"cheerleading" poems
blonde hair.
blue eyes.
thin body.
designer clothes.
popularity contest.
matter over mind
over matter
over mind.
prom queen.
cheerleading captain.
top of the social ladder.
perfect.
depression.
anxiety.
lies.
secrets.
fake smile.
makeup.
insecurities.
tears.
eating disorder.
masks.
heartbreak.
sadness.
insecurities.
insecurities.
insecurities.
insecurities.
Sep 15, 2017
Sep 15, 2017 at 1:38 PM UTC
Flipping threw my old yearbook
I see girls who were once gorgeous
tooken my the devils hand
pregnant and life beaten now
horrendous
I remember seeing them
with there cheerleading outfits on
As I sat in a corner by myself
I here them laughing and chatting
about going to tonys house after school
I remember tony strong handsome captain of the highschool world
I saw him two weeks ago
With his hands covering his face
And a shot next to him
3 empty beers infront
He really let himself go I remember thinking
fat and forgotten about
still clinging to that highschool dream
I remember him saying I was a loser as he flipped my lunch tray
and humiliated me by reading my little notebook of writes
I remember saying to him
one day ill have the last laugh
one day ill see you down and out
and you'll ask me for a handout
going back to the bar I sit down
A couple stools down to see if he recognised me
He finished his 3 beers as I finished my long island ice tee
he said to the bar tender I gotta ***
be right back
I followed him to the restroom
and we were a ****** apart
I looked over and seen his small patheic *****
as I looked at my *****
I laughed
and I laughed
and I laughed
looked over at tony
and said see sir
I did get the last laugh
and I left
I hope he knows me now
I hope he knows me now
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 10:25 PM UTC
If I ruled the world things would be this way:
The Hunger Games would be watched every single day,
Tomorrow When The War Began would be listened to and read,
While others choose to have the figurines next to thier beds,
John Marsden and Suzanne Collins would be the best known authors,
And mothers would go out to dinner once a month with just their daughters.
I would be a rich and famous actor and a poet,
Ellie, Julia and Taylor have talent and I know it,
I just need to figure out the best way for them to show it,
Maybe in acting, writing or singing,
I have no ideas for my bell they are not ringing.
I would stop all war and poverty,
And everyone would have the same amount of property,
I would even out the money for every country,
And have all my fruit and veg hard and crunchy,
Our world would be a multi-cultural, accepting all religions,
One day I would get rid of all televisions.
Swimming would be a sport at school as well as cheerleading and diving,
But everyone would have to take lessons in surviving,
And every day my hair would be curled,
All of this would happen if I ruled the world.
written by maegan cattermull
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 9:56 PM UTC
I'm like a member of the Poetry Cheerleading Squad
Everyone gets a poem instead of t-shirts
Because everybody wins here
Nobody loses tonight
Life is very hard to win at, so i'm giving everyone a freebie if that's what is going to make them feel better.
I'd do anything to cease the issues in this very land.
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 5:38 PM UTC
I'VE NEVER BEEN THAT GIRL ALL THE GUYS BOW DOWN TO.
IVE NEVER ACTUALLY MET A GUY WHO WOULD DO ANYTHING FOR ME.
NEVER BEEN A POPULAR PERSON.
NEVER BEEN PERFECT ON THE INSIDE OUT.
NEVER BEEN HOMECOMING QUEEN.
IVE NEVER BEEN ON A CHEERLEADING TEAM.
NEVER HAD GIRLS THAT WANTED TO BE ME.
NEVER BEEN CALLED PERFECT BY GUYS ON THE VARSITY FOOTBALL TEAM.
I'VE NEVER KISSED KEN.
BUT,
I AM ME.
I'VE BEEN THE GIRL WHO ALL THE GUYS HAVE RESPECT FOR.
I'VE BEEN THE GIRL THAT ALL THE GUYS CALL FRIEND.
I HAVE BEEN THE GIRL THAT HAS HAD IMPERFECT BUT PERFECT GUYS CRUSH ON ME.
I'VE BEEN THE GIRL THAT SPENDS HER WEEKENDS AT THE SKATEPARK OR RIDING DIRTBIKES.
