Picture the scene...

Emo punk kid, on a paper round.

Picture the scene, Emo punk kid is suicidal.

Picture the scene, creepy customer.

Weeks pass.

Picture the scene, it goes too far.

Emo punk kid pushes it and tells someone.

Picture the scene, police involved.

Picture the scene, emo punk kid attempts suicide.

Picture the scene emo punk kid has exams.
Emo punk kid falls asleep in his geography exam.

Emo punk kid has results day.

Geography teacher is there.

When emo punk kid gets told he should have done better, his world dies.

When he is told he should have gotten over it before the exams he gets angry.

When he gets told to move on he grabs a rope.

When emo punk kid's girlfriend left him, the rope made a noose.

When emo punk kid was told today that it doesn't matter that he was the victim of ****** abuse

Picture the scene, geography tomorrow morning, a rope and a stuck up fool.

Picture the scene, no more geography teacher. No more emo punk kid. No more girlfriend.

Picture the scene, now swap with emo punk kid and end it how you would.

I'm so emo
I never wash my clothes
I'm so emo
I can't even blow my nose

I'm so emo
My life's a tragedy
I'm so emo
Fringe is too long I can't see

I'm so emo
Mixing hipster with some goth
I'm so emo
Who is David Hasselhoff

I'm so emo
Twerking to Ronnie Radke
I'm so emo
My friend calls all her friends “daddy”

I'm so emo
I’ve got all three chokers on
I'm so emo
My squad’s called “Satan's spawn”

I'm so emo
I died in 2013
I'm so emo
I'm gonna cry myself to sleep

Hey somebody
pass me the eyeliner
Because I want to get Emo
Yep **** it
I'm the drama queen
Always get it wrong it seems
Some say I complain too much
But I don't give zero *****
Sometimes you need a whinge
Yeah just have a little *****
Wise words from the drama king

Focus all eyes  on me,
Attention is what I need
Focus all eyes on me,
I've got something to say
Listen to what
comes out of my mouth
Maybe I'm talking
a lot of **** right now
Focus all eyes on me,
Attention is what I need

Always underachieve
Failing everything I do
Failing them, keep failing you
Can't seem to do
Anything I set my mind too
I'm looking around
For something worth living for
Every time I find something
It escapes my grasp
Always end up back on my ***
Can't seem to get it right
No matter how hard I try
Can't appear to get it right
No matter how hard I fight

Hey somebody, pass me the eyeliner
Because I want to get Emo
Yep **** it
I'm the drama queen
Always get it wrong it seems
Some say I complain too much
But I don't give zero *****
Sometimes you need a whinge
Yeah just have a little *****
Wise words from the drama king

Focus all eyes on me,
Attention is what I need
Focus all eyes on me,
I've got something to say
Listen to what
comes out of my mouth
Maybe I'm talking
a lot of **** right now
Focus all eyes on me,
Attention is what I need

Why does life smack you in the face
When you're circling the drain
The skies have turned to grey
You're miserable every day
Can't seem to catch a break
No matter how many Kit Kats you ate
Is this it, is this my fate
Staying up until late
Just so that I can contemplate
Every **** mistake
I've ever made

Hey somebody, pass me the eyeliner
Because I want to get Emo
Yep **** it
I'm the drama queen
Always get it wrong it seems
Some say I complain too much
But I don't give zero *****
Sometimes you need a whinge
Yeah just have a little *****
Wise words from the drama king

Focus all eyes on me,
Attention is what I need
Focus all eyes on me,
I've got something to say
Listen to what
comes out of my mouth
Maybe I'm talking
a lot of **** right now
Focus all eyes on me,
Attention is what I need

Do you know
What it feels like
To stare at your phone
No messages coming through
Feel like nobody
even cares about you
Yep you wonder what you can do
Is there something wrong with me
Is there are reason people hate me
What is it they need to see
To see I'm worth some time
Every once in a while
Trying to hide this emotion
Behind a smile
All these sarcastic remarks
Covering scars

Hey somebody, pass me the eyeliner
Because I want to get Emo
Yep **** it
I'm the drama queen
Always get it wrong it seems
Some say I complain too much
But I don't give zero *****
Sometimes you need a whinge
Yeah just have a little *****
Wise words from the drama king

