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Kush May 5
There's a demon in my head,
I tell it the truth,
And listen to the lies it's said.
It says, that I can just drown in smoke.
It tells me, it'll help pull the words from my throat.

Now I'm drowning,
I've been left in this place.
I'm choking,
Sorrows leave me in this state.

I'd rather not see you in mourning,
So I say I'll get help in the morning,
But I know i won't.

I listen to my demons,
They numb my throat when I scream.
I listen to my demons,
They make sure I don't dream.
When I fall asleep sober,
All I see are nightmares,
And I wish it could over.

I'm struggling, trying to catch my breath.
Fill my lungs with smoke, but the burdens aren't lifted yet.
I still see the world, but it's all in grey,
Won't someone take me away.
This was kinda meant to be a song. I ended up just writing what i wanted to, there's not much order in this poem but I didn't feel it needed that anyway
John Tan Apr 2018
Loneliness
My constant companion
A friend I befriended from my childhood
That sticks with me through thick and thin
No matter where I go
Who I am with
It never let goes off me

Loneliness
A core memory
I’ve relived a countless times
That was responsible for the tears I’ve shed
No matter how many tears
How many hours of therapy
It still hurts

Loneliness
An inevitable emotion
I have stopped running away from
And instead embraced
Because no matter how painful it can be
I always find myself in the end
Äŧül Oct 2018
6:30 PM 15/10/18 slam poem
"What's her name?" An excited voice whispered.
My benchmate asked me,
Just as the new girl entered,
With all her glowing ebony beauty.

I thought about something,
Ignored him and simply so,
Continuing my reading of the drama.

He prodded on like a nagging child,
"Tell me, Atul, what's her name?
Who's that **** girl?"


His whisper was loud enough now,
The girl heard it as she climbed,
Climbed higher on the back seats and how.

I glared at my benchmate,
In disappointment & disgust,
It was him who I had befriended.

'Him! I befriended him!! Out of them all!!!'
I thought about my vulnerability in our society,
But I did not react to him out of that anger.

I just said, "What's in a name?"
He raised his eyebrows and moaned, "Huh?"
I said with mirth, "Yes! Someone like you will get her renamed!"
7:00 PM
15/10/18
6:30 PM
Half-an-hour slam poem I wrote in the Literary Club at my PhD college.
A tribute to Nirbhaya and women safety all around the globe.
7:00 PM

My HP Poem #1724
©Atul Kaushal
JayceeJellies Dec 2014
It's been a day or maybe a few,
That I haven't heard from you.
It's not exactly depressing yet,
But I know I'll cry soon, and get-
Cold sweats.

It's not like you'd care,
You don't give a ****.
I'm just sort of there,
To you, I'm throwing a fit.

And you say I have no right to.
Well what did you expect me to do-
When you're telling people such hyperbole?
Your mispresentations have flustered me.

I've never met someone so treacherous.
I trusted you and you put on a display,
Which I must say was completely impetuous.
Where did you come up with such nonsense?

I guess I never meant anything to you,
I feel like I was just a fill in for others.
Others whom you actually befriended,
Or maybe they're just like me.

Discovering that you're really a bully.
An emotionally abusive person.
Nico Julleza Jul 2017
Anxious
Dull, a boy is he
names he would not plea
eyes like baby blue-
lips a crimson hue
Feelings like me and you

Reclusive
Outsiders he'd not choose
In his mansions he bore
luring himself-
with enchanting lore's
drifting away, loosing woes

A Xenos
Traveling in his hallways
unknown, ominous
a wretched life he portrays
even in his heart, he'd say-
"Loneliness, such a Cliché"

Forsaken
Befriended, unseen
though he's not a devil
-for I believe
tortured, battered on thee
delude by his mistress' skim

He Left
portals out from misery
gone himself eagerly
then comes back, with such
-A Victory
for now, a statured man is he

Knights & Kings
upon bended knees
and everything he please
from a man to a boy
-in a dream
A Castle, now he redeems
YES TO "ANTI-BULLYING"
Support "ANTI-BULLYING"

#Boy #Castle #Man #Dream

(NCJ)POETRYProductions. ©2017
Brent Kincaid Sep 2018
Nobody marching toward us
Their guns making us die.
No tanks are come clanking
No bombers in the sky.
But our Congress and generals
When oil or bases seem needed;
We appear armed and threatening
Peace and love talk not heeded.