IM THE GIRL THAT HAS SARCASM EVERYONE FEARS TO HEAR.
IM THE GIRL THAT WILL BE TOTALLY HONEST EVEN IF IT WILL HURT YOUR FEELINGS.
IM THE GIRL THAT CAN BE PRETTY.
IM THE GIRL THAT PREFERS SHORTS OR PANTS OVER SKIRTS AND DRESSES.
IM THE GIRL WHO LIKES FISHNETS AND COMBAT BOOTS.
THE GIRL THAT WILL GET CRAZY.
THE GIRL THAT DEFENDS HERSELF AND PEOPLE SHE CARES ABOUT.
I WILL GET IN YOUR FACE IF YOU GET IN MINE.
I WOULD RATHER HAVE ONE SPECIAL GUY THEN HAVE TWENTY FAKE GUYS.
IM THE GIRL THAT RESPECTS YOU IF YOU RESPECT ME.
IM THE HARD HEADED GIRL THAT IS STUBBORN AS HELL.
I DON'T FALL IN LOVE WITH JERKS.
I PLAY HARD TO GET IF I FEEL THAT YOU WANT ME TO BE EASY.
IM THE GIRL THAT WILL KICK YOUR *** IF YOU MESS WITH ME.
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 12:43 AM UTC
When I was little, I stuck scissors into the electrical outlet
something I never would have had the urge to do if my parents hadn't told me it was dangerous
I was a rocket pop, always standing too close to the edge,
always carrying a matchbook in my pocket
I'm not the only one who flirts with death
Death is the quarterback, death is the prettiest girl on the cheerleading team
Death is popular at parties
And when someone seems so out of my reach like that, I tend to romanticize them
So I fantasized about pills that shone like pearls
I envisioned ribs sticking out from my skeletal frame, finally frail enough to ****** the object of my desires
I thought about razor blades scattered like flower petals on the bathroom floor
Etching memento moris into my skin
I dreamed of fenders and pavement rushing up to meet my lips for one last kiss
God, I had the biggest crush on death
But so did everyone else
And I saw them falling further in love as if they were tumbling from a skyscraper
This is not a love poem, this is a goodbye
Because I have instead become infatuated with beautiful things
I am a creator, so I must stop destroying myself
Dear death
I don't want to be just another girl who doesn't look when she crosses the street, hoping to meet you on the other side
I will be okay on my own, and I'll keep the scissors locked up in the craft cabinet
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 7:29 PM UTC
It was the middle of 7th grade
I had just moved away
My dad called me into the living room
And told me that you were gone
You had gotten into a car accident
Going home from cheerleading practice
You died by the time
The sun rose the next morning
I remember going into the store across the street
Just a few days after I got the news
I went to the register with my snacks
And there was a cup filled with money
It had your cheerleading picture on it
It’s the same picture on your grave now
Your dad was trying to raise money for your funeral
...The one I didn’t go to
I regret that
From the second I met you in 2nd grade
Up until December 22, 2009
You were the one very best friend of mine
Nobody celebrated Christmas that year
There was nothing to celebrate
It’s still hard to think that you’re not actually here
Dawson lost his sister in the car accident
Even though he was in the seat next to you
Your dad lost his daughter in the back seat
Even though you were hit on both of your sides
That’s the first time I really felt loss
You were there one second and then
…you were just gone
I didn’t have multiple best friends
It was just you
In 5 days, you would have been 18
and probably jumping off the walls
Maybe we would have gone roller-skating
Like we did on your 12th birthday
You are my best friend Taylor C.
Not a day goes by
That I don’t want to tell you everything
But I know you’re up there cheering for me
Like you did when were were kinds
5 years with you
Seemed like 5 seconds
But
These 5 years without you
Have seemed more like 50 years
Happy early birthday, Tay
I wish you could have been here
Because, I miss you so much
Every day that you’re not here tears me apart.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 9:00 PM UTC
I read stories of women,
dressed in silk and wool,
quiet, passive, faceless ladies
defined only by their spontaneous romances
with strangers on trains,
who dug out childish notions in their heads,
as they forsook their loving husbands of twenty years
for slick haired young men,
who pretend not to mind their sagging *******
Madam Bovarys for a modern age.