Focus all eyes on me,
Attention is what I need
Focus all eyes on me,
I've got something to say
Listen to what
comes out of my mouth
Maybe I'm talking
a lot of **** right now
Focus all eyes on me,
Attention is what I need

Can't seem to make it pay to pay
All this debt is crushing me
And I'm losing my mind every night
To that devil inside
The one that won't let you sleep
He even haunts you in your dreams
There no escaping this reality
And all I can do
Is keep on strolling through
The best that I can
Hope that someone understands
Maybe one day
I'll find happiness again

Hey somebody, pass me the eyeliner
Because I want to get Emo
Yep **** it
I'm the drama queen
Always get it wrong it seems
Some say I complain too much
But I don't give zero *****
Sometimes you need a whinge
Yeah just have a little *****
Wise words from the drama king

Focus all eyes on me,
Attention is what I need
Focus all eyes on me,
I've got something to say
Listen to what
comes out of my mouth
Maybe I'm talking
a lot of **** right now
Focus all eyes on me,
Attention is what I need

I want to get dramatic
Don't tell me not to get dramatic
Don't say I'm complicated
No, I'm not complicated
I'm talking straight
Hey wait, wait
Sister pass me the eyeliner
Because I want to get Emo
You know I want to get Emo

©2017 Written By Benji James

Twentysomething Emo
looks at teenage Emo
and laughs.

It was something purely aesthetic,
with brain chemicals churning
and wiry bodies yearning

under the guise of straightened bangs
and perched beanies,

skin tight black outfits
parading the dusty grounds of Warped Tour.

Twentysomething Emo is the real deal--
lamenting over high school salad days
because real life is so unsure,

college degrees and full-time jobs,
watching friends and lovers come and go in our lives.

After a long day of responsibility and groveling,
we drive home (or somewhere just as distant)
with our emo anthems blaring through the speakers.

We scream the songs back at them,
truly feeling the words for the first time.

I'm the same age as William Beckett, Adam Lazzara, and Pete Wentz
when they wrote these songs--
and though the bangs have receded
and the jeans have slackened,

I am perpetually Emo.

The unrequited love and the nearing distant future--
it's come too soon.

I hope thirtysomething Emo looks back
on my meandering twentysomething Emo
and laughs--

as he plays the melancholy tunes pouring out of the speakers
with some more of life fading away in his rearview mirror.

This town gets smaller every day.

you say I'm emo
just because I wear black a lot.
You say I am a queer
because I give my best friend a hug, and he just happens to be a guy.
You think I cut
just because I have scars on my wrist.
Truth is,
none of the stuff you say is true.
See, emo has become a fad.
Everyone wants to have attention.
But us "real emos" will tell you that its no fun.
I can't...we can't control when we are happy and sad,
glad and mad.
Its a ****** feeling.
I do not wear black because I worship Satan,
I wear black because it fits me
I do not wear my band shirts to be cool,
I wear them because they represent who I am.
I do not listen to rock music because I have problems,
I listen to it because the screaming helps my blood flow.
I don't expect you to know what it's like to truly be
emo
The only time you say that word,
the only time you say us
is when you make fun of us.
My hair is not long just to cover my face,
my hair is long because I like it that way.
You expect us to be like you,
but yet you rob us of our happienes.
Well,
who the **** are you to call me emo?
huh?
What do you truly know about depression.
Because your idea of depression is when you get grounded,
and my idea of depression is when I hold a blade to my neck.
You think depression is just tears,
but nope.
Its painful,
draining,
almost numbing.
This isn't even the start.
Do not call me emo,
because of what you think
because you will never know me
I won't let you get to know me
because I don't want that pain.
You are a ******,
and one of the reasons why
*I'm emo

I dress in black
I listem to screamo.
Asking alexandria and
Bmth all day
But emo tho?
I dunno.
I like black alot.
I wear it alot
And  skinny jeans  are my best friend.
People tell me I'm emo
Like it's  a bad thing.
I think being emo is a beautiful  thing.
I dont cut.
Never will
But i stand down sometimes.
Being emo  should  be a privilege.
Its not bad.
If i am emo
Than i am strong
I have a spirit not rivaled by many.
I can endure being screamed at because i prefer it in my music.
I will grow out my hair because i can
And my band t shirts will hold their own special place in my closet.
If i am emo
Than so be it
But  i will not be slandered
For who i *am

So everyone has heard the term EMO and honestly it makes me sick
That people just throw the term around as if it was a meaningless stick!