No country has attacked us
With troops and lethal artillery.
But our leaders expect us to
Go open up their arteries
And **** their women and children
And laugh while they all die
And we are expected to do this
And never think to ask why.

It’s almost like big companies
Were sad when WW2 ended
So they started attacking countries
We really should have befriended.
We let Russia have free reign
To **** and ****** and steal
Almost as if their aggression
Wasn’t really true or even real.

We looked around and made them,
Those evil old warlike excuses,
That some country threatened freedom
And we pretended they weren’t ruses.
We attacked Korea and Vietnam
We were just supposed to observe
That they were yellow people there
And think they got what they deserved.

We didn’t stop there, as Reagan took
A duly elected leader and put him in jail.
If any country did that to our country
The conservatives would howl and rail.
Then the Bushes tried their best to take
Iraq to steal their oil and punish them
And created an era of stronger hatred
And anti-American outrage and mayhem.

No foreign country has attacked America;
So, the point bears repeating once again.
We need to stop acting like bullies here
And start acting like decent statesmen
And women who have the bigger picture;
The growth of peace in our battered world
So, other countries will not take their guns
And shoot our flag when it’s unfurled.
Sincerely Em Nov 2016
Can I skip ahead in line, please?

Surely You can see ..

Plans haven't been going as planned
I've been roaming endlessly  

I need not to say my goodbyes
They've waived me that dance, You see -

I tried jumping out of Earth last time
But I just fell back into the seas

It's like swimming in oceanic galaxies
Suffocating on infinite catastrophes

Just as my head reaches the surface
The heavens collapse over me

They say I know nothing of my tears -
Nor of the world I sense or feel

So they caged me deep within their ribs, You see -
They claim it is safer in here ..

My breaths are only fading, inside
My eyes have not the strength to seek -
The light on the other side of their flesh -
Of their flesh in which they buried me

So I have been roaming endlessly ..

Wounded. Lost. Cannot breathe ..
Befriended by tears. Blinded. I know not of sleep

I see souls in a queue not ready to leave;
They have exhales from inhales yet to be breathed

But I'm just an ink-less broken feather
Over papers I weep
I cannot write down my sorrows
But I'm sure, You can see ..

I'm ready to die oh Lord!

Can I skip ahead in line, please?
Sincerely, Em
To turn your back and walk away
Away from what you once held dear
Oh dear, you knew you had to go
Go to where the wind will take you
You befriended melancholy
Melancholy was stuck with you
You were merry, you must admit
Admit that it was all okay
"Okay" is what you always say
Won't say for fear of them to know
Know the truth, it can only hurt
Hurt the ones you cherish the most
Most of them will be kept inside
Inside where they can safely slumber
So slumber now though do not sink
Sink in the letters of goodbye
Good-byes are good too

© Cyrille Octaviano, 2017
Cordelia Copson Mar 2016
i'd never heard the song before you sang it
this is my ode to you
the first one i ever kissed
and the first i ever befriended
and i loved to hate you

i held your hand cause you cried
and fought,
i fought for you, against you
with you
occasionally,
when you'd stoop so low to let me.

i remember the bruises and you always
felt so bad but it was
kids stuff and you treated me
equal like we were rough housing
and dude i gave as good as i got.

it was like we were flying on different trajectories though
for a few seconds we crashed
furiously bouncing off one another
and then we were spinning  out
out
out and
away.

but you were right
and there are no angels and
i guess that all ended a long time ago.
thanks for all of it i guess
Jamie King Oct 2018
With dead dreams
Can you ever sleep?