Afraid of fading youth, dying embers,
bringing up the same high school insecurities,
they felt when their prom date flirted with the cheerleading captain.
And quenching them just as quickly
when they fogged up the windows of his father's car.
But maybe I should keep quiet.
What do I know?
A thin, ****** school girl,
who has known little of passion, but some of love.
And when I learned love, I learned loyalty.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 9:53 PM UTC
my lipstick
on the mirror
stretch fingertips
toward truest feels
jar the numb
as I smear
the color me
from wrought fists
wringing heart
cheerleading
through conjoined
memoir dreamscapes
forged with helix lips
spinning ourglass
to shift the sands
while I stifle
these cries
steeped
in stab
for the
greatest good
Jun 21, 2017
Jun 21, 2017 at 7:27 PM UTC
i want you to come home.
i sit,
drunk and drinking,
******* the last hit off of cigs you smoked
days ago...
i want you to come home.
but you are miles away,
flashing that grin
at the girls who were always
conisdered your type.
painted bubbly bright blond
rays of sunshine that just can't wait to
tell you of their highschool cheerleading years...
i want you to come home.
but your out
buying drinks and promising to save a dance
or two.
and it's ok with me cause i have
books that need reading
and games that need playing...
you say not to worry cause in the end
you always come home.
i try and ignore the purfume thats not mine
and the numbers you kept for a laugh.
i should have known better
loving you as hard as i do...
how could i last?
i was on the yearbook staff in highschool.
Mar 21, 2010
Mar 21, 2010 at 8:07 AM UTC
It happened in the 50's.
Nineteen year old **** stars
Drive to the edge of the city
In hopes to lure a cheerleading ******
Onto their prize list
Of testosterone driven pilgrimages
Girls would fault hearts
Rapt in their own justifications
It happened in the 50's.
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 10:16 PM UTC
Vulnerability is characterised by a beautifully ambivalent experience for the majority of anthropological subjects, if the risk is indeed to be embraced.
But, haven’t we already surmounted the impossible ranges of mountainous biopsychosocial corridors in this geographical war against oblivion?
If we have, then let us raise our brazen shields whilst the cheerleading and aristocratic seductress chants her ceremonial and political letters of pronouncement.
Cosmological resistance of physical objects to any change in their sense of motion, speed or direction, is characterised by hilarity.
Yet, what does it matter?
It is likened to bursting forth from a position of submerged freedom of speech, where we must then tread precariously across uncertain ponds.
Stepping out from the metaphorical boat, we can acquaint ourselves with the beauty of The Vocal Artiste and conduct our transaction.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 10:44 PM UTC
End all obligatory cheerleading
take a sober look at life
animals ****** into existence
cursed with awareness
we yearn daily for meaning
only to be buried under an avalanche
of tasks we would not choose
if only we could design our own world
without this incessant need to eat and ****
with only hope to stitch together
the stories we were raised on.
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 4:25 PM UTC
it is not just pink for girls
and blue for boys
or laundry for moms
and desk jobs for dads.
it is self confidence plummeting
because your nine year old legs
look different than the others
girls aren’t supposed to be hairy.
it is watching the cheerleading team
through the windows of the gymnasium
hoping the other kids don’t see you
boys are supposed to play basketball.
it is being called bossy
for voicing your ideas
to say what you believe in
girls are supposed to be quiet.
it is a lack of empathy
from years of quieting
your emotions
boys aren’t supposed to cry.
it is being placed in a box
that is too small and
being told to cut off your legs
so you can fit inside it
we are not contortionists.
Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 8:21 AM UTC
Welcome to this institution,
high school is a magical place.
You’ll leave with fantastic memories
and a genuine smile on your face.
A 4.0 GPA is not unattainable.
Believe us, you can balance it all.
A student will get plenty of sleep
and won’t have a breakdown come next fall.
The friendships you create in this building
are ones you’ll cherish your entire life.
Nothing but respect will flow here.
You’ll never be stabbed in the heart with a knife.
The standardized tests will matter in ten years,
write your answers neatly in ink.
