet you go mute
when I walk into a room
Like your words are too good for my ears
Yet I don't think that's it
It could be
But for a second
When I see your eyes
Fear flickers through
you may deny but I know what I see
and I see it only too often
I wonder who else notices
Who knows to look for it
Maybe just me
But trust me its there
Maybe its the same when you see me
Is it?
Do we fear each other?
Can anyone tell?
Will it always be secret?
It began wrong
But its not that way anymore
Atleast that's what you promised
So why can't they know
Or maybe its just easier to dissapear that way
Though if you just want to dissapear again
Just do it
You know waiting just hurts me
And I'm tired of hurting
So I hope you don't run
But I hope you will help me
to Understand
If your not ashamed of me
Why am I a secret?
Leah Rae Aug 2013
I'm A Suicide Bomb.
A Nuclear Explosion Of Unexplainable Inadequate Ambition.
A Hand Granade, Pull My Pin And  Watch Me Self Destruct.
A Land Mine Beneath Seven Inches Of Soil, Tensed Like Piano Wire, Ready To Sing Under Pressure. Ready To Scream.
Genocide Of My Own Veins. Pull Them One By One, Out Of Their Homes And Send Them Off To Interment Camps, Built To Hold The Blood Of A Body That Only Betrays Me.
I'm Holding Each Limb Hostage, Each Finger A Prisoner Of War, Every Fingertip A Monument Where Everyone I Have Ever Loved Will Mourn The Tragedy Of My Own Destruction.
Gas Masked And Gagging, They Will Always Ask Why I Did It.
A Post Traumatic Stress Disorder Diagnoses To Give Them Some Closure. I

Know They Didn't Understand The War I Was Waging Beneath My Ribs.

Waking Every Morning, Clawing My Way Through The Wreckage, With Knees And Palms Painted Filthy Black, Ears Ringing, Like The Sound Of A Thousand Dead Voices Vibrating,

I Have To Tell Myself It Must Be Happening For A Reason.
I've Been Wearing A Kevlar Vest Made Of Lies, White Ones, Stained Red.
A Purpose Born Inside Me, I Have To Ask How Much Longer Must I Keep Running?
I Have To Believe The God You Pray To, Prays To Someone Like Me, Because Who Else Would Declare War On This Kind Of Humanity.  

Every Day Is A Battle, Every Aching Moment Is A Last Attempt At Redemption,
Every Bone In This Body Is A Bayonet Aimed To Splint Apart My Skeleton.
This Isn't A War Anymore.
This Is Terrorism.
Terrorized My Paper Thin Skin,
Handed Me Black & Blue ink, and Told Me To Write Out My Surrender On My Skin, Like Bruises

Branded,
Wrapped In Kelodial Bandages.

I Am Damage.

I Am Destruction.

I Am Savage.

I Am. Terrified.

My Home Is A War Zone, Scabbed Over And Still Bleeding, No Where Is Safe, Not Even Inside My Own Skull.
I Am Eyelid Explosions And Neplam, Burning One Hundred Thousand Degrees Above My Own Boiling Point.

An Open Wound. Bullet Bomb Shell, Left With More Holes Than Whole.

Had Spent 6 Years On This Planet, 2,190 Days Too  Short To Understand What It Meant To Watch Twin Towers Fall.
They Said The Word Attack.
Lived Eleven More Years In This Body, In An Existence That Seems To Only Be Fighting Against It's Own Skin, Cutting It Into Pieces, Cutting Corners, Cutting Edges, Looking For Answers Beneath Whatever Remains Of Me.


How Can You Win A Battle When The Only One You Are Fighting Is Yourself?

I Think My Violet Eyes And Indigo Insides Believed In A Peace Treaty, But I Have Shrapnel Wedged So Deeply Inside Me, That It's Become Difficult To Understand Existing Without It.

How Do I Fight An Invisible Enemy, With Kerosene Lips And Matches For Fingertips?

I Am A Solider.
There Was A Draft And It Consisted Of A Single Six Digit Number That Matched My Birthday,
Like A Bad Joke,
I Can't Remember When It Began, All I Know Is That I Haven't Lived in A Time Without Bloodshed.

Mental Illness Runs In My Family,
A Weapon Of Mass Destruction,
Built Into This Blood,
O Positive,
Unsure,
Yet AB Negative
Of Where It Will Take Me,
Except To Live A Life Wondering If I'll Catch The Family Flu,
They Call This Biological Ware fare.

How Do We Wash The Blood Out Of Our Own Genes?

Us. The Sick Of Soul, The Diseases And Dying, The Psychosomatic, Sociopathic, Undiagnosed And Overmedicated,

Must Tell Ourselves

That Atleast Suicide Bombers..