EMO isn't just for cutting, and depression, because if that was the actual meaning, everyone be that way at somepoint.

EMO means EMOTIONAL.

EMO isn't just for cutters, or people with really dark personalities.
I'm a Dark person, and I've yet to cut over the last year and couple months.

So the next time you go to throw the "Title"/"Label" EMO at someone, really think about what your saying.

And if someone wants to throw that at you just look and Laugh because  it's obvious they don't have a clue what they are saying.

The word emo is used to describe someone who dresses dark and scary.
Or someone who hurts themself.
For me, it’s a word I use to describe my real emotions.
Emo = emotion
I am “emo” because I am emotional.
Sure, I joke around a lot.
I make fun of my own emotions.
I call myself emo just because I like wearing black.
But there’s a reason why I wear all that black.
I’m too afraid to be happy.
I’m don’t deserve to wear color.
I feel like I should always be grieving.
I feel like I don’t deserve happiness.
Why would I?
I always feel guilty for what happened back in the seventh grade.
I could’ve done more.
I could’ve been more useful.
That’s a lie.
I’m useless.
Worthless.
A terrible person.  
The point is that I am the original emo.
Not because I wear black.
But because I am emotional.
Does that make me human?
No.
It just makes me sad.
That’s as plane as it gets.
I’m just sad.

end of my elementary school years i had a diary.
a boy i had a crush on broke my heart and i wrote in my diary on a page somewhere in between the middle and the end about how i was
                 emo.
about how i wanted to cut my wrists and be sad all the time.

my parents found this diary and found this page and questioned me until i said it was all a lie and i didn't even know what emo really was.

i keep a diary online now, and i occasionally cut myself, and i wonder if my parents ever think i'm emo.

would i be able to lie and tell them i don't know what emo is? or would they look at the scars and wonder when i really found out what being emo was.

there came up from the projects a Brooklyn youth
holding anger in his eyes he came at a big surprise
with two turn tables with a mic he was ready for a fight
rattle his cage at such an early age all in a haze
piercing back the flames lest I rearrange the all fame game
getting better then most he was lost as a seagull was on the coast
until the day he paid a visit with the savior now he's fined tailored
thinking of a higher power its the hour of power makes him take a hot shower
the important thing he never forgot his roots now he's a loose as a caboose

see ya on the flip side squeeze out spreading his disease as busy as a bee
one hand on the mike sorry that her missed her Twisted Sister it's a brave new world
Emo B in the place to be making sweet rhymes making history
yet for Emo he again lost his way being frail he caved into the system
selling a kilo of ******* to an under cover cop now he hops
to cell block 979 today he stands in line but for the system you can kiss his fat behind
Emo still raps as in a Big Mac attack shooting out flames of gold as you suppose
then one cold morning Emo left for heaven standing in line no more he safely evened the score
although he had such a short life he was gone too soon
his memory reflected back to that late morning in June
Emo be good no doubt your still around playing your favorite song
that's my heart right their

Emo
**A name
A label
A title entitled to people who are misunderstood
A name given by those who will never understand
A label made by people full of ignorance
             Nobody sees past the hair and the makes up
                     They see the scars and look away
      They hear the music and "you're satanic" is all they say
They see you wear black and the word emo is what they say to attack
Emo
A name
A label
A title entitled to people who are misunderstood
A name given by those who will never understand
A label made by people full of ignorance
...Emo

I only smoke
when you're around
or when I'm around you,
I don't know which is which
just that a consumption is going on
within me.

You reach down into your pocket book
and pull out a few killing sticks
hopefully,
I'll die of consumption.

That little creature
inside me,
the pink satyr,
jumps
in between my ribs,
whenever you go rummaging
in that golden shimmer of stripper's purse,
and **** out the Marlboros
with a wet-lipped,
wide-arcing
smile.


The creature,
the real me,
plays with his
satyr ****
all day
and bites his nails
and soft cuticles
until the blood runs
and pools in
little
red
pearls.

I am love-starved,

and the satyr is afraid
when he jumps
because that means you're around.

When I'm around you,
or you're around me
something smells,
possibly the iron
of the ******
left-over finger flakes.

The satyr picks up
the soggy,
spit out nails
and shingles
my heart with them.

The satyr shingles my heart
with the fear that you will leave
and that I will have no one
to consume
or be consumed by.