Struggled, befriended effort
Only to return to  blankets
Of disheartenment where despondency
Warms your heart as it tears you apart.

Do your dreams die
When sleep departs?

Shattered limbs and blisters reposed in your mind.
The blood moon residing in your eyes.
Your resolves never diverging as you hobble.
Paving the path with skin, flesh and blood.

Sleeping beyond the grave
Do dreams live on?

Eyes roped by gardens of thorns and fleeting petals. Dreams whistle wonders kindling hope, in hearts of those still asleep, wandering in dreams.
Inspired by Doyin
Rhoni Marjonelle Oct 2018
she was in front
of him
and he was in front
of her
each holds endearment,
love, and attachment
each sings their affection,
for further clarification
each pair or reciprocated words
were always heard
always sung
and bewildered.

up and above
they seem to soar
but they dropped
they seem to laugh
but they cried
they seem to be happy
but they were lonely

on that night
truth was revealed
truth that he believes
but never "she"
she was troubled
she was worried
but most of all
she was appreciated,
loved or liked,
and befriended.

he was bothered sick
he was targeted
but she won't let it

thus,
he became her inspiration,
her motivation,
her clarification,
her beautiful distraction.
Did you see a special child,
Moving on its own
Waiting for a smile from
strangers faces around!

Did you see a special child
Sitting in the park
Waiting for the ball to come so
He can give a pass!

Did you see a special child
Sitting near the lake
Waiting for the fish to be caught
In the fishing rod straight!

Did you see a special child
Moving it's wheel chair fast
To catch that metro rail
Which is about to depart!

Did you see a special child
In your child's class
Sitting in a corner waiting for acceptance and cheers!

Did you see a special child
In your neighbor's house
Waiting to be befriended
By the whole society!

Did you see that special child
Whose innocence is unbound
Smiles are genuine
And eyes are pure shine!

Unfortunately,
It's 'not' you alone who
did not see him..
We tend to not register
there presence,
We deny to register
there existence
I haven't seen a special child
till my 28th birthday.

Till I became a mother of one...
That day a mother was born
A special mom of a special child...!!!

Then I became friends with
Many such special mom's...
Beautiful kids became
my son's friends too...

And the special journey
of Special Life thus began!!!

Sparkle In Wisdom
Sep 2018
Cerebral Palsy.
Terry Collett Nov 2018
Ingrid's mother
was found not guilty
of the ******
of her husband
and released.

Benny heard
from his mother about it
from the local paper.

Ingrid was living
with her sister
miles away.

Benny had only seen her
once since she went away.

Will they move back?
He asked his mother.

Don't suppose they will,
she replied,
probably move elsewhere.

Benny sighed:
he liked Ingrid;
he befriended her
when others wouldn't.

Her old man
had been a bully and abuser,
and Benny wasn't saddened
when someone
cut his throat outside
the public house
and left him there.

At least her mother
was free now;
he hadn't thought
she had done it.

He walked upstairs
to the flat
where they used to live;
it was empty now;
he assumed another family
would move in there.

He looked over balcony
at the Square below:
the milkman
was delivering milk
from his horse-drawn cart;
kids played
on the pram sheds
or played skip-rope
or rode bikes
round the block.

He missed Ingrid;
he guessed she went
to another school;
he wondered who
befriended her now.

He watched the horse
stop and feed
from a nose-bag,
while the milkman
delivered the milk
to doors below.
Benny and his friend 1957
Chris Neilson Dec 2018
A  friend of a friend is now my friend
befriended to me to the very end
she always has an ear to lend
especially to me who's on the mend
placating anxiety to which I tend
many minutes with her I love to spend
her hand of friendship there to extend
she runs a cafe which I do commend
competitive pricing prevents overspend
moist scones with strawberry jam I recommend
making weekends existentially transcend
to be fake cousins we sometimes pretend
for a meeting place she's a godsend
when I feel my life descends towards a dead end
she wends my spirits to relentlessly ascend
her recipe for life has the perfect blend
now do the right thing and make this trend!
I'm only codding ya with the last line.
Edinette Feb 2018
The stigma that sensitive people are weak needs to diminish.
Just because she feels things down to her bones does not mean she is weak.
She carries everything. Her feelings, other people’s feelings, the world around her as she takes it all in.