Die For Something.
Em MacKenzie Sep 2018
She grabbed my neck, one hand, and her fingers quickly connected,
“You should have some more self respect, you’re taking this further than I expected.”
I swear that I’m eating again,
but I won’t try to pretend,
that the food doesn’t make me hurt, the removal of my organs didn’t mend.
I ask her to forget it and to just talk about the weather,
the topic wants to drop; she won’t let it, she knows I’m not getting any better.
I was always too much of a lost cause to trust I’d ever be repaired,
for years she’s held the gauze and just silently waited and stared.

At 21 my mother died from a long battle with cancer,
I toughed through it to provide comfort I could never allow myself to receive.
So my own sickness was inspired by Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer”
it was never my goal but what my
brain wished to achieve.

I told them all to leave me,
I didn’t expect they would do so,
a few stragglers stayed who wished to prove they were strong.
It’s still shocking that they believed me
or were they waiting for a polite out to go
one that they could argue wasn’t wrong?

And I’d rather break a mirror
than to see the reflection everyone else shared,
it’s not that I would fear her,
but through seven years bad luck I’ve already fared.
I made a choice and a deal
to give my worthless life for just a few good days,
you can’t put a price on how you feel,
you can only hope and pray that that feeling atleast stays.

I became best known through all encounters in every social gathering
as the laid back confident joker, because they never saw me shattering.
I assure you that after I was always in my Honda drowning,
arguing with myself if it was better to be fake than the person always frowning.
I was dying for interaction beyond just meaningless conversation
and only ever met the odd soul to bring that alleviation.
I was so used to the shadows from the comfort of my basement
that I flinched when I saw sunlight and only after felt amazement.

I was a skeptic and untrusting as to why the sun would ever shine on me,
and the refreshing waves that brushed my feet carried potential for drowning.
And just when I got used to light and a natural source of heat
the darkest cloud in history attacked until it did retreat.
Then I thought that drowning in the sea wouldn’t be the worst,
if it didn’t carry me into a current, perhaps it could wash away my curse.
But even the tide will move away when you decide to take that step,
past the point of clenching a fist, every muscle I own did treppe.

Los Camp said the sea was a great place to think about the future,
but I know it’s a great place to think about the one you lack.
Inspired by Los Campesinos! “The Sea is a great place to think about the future” and thinking about things I was too busy and too tired to confront.
The voice Nov 2012
I wish you could trust me
I wish you could put
You faith on me
I wish you could give me the
Joy of trusting you own and only daugther

I am sorry for the things I have done
I am not perfect
Sorry fpr the mistakes i have done
But if atleast tried to understand.

I need a friend by my side
Teenage years are hard all by my self
I am still young and I dont need a mother anymore
I love you but I need to be free

I can not hold my self back any more.
Sorry but I need to live my own lofe from now on
Mokomboso May 2015
Words in Lingala shape the accents
Atleast that's what it sounds like
Warm voice delievers an urgent message
In the faraway tongue too close to home
It means something, this I know
I laugh stomping on the dusty ground
Dry earth leaving dust on my backside, my feet
Countless arms locked in the tangle
It's vivid, these images painted
By the foreign voices on the bus
They should gossip in French
Atleast that's what I think it is
As I'm a child at the feet
Of the laughing women, whose words I don't understand
Don't need to understand
I'm lost in juvenile stupor
My fingers rap clumsily on her head
Rap rap tap
A false memory, perhaps
This accent fairly new
Ignites emotion and distant form so old
I feel like a mokomboso
A rescue mission, allowed a second chance
If I believed in all that, I'd say it was... my past
Kinda dedicated to all those wonderful primate sanctuaries all over Africa, in particular Lola Ya Bonobo.
And it also relates to therianthropy WOOT WOOT.
The voice Nov 2012
I wish you could trust me
I wish you could put
You faith on me
I wish you could give me the
Joy of trusting you own and only daugther

I am sorry for the things I have done
I am not perfect
Sorry fpr the mistakes i have done
But if atleast tried to understand.

I need a friend by my side
Teenage years are hard all by my self
I am still young and I dont need a mother anymore
I love you but I need to be free