You are my ******
nails and cuticles.

What a ******* emo
you
make me.

I am uncomfortable,
even,
with the notion
that you have an effect
on me.

That's why I dismiss it,
with that whole
"What a ******* emo" title.

And that whole
"What a ******* emo."
last line.

there came up from the projects a Brooklyn youth
holding anger in his eyes he came at a big surprise
with two turn tables with a mic he was ready for a fight
rattle his cage at such an early age all in a haze
piercing back the flames lest I rearrange the all fame game
getting better then most he was lost as a seagull was on the coast
until the day he paid a visit with the savior now he's fined tailored
thinking of a higher power its the hour of power makes him take a hot shower
the important thing he never forgot his roots now he's a loose as a caboose

see ya on the flip side squeeze out spreading his disease as busy as a bee
one hand on the mike sorry that her missed her Twisted Sister it's a brave new world
Emo B in the place to be making sweet rhymes making history
yet for Emo he again lost his way being frail he caved into the system
selling a kilo of ******* to an under cover cop now he hops
to cell block 979 today he stands in line but for the system you can kiss his fat behind
Emo still raps as in a Big Mac attack shooting out flames of gold as you suppose
then one cold morning Emo left for heaven standing in line no more he safely evened the score
although he had such a short life he was gone too soon
his memory reflected back to that late morning in June
Emo be good no doubt your still around playing your favorite song
that's my heart right their

My head is full
But this bottle's gone
And my heart is barely
Hangin on

So don't let go
I'll be okay
It's just another
Emo day

Please don't let me go
Don't run away
I'm just a little
Emo today

Just another
Emo day....

Electromagnetic Motion Ocean Of Pure Focal Emo-tion.
The Very Sound Of The Creators Verse And Rhythm In Loving Notion Pouring Through The Crystalline Endocrine Indoctrinated Shock Ra Of Shocking Unblocking Colorful Tones In Unmolested Focus And Definition.

To Flow Your Emo-tions Through Your Core And Manifest In Your Intended Notion All Without The Misidentified Horror Of The Wrongfully And Negatively Defined Emotions, One Finds That The Mere Act Of William Tell And That Apple Upon The Head Must Have Been One Hell Of An Interesting Interaction, Yet Instead Of The Reassuring Smiles And Calm Demeanor Of The Archer As They Lock Eyes, What Pray Tell You Think The Eyes Of The Archer Looked Like On That Very Frozen In Time Moment As He Released The Arrow To Guided Love Of Perfected Intent And Delivery Of Safe And Demanding Fortitude Of Action To Defeat All Possible Variable , As If To Need To Bend The Very Laws Of Nature If They Were To Cause An Number Of Odd And Unpredictable Events To Derail The Intent Of The Man Shooting The Apple Off The Head Of His Dear Child's Head, For Not A Bird May Pass Between, Not A Gust Of Wind Be Seen, Not An Earthquake Be Fabled To Accrue, Not A Single Action But The Undeterred Focus Of Absolute Might In Will, His Fee Will In Flight. What Might His Eyes Be Relaying In That Frozen Moment? Reassurance, Pity, Fear, Confidence, Or The Electric Fire Of Electromagnetic Motion Ocean Of Pure Focal Emo-tion To Get The **** Thing Done And Without Foolish ******* Reactions To The Real And True Focus Of Emotion, And Pray Tell, What If The Child Mistook This Look In A Moments Notice And Flinched Out Of Concern That The Father Was Angry With Him? Or Is It Best To Realize The Real Importance Of This Story As It Is The Trust In The Definitions Of Intended Focus And Not Of Simple Trust.? ,... Yes, Intended Focus Of Emotions Being Trusted As True And Not Negative In Nature, Dear Friend, Yes. So Let Your Soul Be Your Pilot, Let The Flow Of Emotion Be Free And Not Dictated By The Restraints Of Control And Be Seen And Used In Negative Ways, For These Are The Crimes Against All Mankind And The Bigger Part Of Why Spoken Word Is The Very Spell That Binds The Psyche, For The Focus Of Or The Lack Of Focus Of Emotions True Meaning And Purpose Is The Crime Against All Life Indeed. Live Free And Pilot This Love Ship Successfully By No Longer Defining Self By The Ways And Means That Have Caused Us To Fear Our Own Power To Move Mountains, And Kept Us All Mustard Seeds When We Are Truly  Far More Than You Can Believe. Feel Free, Yes, By All Means Feel Free.