* *
Sensitivity is deemed feeble.
Thick-skinned people are the brave ones, right? They have endured so much that they no longer feel anything. Snide remarks, rude comments, and stressful situations roll off their skin like water during a storm. If it’s already pouring, why worry about each droplet?

*
That is the problem, she thought to herself. Are brave people truly brave?
No.
Brave people are the true cowards. Rather than taking their experiences and feeling them, letting them seep into their bones to become the marrow which fuels their bodies, they shut them away; skeletons in a closet.
They have become numb to the baggage they carry at the expense of growing numb to everything else.

*
People around her are merely living in this world, she decided, whereas she was absorbing it.
In the spring she lays in the grass, running her fingers through each blade as if it were the Earth’s hair.
When summer nights bring a light breeze, she imagines spirits are hugging her.
In the fall when it rains, she spreads her arms wide and gazes up to the sky, knowing that each water droplet that falls is Mother Nature peppering her skin with kisses.

*
Others are too preoccupied making sure their skeletons do not peer out of the closet.
Strength, after all, is the ability to withstand vast amounts of pressure and God knows how much force those skeletons must bear.


*
In the middle of the night, her father hears her talking to someone, except there is no response. It is as if she is conversing with herself when in actuality, she is conversing with her skeletons.
After midnight when others have drifted off to sleep, hoping that their skeletons do not come to haunt them, she is wide awake, her closet door open.
She lays in bed and asks her anxiety how it’s day was, laughs at a witty comment that her depression has made about her life, and gives thanks to the insult a bully gave her in the first grade for making her the person she is today.
The things that should weigh her down, she has befriended. They come to visit so often, anyways.

* *
She wonders how someone who has mastered the art of suppressing their feelings is braver than someone who has mastered the art of acknowledging their feelings.
The strength it takes to keep the closet door shut is immense.
However, it takes an unsurpassable amount of resilience to carry the world in her heart and soul while still having the courage to open her closet without being afraid of the things that could jump out at her.
Asiah Mangham Nov 2018
He was a smooth criminal.
Smooth to the touch, rough with the heart.
His body screamed thief in the way he walked, talked, and kissed.
His lips grazed mine.
He kissed me everything but gave me nothing.
He walked with the grace of Angel's. Talked like he befriended God.
By the time I noticed he stole everything, he was gone.
My heart ached, my body cried, and my mind was in disbelief.
He took me and ran.
Eryri Oct 2018
Ar ben y bryn,
There sits a paint-brush-thin monument;
A crooked rocky record built by many unwilling hands.
This cockeyed testimony announces a difficult man.
A man befriended by nature,
Whose oakish form turned in opposition to his kin,
And took root on stony ground,
And prospered on infertile soil,
And sheltered under a leafy canopy.

Y bryn oedd ei gartref,
And he lived and thrived there,
To the annoyance of the conformists:
The chapel-goers, the gossipers, the rate-payers:
They could not abide his ragged clothing,
Sweat-stewed, blood-patched remnants of cloth,
Hanging rags of garments and barely-there shoes.
Loneliness he embraced and so peace was his.