These scribbled bubbles are really essential,
they’re fair to the many ways to think.
This is not a biased system,
the dress code applies to girls and boys.
Cheerleading uniforms are not exempt,
you will be treated like more than just toys.
Everyone in this school is equal,
no one’s treatment is unfair.
It doesn’t matter how different you are
suffering is not something you’ll have to bear.
Welcome to this institution,
high school is a magical place.
It’s four fantastic years of your life,
good luck finishing this race.
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 12:19 AM UTC
S-P-A-R-T-A-N-S
this chant has been
emblazoned on your prefrontal cortex for
years yet, and you'll bear it
upon your chest for years yet and
yet: you aren't certain
what it's all meant, whether it's been
Worth Your Time
and in this way, cheerleading has become
stand-in for
every boy who's let you down
month after month after month.
too bad you can't
unlearn their habits or
unfire the synapses they triggered;
too bad you can't
hop in a delorean to
unwind the time you spent with them.
but if you could:
would you?
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 9:56 AM UTC
She begins to gather her hair,
making sure not to miss
a single fiery tendril and
secures the strands with
her favorite yellow hair tie
that she can wrap around
her thin stream of hair
nearly four times.
She’s afraid
The worn circlet of elastic
Might snap soon.
The widening yellow band
has known six years
of hairstyles:
the super high tail
worn while cheerleading
back in high school
that waved like a flag while
jumping in unison into the splits-
the tie off to the side
of the base of her neck
holding back her perfectly curled twists
for her first date with her
future husband-
the sensible low tail
that she wore to the job
she hated
as a librarian
because it was not what she wanted to do.
She wanted to write.
The glued in place up-do
She wore to her wedding.
Her mother cried
Because of how beautiful she looked.
The first time
he didn’t show
to the poetry reading
she worked
so hard to get into.
The late nights of
being tied in a messy, asymmetrical bun
when he claimed to be
working late
but she knew he was with someone else.
To now,
when she is leaving him
with her hair half up.
But as she gathers
her hair one last time,
the bind snaps.
Instead of searching for another
she decides
to let her tresses
flow, cascading down her back.
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 4:31 PM UTC
I'd just like you to know I do remember everything
From the first day until the last.
I remember that you were wearing a gray t shirt
Jeans, and a black jacket when we met.
The date was January 6, 2012.
We met at a basketball game at the high school.
You were there for wrestling
I was there for cheerleading.
I remember hearing you make snide comments
Just audible enough for the person intended to hear.
I remember being captivated by those blue eyes.
I remember the last words you said to me
Harsh and unforgivable
But of course, I had already accepted the apology
I knew would be coming my way.
Because, **** I remember everything.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 10:51 PM UTC
Replaying what their saying praying they bring light to this white uptight insightful wannabe rapper
Cracking the code attacking the slackers taking wack swings trying to use the Clapper dressed dapper
Like Versace shoestrings singing like ODB making sure my breaths clean, it’s my upbringing two parent
Household got no gold but I make you mind blown rocking rhymes about frog and toad I’m road worn
And born weary love oregon’s rain, dreary love to read Beverly Cleary like Ramona wasn’t cheerleading
A future bare back ******* posing as a children’s reader more like a chicken head feeder yet sweeter
Cold toes in the morning gotta find a slipper pull up my cargo pants, can’t find the zipper feeling like
Jack Tripper …. its slipperier the slope to attacking Iraq with most black troops a whole new set of roots
The truth is uncouth like jerking off in a telephone booth *** shooting on yellow pages gobs coating
Everyones names strangers in cages with rage faces and misplaced hate…fucking ingrates –
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 4:06 PM UTC
So from the top when I first met you, I remember the first time I met you and wish I could have with been with you, It was at a cheerleading competition or close to it, I saw you and I was with Henry and Chicago. I never spoke up because I didn't even know you. But came school and we met, I remembered our pumpkin fight and how we sat outside on the trampoline watching the stars, how we went the the fair around Halloween time and remember while all the people going to the fair are passing the car and when I was changing in the car, and remember most of all being happy. Your the only one who's never truly hurt me. I've hurt you but not in a way I ment to do. I have no clue the pain I caused to you. To be trapped, forgotten, to be an outcast, just trying to be normal. All the distress I have been swamped on you have been buried upon just worse. If I could change the past I would. There's some things I never go to do for you the only one who could be faithful to me and feel like you loved me too. i want to explain so much but at the same time lets just hang out. I want to be able to help you in any way I can. Doesn't matter if I have to come get you and spend a few hours, I mean cmon I'm not that bad!