Some call me emo.
Some call me scene.

what do you consider emo?
is it someone who cuts to relieve their pain?
maybe someone in tight clothes with long hair.
emo to me it's just a style.

what do you consider scene?
is it someone with weird hair?
poofy hair?
a lot of makeup?

why?!
because you feel better about yourself by putting others down?
thats called bullying and it makes me sick!
just because someone looks "strange" to you doesn't make them a bad person

what do you consider me?
emo?
scene?

im just me!
i have my own style.
i act how i want to.
you can't judge me
especially since you don't know me

im not emo
nor am i scene
im just being me and no one can change that

i'm not changing for anyone
im not going to take my life because you think im weird

bullying needs to be stopped!!

be yourself!
and dont let anyone tell you different

Is such a big and impossible to miss step for a scribbler
of poetry free poems to trip over.
A step that cannot be ignored, except consciously and conscientiously.
Such a person as a scribbler of poetry less poems would be a person who cannot tell the difference between truth and truthfulness.
A person whose sole raison d,etre in pretending to be a poet is their lifelong angst in being unable to escape from being under the control of  their mind and its operating system --the Conditioned Identity.
The Conditioned Identity,which is the facetious and morally dishonest "I am a poet" mask that is the consciously adopted Conditioned Identity--the operating system for the Mind.
In the great scheme of things becoming just another member of the human GroupMind--one who doesn't count--not even on the fingers of one hand-.
One,who,in the grand scheme of things,never has counted and never will count-call them countless.
Shadows that flicker and dim on the walls of the Prison of political, racial,national,familial and religious conformity
And these worthless scribblers of poetry less poems do have an all consuming conditioned habit  of consciously ignoring truthfulness and integrity and substituting pathetic sub-teen lower middle class emo whinging "truth"--about their "art" and "insight"and "vision"and their "truth"--always their worthless "truth".
Sitting and mourning the fulfilling love that always evades them and always will evade them--unless they let go of the conditioned identity and the Mind--consigning them to the dustbin of history--where they rightfully belong.
Angst ridden whingers all--in love with their image in the mirror of Minds oh so believable deception.
Scribbling about a conditional possessive love that would have been a valueless truth but never can be the essence of truthfulness.
A conditional possessive love that never was and never will be unconditional and non-possessive.
Whinging about nothing more than conditional love and a truthfulness that never can be for them--- as we see openly here and there and everywhere there are scribblers of poetry less "poetry" who use sites such as this to scribble their pretentious infantile nonsense.
Poverty of values and integrity,orphaned from the Isness of the Universe, children of worthless technological consumerism and followers of false oligarchic hopes.
With their greedy gobs open for any crumbs falling from the rich peoples tables,like baby chicks in the nest--feed me feed me they screech.
Colluding with like minded betrayers of truthfulness,groupminds of
limp wristed bombastic poseurs.
Deluding themselves by babbling media made inane celebrities
empty insights and twisted conclusions--purveyors of puerile pettiness.
Oligarchic media celebrities noted only for the illusions between their ears,and the beguiling way they collude with each other to delude themselves.
Ludare!
Oh how they love to play mind games
Lives spent colluding with these babbling worthless celebrities who know the price of everything and the value of nothing,
Pompous posturing pretentious pissants of aesthetic poverty.
Bound together into a worldwide consumers Groupmind,
persuaded by perverts of PR into believing in the Illusion of Wealth and Demockery that the Oligarchy sells.
To step over the truthfulness threshold is,indeed, to  leave behind their
security blankets of "truth and beauty and revealed knowledge"
and the concomitment meaningless verbiage about "veracity" and "existence".
Shallow and unrequited attempts to own another that the weak and unwanted call "love".
Stomping through the quagmire of conditional love
up to their necks in the **** of consumer garbage.
The Conditional love of possessing another and grasping at thin air
as they submerge slowly in the seas of righteous stupidity .
poets cling to their misconceptions religiously,
poets cling to their ignorance avidly,
poets cling to their proto-fascist politics squeamishly,
with each word and stanza that they write.
Pouring out such pleasant and elegant and flowery and "deep"
words and verses(rhyming or not) that,at their core,
have only one meaning and aim.
Which is!.
To divert and confuse their readers with the"shallow beauty"
of endless strings of meaningless associated but fine sounding words .
To create a groupmind for their poetry business products.
Admire me--buy my product--join my groupmind--eulogise me,
let me rip off your energy--I need your praise,I need your lifes energy
gimme your money honey!.
The Publishing Oligarchy will bestow rewards and honours,
medals and diplomas--critiques fit only to wipe your **** on.
Book sales and the summer Poetry festival circuit--reciting and signing scribbles of narcissism--casting lecherous eyes over dripping **** or stiff wobbling **** in the adoring crowd of sycophants.
The  Media will fawn and adulate and cast its sly net
to entangle your desires in ---infamy awaits.
Come admire me and my use of other poets stolen words,
my criminality in even daring to think the word "poet" has any value.
These are my words about my inexperience and unknowingness they scream possessively in jaundiced teeny remembrance.
Remembrance of mediocre middle class homes and attitudes
of ingrained ignorance and wilful imagined self victimisation.
Eating societies poisoned dishes--.
Serve me up a burger of roasted babies on toast
from Vietnam--live on Channel Whatever.
Or chargrilled peasants from Afghanistan
with breathless commentary from
our "reporter on the spot".
Or homeless mental wrecks from the streets
of any Amerikan or World city big or small,
trailing acerbic criticism from the immoral majority.
Or dead celebrity  consumer junkies in 5 star hotels
complete with PR handouts and **** licking "friends"
positioning themselves for increased sales.
Or the children of the Oligarchs with their "I" newspapers
and inbuilt fascist attitudes.
Who spend their shallow lives hoping for the kind
of meaningless and worthless Honours and Validation
from those that do not have honour or validity..
Or the not just lame but crippled duck presidents with their finely crafted speeches that say nothing but I am a beard wearing  failure,
looking forward to penning lies and calling it a frank memoir
while holding out my hands  for the Oligarchies pennies.
Can anyone tell me where to get a bucket of truthfulness?.
A glass of honesty?.
A tumbler full of veracity?.
A beaker of back breaking honest labour?.
Can anyone tell me where I can find
a peaceful man or woman,of any of the 5 colours.
Not those merely observing a Cease-Fire
while they rearm their weapons of the lies of beauty and truth.
Oligarchy allowed social commentary.
Is there just one decent truthful man or woman out there?.
Judging by the world Id say not.
No Id say not.
Not.
There Ive said it.