Ar y bryn fu farw,
A few feigned to mourn to satisfy their curiousity,
Wanting to view the corpse of the man on the hill,
A man who was and wasn't one of them.
And so a dissonance struck the town:
He was one of them but also one of wild nature.
He was miserably poor but enviably free.
And out of such confusion was his half-hearted monument raised.
'The Man On The Hill'
Welsh.
Vilene Joubert Nov 2018
The demons we have befriended
The light we've found darkness
The Angles we've corrupted
The devils we made Cry

All of the men on earth
Not One
that's truly Living
This world has more horrific deaths
Than Hell itself will Ever Know

So Do
whatever
makes this hell
You're Living
Worth All Pain
you're enduring...
Anna Grace Nov 2018
When I saw her for the first time it wasn't admiration
It was awe mixed with a twinge of jealousy
Her perfection and her confidence intimidated me

When I first befriended her it wasn't just adoration
It was an obsession and a fixation
To be like her in thought and action
Till I learnt to be better than her without being enough
That was when the insecurity started
'Will I ever be enough?'

I wasn't enough at home, not fair enough or smart enough
I wasn't witty or flirtatious enough
I lacked guts and I lacked the temperament
Of a proper twelve-year-old.
I was a doormat and a pushover
Already coming undone at my seams
Trying to emulate perfection through blinded eyes
Every day I scoffed and surrendered to my picture of admiration
Trying to secure her own admission
'Will I ever be enough?'

Then she left me battling my own wars
Hers was to conquer new turfs.
I waited for a while, finally realizing
I was a ship without a captain, left to wander evermore.
I caught a new captain in a bystander who counted his lucky stars
I admired him for being there for me when I never was.
I tried to hold on to an unconsolidated bond of friendship
With a raging doubt piercing through my heart
'Will I ever be enough?'

Many came telling me my worth.
Many left ravaging my already battered heart
Many drank my colourless lifeless blood
Many left a wretched bluish mark
I shrivelled from the inside out
Bloating in the nausea of my being
Every day trying to put me together
Every day losing instead of winning.
One day finally I reached out
Knowing my salvation lies
I put everything behind me and cried out
Only to be put on the side.

That day I realized my worth
When she was hurt by my rejection
When she refused to give me a chance
When I had never received any ever.
My insecurities still lingered
But they were a part of me now
And I did not know how to do without.
I picked up the pieces that meant something to me
Even though she was no more there to see
Yet I knew that she was never enough
Never my horizon, never my turf
I had wings to reach farther
And my flight has thus
Now begun without her.

(c) Anna Grace 2018
This poem is autobiographical and written to my friendship with my childhood best friend. It is true that we parted ways and she was all I aspired to be for a greater part of my life but a part of me aspires to be more and that is all I strive to be.
Life is risk
Life is pain
Life is - blood stain
It's not my fault if you can't see the gift
it's not my fault if you can't see it's big
that the solution to the fear lies inside of it

When I was hidden in my cocoon
my body stiff and frozen, nothing moved.
Now I am out, the outside hurts.
It snows, it is terribly hot, it burns,
it hurts, it hurts.
I'm under it! The weather is mad
And I would give anything
(because I am in fear)
to run away from
but it's not my fault
I have to see the whole
I have to have it all

life is risk
the uncertainty, that always is
we all end up stitched with a few wounds
life is pain
the forces driving you everywhere
the questions stand for themselves
you cannot be alive without accepting death

life is guts, milk spilled on the floor
life is dangerous for the heart
yet it is the only way to go
Do not be a martyr; because life
is not a punishment
I chatted angels that forbid my freak
I befriended Puck and he set me free
Life is a gift
laced with tears -
sometimes filled with contrary feels
Mel Dec 2018
Emotional rollercoaster sometimes I see the highs sometimes I'm down to the ground. I'm all frowns hidden by a smile, I should make myself at home cause this could take awhile. It's a daily routine just to keep my composure, the journey is dark and deep across the ocean floor. The pressure made me a diamond but it cracked my core. I see the sun sushining through canopy but the rays have never befriended me. How desperately I want to bask in that energy  no matter how much it burns. How desperately I want to bask in that energy to light up the night I need symmetry.
once upon a time