I can not hold my self back any more.
Sorry but I need to live my own lofe from now on
Aayasha khan Aug 2018
A nostalgic feeling, its always with me. Keeps coming back in tears after every bad dream. They are a part now, never letting me be alone..
     I get strange feelings of loss. Loss of something, someone, every moment its in my heart.  
Night before i had a dream of him again.  His face was same as I saw him last time, how I wish It wasn't a dream.
      But I too wish that it wasn't reality, cause if it was it would really hurt, more than I can ever imagine....
      Never clear...  these dreams never let me surface, I go too deep into the abyss and  i am lost there unable  to reach anyone, unable to reach him.
      I see him angry all the time like he won't talk to me, this takes away all of the life that's inside me.
Leaves only tears of emptiness.  
       Don't know who cut me, but I was hurt really bad.
Maybe those wounds on my body defined the ones on my heart, the intangible ones.
        I saw him there, along with my other friend ..
 We were in some place unusual. He didn't bother even to look at me.  Then suddenly I was wounded really bad.
        Every one there was indulged in some game or play. 
 I didn't feel like it so I thought of jus walking around, then heard that he was also not there, and was gone somewhere, so  I decided to look for him and jus started walking.
I walked away from our gang  but couldn't spot him anywhere
I was scared, ..
hurt on my back which bled..
I just kept walking past the lake and around the grasses...
Then I saw him, there he was standing on a bridge looking in the opposite direction.
              I called him" chand"  and he smiled at me for the first time.  It felt so nice to see him. We were silent for a while before he said" you really did come".  
I was all stuck there..  Don't know what I felt.  It was so real, His voice as if it was him,  Standing in front of me.
But that's not possible my mind revolted.
And I woke up, to find my self alone with only my pillow that could soak my tears.  Controlling my harsh cries and trying not to wake mum and shifa up, I lay there..  Trying to sleep again. ..
Maybe this time I could talk to him more.
Or maybe thinking that atleast there in my dreams everything would be ok.  
No, I just couldn't it was as if a lump was stuck in my throat, I couldn't breath, I couldn't even think why I was crying so hard.  Actually​ I wasn't able to understand myself for so long now.
           This is not the first time I can't sleep, or  i I am crying, or laughing just for show, or pretending to let go, or thinking everything will be ok but he never goes away.
Even though I have pushed him away so long  long before....
Its been a year almost. Such dreams are so common, they are a part now..
            
Thinking about him I fell asleep after a while.
Hoping I would see him again..  And I did, astonishingly.  
We were jus walking on the side of the river. He saw the bruise on my shoulder and placed his hand softly on it.
 I turned to him with tears in my eyes, and saw his eyes filling too...
I didn't see him anymore than that but I believe some dreams are worth living for..
A dream can be so real sometimes..
No place to hide
No place to go..
EgoFeeder May 2013
Good day my friends and Salut to you!
Time to play herald and this is my cue
So, here comes my woe in a rhythmic fashion;
as this was written in the era of post-passion

And for the curious readers who know not of I
Seemless and keen to write I will try
You need not comprehend all that is meant;
yet, for a moment or less your time will be spent

Let me begin with a synopsis of my vision
It was far from forgiving and was lost in decision
I could never be quite sure of the light or dark;
For in the absent and present my sense would embark

Continually being coated with an artificial Gleam;
Rendering my wakefulness as a fragile like dream
Which in-turn lit the path to my lack of importance;
Painting the illustrated guise for my willful ignorance

And, The descension of unstable ethics I had once grasped
I new inevitably would meet their eventual relapse
Into what I predominately labeled as a Karmic curse
A constant role disassociation fixed in reverse

If that indefinite definition didn't tickle your fancy
Then maybe a second look will decipher real from fantasy?
Or rather not and maybe so; but atleast I try...
Fine! I'll move past this rant and attempt not to pry

I must confess that the strain of guilt was an essential tool;
For supressing the need to an end that wasn't simple to fool
Although, as the days came to more and the weeks into age;
I could barely relate to anything that I had inked onto page

The mind I had always and sincerely held in such awry regard;
Stood to spoilate my sorrow and to watch as my guard
To forget all that had ignited the suspensful act of survival
Forming the catalyst for this decrepit rebirth of revival

What I have just stated is immersed in the human condition;
Can you not remember the awakening of your own re-invention?
I suppose for some it may be subtle and largely unnoticed,
but to me and several others it isn't so easily dismissed

For I had not fully acknowledged the diversity of duality;
Until that morning when I had lost my will for frivolity
Every pleasure of my past rotted out from the inside
Revealing the inner workings of what I falsely wore as pride

I finally came to terms with what had substituted as my mask;
discovering that the pursuit for belonging is such a hopeless task
Like searching for a lover in the midst of a masquerade;
As the sunset fades our flaws are free to roam from the shade

To most it might seem as if I'm entirely self-centered
and perhaps the art of indulgence I may have mastered
yet, If you're putting my concern for your well being into question;
Then just maybe we've stumbled across a universal Contradiction?
David Bojay Mar 2014
Boy: "Dad i think I'd rather take the bus today, I don't feel like walking, can you pack my lunch right now as I get ready?"
     (Boy goes into room in a stomping movement)
     (Dad starts preparing lunch)
Dad: "Are you staying for tutorials today? Your grades dont look so good, and it's starting to reflect how you're acting at home.
You're always so lazy now."
Boy: "I'm not sure if I want to stay for tutorials, I'd rather go to sleep afterschool.
School is tiring.
I'll be home later than usual though."
     (Boy starts walking towards the door and checks his pockets for money)
Dad: "Okay, well be safe, where are you going afterschool?"
     (Boy turns around)
Boy: "I was about to tell you, I need 40$ for a fieldtrip today, sorry for the late reminder."
Dad" You should've told me earlier, I'll go upstairs and see what I have in my wallet."
     (Dad goes up the stairs rapidly)


There's times where lying creates curiosity in a mans heart, and wonder if the liar is really telling the truth.
Although they know, they dont want to say anything, they'd rather trust.
Sometimes I lie, sometimes can be all the time for some people.