www.thefournobletruthsrevised.co.uk

The Write of the Emo Poet
Of course is doomed to fail
Yet even so they raise their pen
Against the world to rail
Through glasses fashioned out of angst
They view a graying sky
And know that it will only end
Upon the day they die
With blood black ink they write the words
That cause the moon to cry
And tell of all the things gone wrong
But never answer why

The Write of the Emo Poet
Is dipped in bitter sweet
Its forged on long walks through the fog
And drizzle on the street
For every thing that might be good
They find some hidden wrong
Which others cannot understand
Alone they sing their song
In mournful tones that rip the heart
And bind even the strong
Their only joy is knowing of
The sorrows of the throng

I know that there is a table
in a Catholic high school in my local town
with an etch of the letter "G"
next to boredom-inspired vandal,
jagged lines, circles,
perhaps a few ******* shapes
as silly high school boys
are prone to draw.

An Advanced Maths textbook sits on a shelf
with a little doodle
of a peace sign next to an emo smiley
from a time where I was caught
between two phases,
tight black jeans and a flowing turquoise shirt.

Tobacco stains smeared
over the wood of a sealed off door
just outside my bedroom,
evidence of the first time
I tried a cigarette, seven years old,
and then panicked and tried to
flush it down the toilet,
only to have to fish it out and stuff it
in a little crevice, to be hidden and
remain there for seven years.

We leave all these little marks
and stains
in places we've been.
Spilled food, spilled ink, spilled drink,
tobacco stains and pools of blood.
"The marks humans leave are
too often scars."

I have scars.
Left forearm. Right calf. Right wrist bone. Both kneecaps.

A scar across my ribs and chest I was
so desperate to be rid of,
I bathed myself in oils and it was
the first scab I
never picked at; but a couple of weeks ago
I dreamt it was there again, fresh.
It tore open in front of everyone, bled out,
and I woke up gasping, drowning in my fear,
agonised, clutching at a wound that'd long since faded
convinced I could feel it splitting me apart again.