when all of your parents weren't even born
there was a man named eddie spaghetti
who loved to travel the world
and he didn't have planes of helicopters
or even private jets, no, he only had
this red and white sailing yacht
which he called, swannie
and he loved swannie a lot
he would start sailing around
south america, and the west indies
where he wanted to start this journey
and then into central america where
he had a bit of fun, yeah, he had fun
then right up the coastline of san diego
and los angeles and san francisco
and yes, he was having a few hiccups
but he did it well by going past canada
and alaska sailing very well, enjoying
the ride, after that he sailed down the coastline
of russia, and then down toward japan and then
into china and screamed hello to some of the locals
then over to the phillipines and then down to malaysia
and after that he had a few of indias finest curries
you see, he hadn't crossed the equator yet, but it was coming
closer to him as he was heading over to africa and saudi arabia but he was very scared of the equator as he thinks time
will make him lose his boat, and we all know it won't, it is just a time zone, he will enter tomorrow, and he didn't want to become a tomorrow person, so he stopped in somalia and became one of them till he figured out how he was going to become a tomorrow person, so he parked his yacht in the dock and started to explore, he met a lot of nice people
and he said his name was GOD, which he knows is using the lords name in vane, and this poor kid named chico befriended him, believing he was the real god, but he was only 7, and his parents never believed that GOD, could be heard but not seen
and they said to chico, don't hang with him, he is a stranger to us, and you know we never talk to strangers, but chico who never wanted to upset his folks, decided to see GOD anyway
because he was not from these parts, but then the men from over the hill thought he was an intruder and took him prisoner,
chico said, this is GOD, and they didn't believe him either because GOD is a spiritual being of heaven, not a man and they said, let's chop his head off, but eddie said please believe me, i am not GOD, i am a sailor from south america
i wouldn't have come here if i wasn't scared to cross the equator toward the land of tomorrow and when he said where
he has been already, the king said, lead us to your boat, there
is no problem with entering tomorrow and as they all headed
toward the boat eddie was chucked into the ocean rock cave
after he handed them the key and this little red and white sailboat named swannie had disappeared into the land of tomorrow without eddie and being GOD, he went to chico
and said my name is eddie spaghetti and i lost my boat, i am too scared of entering tomorrow and suddenly his parents who were listening took him in and got very close, and eddie lived there for 3 years and on his fishing trip with chico and his dad, he saw swannie washed up on the shore and he said, tomorrowland is not for me and said goodbye to chico and his family and went back to south america the way he came and perished off the shore of japan, never to be seen again, and swannie, was rebuilt to sit on a beach in Japan and kids played on it, and they still played on it on this very day,
the end
Tired Writings Of An In Love Man. 10/23/18

I lay here in bed so sleepless tonight. I think of a girl, my love, my light. I say I love her everyday but my true deep feelings I just don't know how to say. I wish I could look her in the eyes right now and just say what I feel but I'm scared that from me my words this relationship they would steal. I would tell her I've seen girls come and go from me in every way, but when I befriended her she was the only one I wished to stay. I don't know what It is it's not here physical appeal I mean of course that is there. With her eye, her lips, her curly cloud of hair. It's something deep inside her heart it rakes at me with it she stole mine from the start. Now I'm just lost in my own love for her with no sign of a cure. All I know is how it feels so warming, pleasant, and pure. Tomorrow I'm going to see her and while our bodies are close the feeling so nice. I will tell her that she is my world and that there is no way enough love to her I could send, that I'm in love with her and will always be until my end.
Just tring to continue to badly right poetry about a girl that means so much to me.
Sanjana Apr 25
Brown Boy living across from me

the one that I "liked"

the White Girl I befriended, but not with sight

she had all the White Boys over her

without any strife

but little did I know this would change my little brown life

Brown Boy said the Girl came from his dreams

said she was so beautiful - she had to be seen

when I asked why for her he fell

for her fair complexion, he did tell

when White Girl found out she was filled with disgust

her father picked her up

she never did come back, neither did I

giving one last wave to the white guys

so this seven-year-old girl had learned something new

changing her world view

now she sits quietly in the back watching the White Girls being talked to
This is a very true story, that actually happened to me.

— The End —