     (rapid steps going down the stairs)

Dad: "Here we go, $40... What time do I pick you up from school?"
Boy: "Around 7:30 pm."
Dad: "Alright, I'll be there.
Hurry out, you're going to miss your bus."
     (Dad grabs boys head, and kisses his forehead)
"I love you son."
     (Guilt glows in the boys eyes)

Boy: "I love you too dad..."

     (walks away slowly not wanting to admit his lie)


     (boy walks into school)
     (greets his friends)

Boy: "Aye, Matthew, you still down for afterschool? I got the $40, my stupid dad actually bought that I was going to a fieldtrip, we have until 7 to get back."

Matthew: "Dude you dont feel guilty? Not even I would lie to my dad face to face."
     (Both laugh)
Boy: " Is your friend still hooking it up with the *****?"
Matthew: "Yeah, he's coming along with us, I hope you brought a jacket, it's going to get cold tonight."
Boy: "I did, dude I'm nervous, what if we get caught."

People have instincts on whether or not they committed something bad, the boy knew he had committed something bad, something he knew he'd regret at the bottom of his heart.
The trust in his fathers eyes killed him the second he went out the door towards his bus stop.

Matthew: "Trust me we wont, give me the $40 right now and I'll get us two grams of white widow, or do you want OG kush?"
Boy: "White widow, I was reading it has "cooler" effects when you're high."
Matthew: (laughs) "You're lame for looking it up, either way thats very true."

     (Both kids walk different directions at the intersection of the hallway)

Boy: "Alright, well I'll see you afterschool by the lunchroom vending machines."
Matthew: "Alright, I'll see you there...
And dude, don't worry, we'll be fine."

     Throughout the whole day the boy was anxious about what was going to happen afterschool, they didn't really plan anything, they just wanted a good time with marijuana and liquor.
Sometimes when I'm smoking I think if its really worth it, then I remember I'm sad for the moment, and these herbs I'm puffing on will make me smile for a few hours.

     (Boy sees Matthew from a distance and yells his name out)

Matthew: "Aye, I was just looking for you, we going? My friends waiting outside."
Boy: "Hell yeah I'm ready" (he answered with slight tone of worry)
Matthew: "Alright let's go, I've been waiting all day for this."
Boy: "Same here."


     (Both walk up to a black car by the side of the school)

Matthew: "Jesus! How've you been? This is my friend, he's going on an adventure with us today, he bought us some widow."
Jesus: (greets himself to boy, and unlocks the car doors)
I've been good man, just hanging out, work is going slow though. Nobody wants to get tattoos right now, maybe after graduation.
I'm so glad I dont have to deal with school anynore though, my mom always ******* at me for dropping out."

I dont think school can make or break your value as a human. I feel like whatever you love, is enough to pursue. I dont think can school can define intelligence. I feel like self perception of value is so low. I feel like people that love you will always tell you your value is higher than what you think it is.

Matthew: "****, mothers can be a hassle, atleast you love what you're doing now."
Jesus: (Looks at the boy) "What about your mom, what does she get on to you for?"
Boy: (looks down) "My mom died in a car crash... she was intoxicated, and didn't stop at the red light, and an 18 wheeler slammed right where she was sitting; the driver seat..."
    
     long silence
Jesus: "Sorry to hear that bro, I wouldn't have asked if I didn't know."
Boy: "It's fine, we should get going now, there's cars behind us and we're causing traffic."
     (drive off)

The boys vibe was killed by remembering the thought of his mom dying.
He asked Matthew to roll up a blunt, he was starting to get sad.
All of them took hits from the blunt, and soon they were touching Gods feet, and laughing so much.

Sometimes when you remember something you dont want to remember, you do things that can put your pain to ease and convince yourself that you're happy. Little lies.
Little lies to make you smile.
Little lies to make you feel relieved.
Little lies to be accepted.
Little lies.

Jesus: "Hey guys, I'm pretty ******* high, lets go somewhere and relax, I know this place where you can look at the whole city from a cliff.
You guys want to go?"
     (both nod yes)


     car pulls up at a cliff
Boy: "Dude this place looks amazing, how'd you find out about this place?"
Jesus: "I was wandering the woods and found it, amazing right?"
Boy: "Hell yeah, the view is great."
Matthew: "Will you guys accompany me to a beer or what?"
     Both smile and start drinking heavily

The boys didn't notice, but they were intoxicated, and higher than the Empire State Building.
Before they knew it, they were in tears expressing everything they wished people knew about them.