I have evidence all over my body
and more buried deep within the recesses of my mind,
scars so jagged they put knives to shame,
shining, pale, like diamonds in moonlight
not half as precious
but still invaluable.
Evidence of the marks humans leave behind.

I'm not innocent.
I don't pretend like I am.
I know there is a man out there
who gained another scar to add to his collection
when he was fourteen years old.
I know my hands carved it into his skin.
I know I used to use my fists
when others used their words to hurt me.

When I die, I know that I will leave
pieces of myself
everywhere
I've ever been. Whether people know it
or not, whether they
remember me
or not. There are ink stains
and coffee spills. My blood
is still on the floor of his house.
The high school cafeteria
has a circle of red
from a nosebleed I didn't realise I was having.
There are parks wearing my graffiti
and children donning my old clothes, and people overseas
still alive because of me

(or that's what they'll tell me, but
all I did was talk.
Give yourself the credit you guys deserve,
you're the ones who chose to listen.
You're the ones who had the strength to
pick your head up and carry on)

There are exes who still think of me
and friends who will one day
come across some article of clothing
or a piece of technology
I left behind after a sleepover.
Teachers who will remember
that smart, sarcastic student
who had panic attacks in their classrooms
and drank coffee in the mentoring hub with Mrs. Hume
whilst buttering bagels and functioning on no sleep.

Maybe our place in the universe is
insignificant. Or maybe it's the
most significant thing
of all.
Maybe the Buddhists are right.
Maybe we are the universe, together
as one. I sure think it makes sense.

Streams of consciousness
and spirits that need healing.
We work the sun
without even realising we're doing it.
We destroy it, too,
which is perhaps why we
are so self destructive in turn.

Maybe we're
smaller than specs of dust
but that's okay.
You don't have anything
without the particles required
to make things up.
Everything is a collection of atoms:
the tiniest things of all
yet they're the centre of everything,
the beginning of everything.

So when the end comes and
we burst back into the sky,
stardust and souls and
blinking little lights,
we'll have left our marks on the earth
regardless of who remembers
and we'll still be there, twinkling,
a collection of atoms that came from a supernova
essential to the makeup of galaxies
and life itself.
What could be more beautiful than that?

No one likes me.
(razor blade, razor blade)
Everybody hates me.
(razor blade, razor blade)
At 30, I feel more like 15.
(razor blade, razor blade)
I should dye my hair black.
(razor blade, razor blade)
And cut it into weird angles.
(razor blade, razor blade)
But I don't have enough black clothing.
(razor blade, razor blade)
And I go to church.
(razor blade, razor blade)
I don't know how to put on eye liner.
(razor blade, razor blade)
And I listen to country music.
(razor blade, razor blade)
Wow.
(razor blade, razor blade)
I even **** at emo.

Some people say I’m over emotional,
but I can’t help it,
see love can be tricky to find,
I mean you can’t exactly Yelp it,

even though soul food is more filling than pop rocks,
so I focus on Self and people mistake that as selfish,
but there’s a difference between self centered and selfish,
and you’re a fool if you choose to not know the difference,

would rather be alone than with a clone,
that’s me being self conscious of all the noisy nonsense,
I’m strongest when I’m alone & when I find a love that’s true,
I get all Neo-Em and act all helpless,

well this,
is just the way it goes,
up late alone listening to Emo-Soul,
ready to Seal the Deal with a Kiss From A Rose,

while all these liars lie like Geppetto,
or better let Pinnocchio,
trying to prove what they say is true,
but I’m no fool so I just observe as their nose grows,

and no I don’t believe Them when their scheming,
because We’re wild & beautiful & They’re just tame & gross,
see nothing is more disgusting than a liar,
nothing more a turn off than someone frontin’ like they on one,

so if you’re not don’t front like you’re the one,
you’re not a rider you’re a parking meter who’s time expired,
We are Amazing Spaceships,
you’re just a scarred car ready to retire with flat tires all tired,

drained of all feelings,
you’re counterfeit not the real thing,
I don’t care about your Brand Names,
you can’t copyrite Freedom,
I don’t care what you are,
I care who you are a a human being being,

and I know I’m getting worked up,
but that’s only because I feel let down,
so don’t be surprised if you wake up,
open your eyes and find I’m nowhere to be found,

and you realize that I lost your lies found truth and left town,

with just a backpack full of daydreams,
and a heart full of gold,
I’ll have hit the open road,
just Me, Myself and my Emo Soul…