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 4:22 PM UTC
It’s me, the one nerd
Yes, who you used to throw your
hand made paper planes when I was concentrated in the books,
then pass your homework like I was your personal tutor
And made me cry on my way
back to home
It’s me, the fat
Yes, who you did not consider for cheerleading team just
because I was out of shape
And made me cry on my way
back to home
It’s me, the gay
Yes, who you used to beat up in the locker room for being
attracted to the same gender.
And made me cry on my way
back to home.
It’s me, the differently abled
Yes, who you used to punch,
slap, toss
anytime you wanted to do so.
And made me cry on my way
back to home
Listen to this, bully
It came to our mind, many times
to **** ourselves
because of the humiliation and the pain. but at our home door, we stood,
wiped the tears
because can’t show mama
that we were weak
and dad that we couldn’t stand for ourselves.
we did survive through, alive
but with remarks and scars
and with a shattered heart
-ache
Jan 26, 2019
Jan 26, 2019 at 6:07 PM UTC
My head is in a spin,
My obsession just to win,
I'm driven and I'm mad
All I smell is gushing blood.
I feel I'm in a surreal game
That shooting sort - so very lame,
Where targets pop-up all around,
Nothing ever out of bounds.
What's good for them is great for me,
I'll deftly flatten all I see,
From rabid lawyers to media hacks,
I relish all their wild attacks.
For unbridled as they are
They alone propel me far,
Every moment of every day
From their lips my name they say.
Isn't that just simply grand,
As for every blow they land
Folks just rally to my side
Ferral wokes unable to abide.
I'm a fighter - all see that,
Unlike Joe that doddering dud.
Yes I'm tired - who wouldn't be,
But now the end I clearly see.
With the White House in my grasp,
I doubt I'll even need to ask,
They'll plead with me to take the keys
Given Biden's on his knees.
So while my enemies do the dance,
The time is near for me to prance.
They'll squeal and holler with all their might,
With me cheerleading at the sight.
I'll seal this race and do it quick
By any means and every trick.
Count me out at your great peril,
Not great odds even for the Devil.
Jan 19, 2024
Jan 19, 2024 at 10:30 AM UTC
witnessing the ones she cares for the most drown themselves in the deep end of society
all due to the world’s distinction of “right” and “wrong”
seeking more than she could ever get
she’s dependent on those who are no longer near her
hearing the piercing words of others
questioning her own
glimpsing at the ones around her
then immediately looking at herself
am I good enough?
“perfection”
a term girls force themselves to believe in
an idea which is unrealistically unattainable for most
although it is impractical it has turned into a depiction of norms that are meant to stay intact
she fears for them- knowing that it is not ideal to follow the rules set
but she can feel herself slowly giving in to the demons inside her
curves.
reasonable enough to an extent people don’t stop and stare.
******* in every chance she gets.
starving herself-
because if she wants to be the girl people seek out for, it’s best to get rid of the unpleasant shape
stomach.
flat. tight. muffin tops- an abomination towards all females
a complete unattraction if she seeks desirability and validation
shoving three fingers down her throat
because if she does ever want to make the cheerleading squad it’s for the best to fit in the uniform first try, like all the other girls
thighs.
3-inch wide gap. nothing less, or she’ll end up putting herself to shame
face.
aiming high to look her best
secreting her under eye circles, concealing blemishes
forcing herself to believe that with these things she is hideous
and without them- she will achieve the ideal image of beauty
her body, a temple she grew up to cherish
now, a territory in which she conflicts sins upon
walking to the scale
feet set in place
neon numbers flash
134 pounds
she faces the mirror
sighing heavily
“it’s just not good enough.”
-c.alejandra
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 1:19 AM UTC