Sometimes your consciousness explodes when your body is let go from reality.
Emotions flow like waterfalls, fast and carelessly.
Unspoken feelings are yelled into the oblivion.


It's 7.

Boy: "*******, guys I need to get back to school, and if my dad finds out I'm drunk and ****** he's going to **** me!"
Jesus: "Keep your calm, here take a hit from this."
Boy:" Dude no, I have to go, drive me back."
Jesus: "Fine, Matthew can you drive? I'm too, well you know."
Matthew: "Sure."


All three were sharing laughs on the way back, and telling eachother which girl they wanted to **** from school. Matthew was sharing his roadtrip idea he had for the summer, and Jesus was saying how much **** he'd buy for the trip.
All three were excited, because they knew they had each other.
They were each made from different backgrounds, but they became the same when they smoked and got drunk.

Boy: "Matthew look at my eyes, they look red as ****, look at them!"

(Mathew turns around)
Matthew: "Hahahaha, dude they're so red, we need to buy you some eye drops."

(Matthew accelerates still looking at the boy)

Tire squeals were heard from a distance, but kept getting closer.
(Matthew immediately turns around)


He tries to brake, but it's too late.
His reaction was too slow, his vision was blurry, and didn't know where to turn.

Ambulances covered Jesus's face while on the bed he was lying on.
Matthews face was unrecognizable.
The boy had lost his legs, and half of his head of missing,
His brains was splattered all over the winshield.


Later on, when the dad found out his only son had died, the week after the incident, he hanged himself in his livingroom.
You know, it's crazy how a lie can take away future plans and expectations.
Plans erased.
Expectations like they never existed.
People's footsteps on earth, like if they never stepped on it.


My mom used to tell me it's wasn't good to lie.
I didn't believe it, lying had brought me a long way when I was a child.
I never knew I was going to suffer consequences 5 months ago, when I was suicidal because I was depressed.
I guess every lie I said came back as big drops of sadness raining in my heart.
I guess it's better to feel pain in truth; in the present,
than to feel pain in the future because of something you could've avoided with honesty.
In the end, it all catches up to you.
Jay Jimenez Mar 2013
I work the day shift
and work the night shift with you on my mind
dust covers your old wooden picture frame.
I clear away the debris and again
I'm back to where we left off
me chasing you
trying to grab your hand one more time
But I always seem to just grasp the end of your sleeve.
I sit on the curb with my hands up to my face
and remember when I drew a heart with our names in the sand
I try to figure out why this dust covers my heart with me waking up wiping it all off again.
Do I wanna let the dust build so I forget about you and you wither away?
Do I wanna sit at the table and look behind my back and not see you fumbling in the dish water?
Do I wanna go threw my laundry and find clothes you left behind?
I dont have the answer to these questions because as much as I wanted to stop you from going
I know I wasnt right for you
and I know the best thing for you was to run away without even giving me a last kiss.
But baby I miss you
and I want to set this house on fire so it doesnt smell of you.
Em MacKenzie Dec 2018
Dear Mrs. Frouin,
(atleast I think that was your name.)

For as long as I can remember I’ve always wanted to be a writer. Actually, I don’t believe I wanted to be anything, especially when I was younger,
but writing chose me.

For you see,
I conditioned myself unable to verbally express my emotions, or my thoughts, since I was old enough to have them.
I know the words I want to say when I want to say them,
but I never felt anyone wanted to hear them.
I believed my constant analyzing and emotional dissection to be a burden.
I knew most people wouldn’t understand, if they even bothered to listen at all.
And so I taught myself to alter the disease of emotions, and the curse of memories into dressed up words.
I turned my pain into similes, allegories and metaphors,
whether hidden and veiled or transparently exposed.
My pen became my bestfriend
and paper evolved into a therapist.

It didn’t always do the trick, I admit.
Especially when I was fifteen, the year you taught me,
the year I tried my first pill
and found an alternate reality I could escape to where everything felt good, all the ******* time.
And that’s where you caught me.

It seems petty, immature and egotistical to still remember this fourteen years later,
but when someone attempts to crush the only aspiration you have,
the only thing you really have felt good at,
it tends to stick with you.
Especially considering I remember everything.

As per usual, I had shown up to your class ******,
there wasn’t many classes I showed up to sober.
There wasn’t many classes I showed up to in general.
I had zoned out during your lesson, probably doodling, talking,
sleeping, listening to music, writing or staring at some pretty girl.
Everyone had left and you asked me to stay behind, and as much as I was a professional **** up back then, that wasn’t common.
You sat across from me and asked me what I wanted to do with my life,
immediately I answered “I want to be a writer.”
We talked about fiction, journalism, poetry, song writing,
the things I “excelled” in according to you,
but with softness in your voice you stated,
“I believe you have the talent, but to be brutally honest, I think you lack the motivation to do it.”
I hear that sentence every two weeks or so.
It haunts me.

I can understand your reasoning,
as I said above, I was a professional **** up.
But you didn’t bother to talk to my media and film teacher,
who personally tracked me down one day when I was cutting class in the woods getting high with friends,
pulling me aside to beg me to start showing up to any class more often,
that I had missed 84 classes in one year, and that he personally,
intercepted to principal to discuss me and stuck his neck out for me,
“You are far too unique to not make your mark here.” he said.
You didn’t bother to check that even then, when I wasn’t attending 90% of my classes,
I was still on the honour roll for English, History and Math.
And that even after your words,
and even after more partying
and attempting to **** my brain cells
I came back that next year and stayed on the honour roll,
adding 16th Century History to the list as well.

But I do see your original point,
maybe I do lack the motivation to “do it.”
Whatever that might mean,
because like all things in life,
it’s all about perception
and personal expectation
and interpretation.

You see, I can confidently say that
my writing has evolved,
and dare I say, at the risk of sounding pretentious and cocky,
it has gotten better.
And while I may not be getting paid a dime for any of it,
I have people reading my work,
for some reason,
and most importantly, I have people relating to my work,
experiencing it, and above all,
feeling it.
That’s all I’ve ever wanted to accomplish from writing;
it may have started as free, comfortable, liberating therapy, expression and self reflection,
but all I have ever wanted is to know I made someone, anyone,
feel something.
That’s all everyone should aspire to accomplish,
an act that touches a person,
makes them feel less alone.
There’s nothing more noble in this world than helping another person,
no matter how you do it.

Whenever someone has tried to show positivity or support for my writing,
they make comparisons of being the next (insert famous female writer here)
and all I ever think is that I would rather be the first me.
Almost every artist wants to “famous,”
but I have always thought that I would rather be respected than famous.
Maybe one day I will be,
but maybe I won’t,
that really isn’t the point.

You believed that I lacked the motivation to become a writer,
but I always have been one.
My motivation is used everyday to get out of my warm bed,
where dreams are the only plane of existence where I feel peace and bliss.
My motivation is used to create something from everything negative,
instead of letting it beat me down
and turn me into the kind of person who would look at a
troubled teen with a glimpse of aspiration,
and tell them they couldn’t do it.
My motivation is used to support others and if I’m lucky enough,
guide them even half a step closer to the path they want to take.

Mrs. Frouin, if you read this,
and I doubt you will
because you probably don’t remember someone who you thought you read so well to make assumptions on their potential,
please laugh at the irony at the
fact that you failed me in your “creative writing” class
and I’m still a writer.
And maybe, if you’ve read this all the way through,
the student “lacking motivation”
just became your teacher.
Yes this happened, and it’s weird it still bothers me, but hopefully I got the mic drop here.
nothing pushed my creativity
more than someone trying to
take my baby daughter from me
peaceful on the outside
kind
loving
focused
dedicated
to helping
I always wanted to save the world
now it is with unmatched
and inescapable vengeance
helping everyone
especially my students
with early childhood trauma
but deep down in my world of communication
expression
a whirlwind that no one really knows
but I must add
I now have absolutely no doubt
that the passion that has been
culminated in society
that I get to experience
comes from the shared experience
of children being taken into slavery
this is the destruction of the human origin
which we need to have a nice happy ending
we all come from Africa
not from slavery
and when I am a black man
all my lifetimes that have been
tortured and killed
for being accused of being angry
violent
******
by any means necessary
genocide of us
the only choice is creativity
and although this in itself
is also a threat
and will get me killed
atleast it does not satisfy
their lust for dismembering
my freedom
into their pickle jars
of liberty
for their children to save for their children
http://www.amazon.com/Escape-Liberty-Elan-Gregory-ebook/dp/B01B8XQYBG?ie=UTF8&keywords;=elan%20gregory&qid;=1459178234&ref;_=sr_1_1&sr;=8-1
ivory Jun 2010
she's holding her pen like she does her tongue

drawn back,

poised for the pleasure of letting

the ink drip to the ground

and she bathes in its dark puddles

(where abstract meets sense,

where mind and soul meet the body that plummets to solid earth)



she opens like a well-read book

but buries secrets in gold between tired lines

charmed treasure

(x marks the spot)



she's staring at walls

that are oh so elegantly covered

with quotes

with buildings

with trees, with skies

with flowers and beaches

with faces she will never see again.

(but she knows how lucky she is to have seen them atleast that once,

atleast that one last time)



she leads the way

up trodden paths

to moon rocks and city lights

(and wonders how one can possibly feel more alive,

can enhance their only existence)



she's dreaming, as always

a glaze in her eyes

hoping, waiting, contemplating

feels bare,

feels that everyone can see the trip in her head

(she's naked, but laughing

because they see her in clothes.)
© AlyssiaAnderson

Awkward reactions encouraged.
Kevin Hayes Nov 2018
From the foundations of manhood
I send you this letter.

Right now might seem the worse
But the end will be better.

I’ve longed for someone  
While we’ve been together

I’d try to do both
But I’m not that clever

And I know I said never again

******* with randoms
A friend of a friend

Lies on top lies
That **** never ends

But atleast this time
I told the truth like a man.
Bobbie McCord Dec 2014
Welcome to the hills of the enchantress' castle
Where the speirs stab the sky
All your worst fears come true...
She'll stay ensnared there until eternity breaks it's everlasting chain
She'll whisper to you on the wind,
And say her final curse
Slicing through your reality, binding your destiny,
You will become her puppet
Her slim fingers dancing and plucking on your hearts strings,
Your whole being at her mercy

She is in control
And there's nothing you can do
But to pray you entertain her and she'll let you live, atleast a while longer
Almas Patvi Jul 2015
Thank you for standing by my side when time gets hard to survive,
Thank you for making me laugh when I dint even  wanted to smile,
Thank you for forgiving all my mistakes,
Thank you for bearing me in my worst face...


People have friends People have besties,
I hope there could be no one like you so please ,
Dont ever leave me alone  because I really need you,
My life is incomplete and I cant live without you..

I am not saying all this just for the sake,
My love and care for you was never ever fake,
Some lines for you very true:-
"A true friend is hard to find,
They are rare and one of a kind..
I dint care if i had only few..
Atleast I have one of the best ie YOU!!!
This poem is dedicated to my best friend Sarita Bhorge..I hope she reads it.
Zyborg Jan 2010
find me a life
sell me some dreams
call me on my phone
leave a message atleast
push me to a corner
hit me with a club
hit me with a jab
sell me some highs
dope away the lows
sold my body
sell my soul
**** me everyday some more
kick me in the groin
laugh at my puckered face
sell the snapshot of agony
don't leave anything unsold
cash me in, cash me out
sell them the deepest desires
sell the sacred earth a dime
make all you can till I die
cut my veins and let me bleed
cut me to pieces and sell the pork
dry my hide and sell some more
***** me a ****
***** me now
***** me love, ***** me passion
***** me instant gratification
***** me death and the world beyond
we are all ******, **** me now.
Gerry James Aug 2018
I live in Kerala, South India
Where it's usually unbearably humid and hot.
But it’s been rather different lately,
Cool gusts of wind have been brought,

Along with some rains that have turned into floods
Poisoning even fresh water with mud
And so the people, just like the fish our local fishermen catch,
In a net they have been caught,
Leaving friends and family distraught,

Coz trapped by water, a symbol of life,
People have suffered death
And been left to rot
In the houses where water breathes in human space;
Imprinting in our minds a memory we would like to erase.

Everywhere I look I see prayers, with help sought,
But people are just having their hopes shot.
The only grace is that atleast those who have their heads above water
Are having their prayers slowly answered.

I thank God for the army,
Who for the safety of our lives have fought
Pushing through broken homes with everything they’ve got.

I thank God for the navy,
Who have sent men in fleets
Just to save our countrymen off the flooded streets.

I thank God for doing everything to keep us safe and alive,
All so that we would not have to make that final dive.
Quite literally.

Right now, we may mourn this disaster that has led to our demise,
But I promise you, our beautiful state will rise,
And when I say this, I assure you, I speak no lies.
So I live in the state of Kerala, South India.
We the people of Kerala are suffering.
Its flooding beyond measure, and people are dying.
People i know are losing their homes and their families.
This is roundabouts the worst flood in our history.
I know there may not be many, if any, people on HePo from Kerala,
But my request is that anyone, Indian or  non-Indian, prays for this disaster to come to an end.
And that anyone who may live in nearby states like Tamil Nadu or Karnataka, please send supplies. We are desperately in need.
I thank y'all for reading my plea for help.
Pray for Kerala.
Odi Jan 2012
They pretended not to notice how much you had changed
But they did comment on your thinning face
And how much healthier you looked
How much better
They pulled you to the side "Oh my gosh, how did you do it?"
Quizzical looks
They didn't know that the weight you lost
Was unintentional
A compensation for the heavy load inside
You tried to somehow shake off
You hated your jutting rib bones,
Losing your sanity along with your "baby" fat
You lost what made you a woman

No no one noticed your gaunt eyes
and the sharp angle of your cheekbone
Like pain
and the way you started drinking
(Although you never stopped)

They didn't notice the new scars you kept hidden with makeup
Meticulous
careful
calculating
So unlike you
No no one noticed how your eyes shone a little less brighter
Especially when you smiled

Apart from that ex-boyfriend you left a winter ago
Standing in the cold
Because he was an *******
But ******* can be right
And you saw the way he looked at you like-
the way you used to look at a broken mirror
Wondering which piece to pick up first
And start gluing back together
The way you looked at your own blood flow from your wrist's
A little scared, amazed, numb..
Like "Where do we start first?"
And "What happened here?"
Thats how he looked at you
*Atleast someone noticed
Pax Mar 2017

From time to time
I feel blue
and cook my own stew.
Its bland and
taste good enough
for my stomach.

I knew from the start
that my cooking
isn't really that great
nor it's appetising.
Atleast
my milk is
sweet.
I'm not fond of sodas
dislike the fact that
it boils my
stomach.

Food, for now
they're within
reach, though
must someday
will come -
starvation is
inevitable



I cooked up a metaphor...
My life in dual meaning.
Pestered and pursued
by unknown foes
A topsyturvy land
where snakes can have horns
and cows can have fangs.
Night'mares' where the day's stallions
make mountains out of molehills

A chance to witness greek mythology-like creatures for real
For dreamland tis a place for the unreal and surreal.

Those hair-raising scary scary dreams
beset with horrified silent screams!

We do try to interrupt nightmares, pinching ourselves
With relief wake up to see there aren't any horrid elves.
We also try to interpret dreams filled with mystery
But gifted dream interpreters like prophet Joseph
Are now part of biblical human history

All in all, dreamland's fascination
for extra-ordinary exaggeration
and tall-tale imagination

Where myth and legend come to life
An amalgam of fiction or real strife

Where assorted monsters of the mind
reign supreme in that REM sleep of our kind.

Yet on the other hand the wishful, wistful sweet sweet dreams
where fantasies form mirages bordered by fanciful seams.

Where castles in the air that humans build, float gently down to earth
only to shoot back up unto nowhere from the awakened one's berth.

In dreamland a pauper girl can be a princess or fairy fair
for daydreams extend into the night and linger on there.

A quote I took to heart and it to console all and sundry
'that if your sweet dreams don't come true, don't you fret
for atleast your nightmares didn't come true either,
so just heave a sigh, by and by.

Every night let us all just fly away and escape
And lo behold  the extraordinary world of Dreamscape
My profile homepage pic represents my newest poem.
NOLWAZI JOUBERT Jul 2015
If the simplest words as "Goodbye" meant so much to you,
forgive me for thinking that
it was just one of those normal days,
it meant nothing much for
i knew that i would see you soon.
But now i am on my knees begging for you to fogive me.

My apologies bouncing back at me,
like a little table tennis game am playing alone.
If "Goodbye" surely means so much to you,
then you must know that "Sorry" means so much to me too.
Atleast forgive me now,
and foever will i learn to say "Goodbye".
He seemed too busy, so much in the spirit, i wanted to say goodbye but i couldnt manage cutting him off from the holy spirit
Nellie 55 Feb 2021
I can handle the gossip, I can take some insults. I can even be the bad guy in some of these stories. I'm in no rush or a hurry. Just don't abuse my time and be fake. These stars die, but atleast there's some light. Even the darker ones get a glance of a dim direction. It's a great day to catch my friendship pending. Snaps that's been sending. But I'm not worried, kind of curious to see who's next, or who'll use me when they send me a text. Left on read, that's fine. I do the same sometimes, but don't be rude and expect my time. I've got a horrible record of having poor conversation skills. But atleast my loyalty is real. I find myself bored as well with blank forehead selfies, but atleast the streaks are increasing your score though. I'm open to talk, well more than likely to play the question game. Atleast I'm curious and attempt to know more then your name. I know some of my questions are clingy, cheesy, and raw. But atleast I'm trying and giving it a shot.
among the earth
consumed with mindless malice
chanting sanskrit mantras
spiraling from Tibet
holding what peace of mind
can see through chaos
the sound suspends physical existence
to the universe
like the air under the wings of an eagle
clasping a serpent in its talons
KT Feb 2015
Do you ever feel closed?
Do you ever wonder what’s out there?
Or you are just stuck on who and why and where?
You swallow it all, are you ever opposed?
Does it scare you when you are exposed?

Do you lust for the things behind the wall?
Do you ever cry down and pray,
that you may see more, atleast for a day?
Can you stand alone, or you are just somebody’s thrall?
Can you grasp the thing, that you are small?

Can you imagine nothing?
Do you have a hole that needs to be filled?
What will be of you if in this instant you are killed?
Do you ever feel the insides of your skull buzzing?
Do you think salvation lies in the den of our loving?

What is your purpose, what are you for?
Did ever, that question took your breath?
Is there a diffrence between life and death?
Did you ever want to break out and explore?
Is there a thing in your life that you want to adore?

At the thought of these questions I shake to the bone.
My puzzled desires to know can never sit on a chair.
I need them satisfied like I need air.
I’m just a thing that wants all sides to be shown.
I just want to get a scope to the unknown.

— The End —