∆ LaLux ∆

Don't discriminate
Just don't do it
All it is, is hate
Hate is made out of other hate
and hate only fuels more hatred
You pour gasoline on a blaze of loathing
with every discriminatory comment you make
It doesn't matter
if they have done something you believe is wrong
because you have done many things that are wrong too
it is not for you to judge
so black white brown both or polka dotted for all I care
gay les straight bi or into adhesive sloths (we adhesified furry little sloths need a little love too)
man or woman or sloth
punk emo crazy nerdy weird loser REALLY weird bookworm or literal worm sloth or adhesive sloths (like me)
nature freak or homebody
axe murderer or a cereal killer or a cheerio killer
it does not matter who or what they are
they are all human too. or all sloths. that too.
Just don't discriminate
and share the slothified love of adhesiveness
accept everyone as they are
even if they hang from trees and move in slow motion all day like me
even if they are rocks
because rocks are great
in fact this one time, I found this rock and man, it was absolutely hilarious it should have been a stand up comedian
okay well not a STAND UP comedian, because I mean... rocks can't actually stand up... but like a really hard and Sedimentary roundish stone shaped sit down (well more like lay around like a rock all day) comedian
Wait, what was I talking about?
oh right, don't discriminate!! :)
against other humans or other sloths.
or adhesive sloths.

...I'm not crazy! my mother sloth had me tested!

Are you an emo?
no
why do you have scars on your wrists emo?
leave me alone
these are the words you all taunt me with
theses are the things i deal with

Why cant you be normal?
what is normal
do you even know what its like to be me
to have teens hate you because of how you dress
or because of how you look

well i have one thing for you skeptical dramatic sexually active *******
im not going to give in anymore you caused my pain caused me harm made me harm my skin all because Ive never had *** or i don't where designer cloths or because i don't look " normal" and i will never EVER be normal

baffled at ** hum
yawn snore boredom
what a conundrum
this viral life infarction
unnecessary creation
boring old pity party hum drum
cry me a river; don’t want none
get off your *** ***
enjoy the sun some
be a person
impaired some?
take your **** meds ***!
walk the woe is me to the dump slum
debbie downer 24 sev 365 clusterfucktion
sad lil’ emo infection
overdone depression queen incursion
misery loves company seduction

That Emo Kiddo. Emo's poems are straight and to the point. I don't know Emo personally, but Emo seems pretty cool.

You hear the terms gay n-gg- ****** ***** emo on a daily basis in my public school.
They don't usually have good intentions yet the definition of these terms and their correct structure used in history have become blurred.
Come thou people to view high school and look through your past, the new technology is no match for the stereotypical life as a teenager.
There you see the lonely person with the less than frequent cut hair or striking dark clothes and he is called emo
Look to the left and someone not willing to do something they know isn't right so their "friends" call them a *****
I think you see the two boys in love with each other shifting your head slightly to the right you will see they won't come closer than normal friends as being attracted to each other means you're a ******
When you see that girl with the shirt she hides under her hoodie that she sweats in because the school lacks AC, but she refuses to remove because that t-shirt will get called gay
Lastly if you then around you will see a group of people who call each other n-gg-s because that's "cool"
I do hate you United States, you call yourselves "Americans" when everything around you is also part of the Americas ,you use the imperial system which makes leaving the country that much harder,and you're so mean. You refuse to legalize same *** marriage or give women equal pay, but oh my if the white man republican screams wolf it's Ebola.

We are outcasts
Children born into dark
We listen to music that relates to us
We try to stand up and make our mark

Everyone thinks we cut
Or that we are depressed
They joke around and say mean things
Think we worship Satan and try to bless

But that's not who we are
That's not all we do
We cry, and laugh
We can love too

Yes, we may cut
And we may want to cry
But all you think we do is
Wish that we could die

I really hate when my family makes suicide and Selfharm jokes. It really hurts me.... Now I can't stop thinking about hurting myself.........

I have always believed that human beings grew up wanting to be grown
and spent the time when we were wanting to try again
all the time I have known I felt this was true
and coming back to me and you I'll say it again:
life is not lived outside of original sin
and every step I take feels like a mistake
no emo lyricism here
just real fear because there's too much dark in this big broad world for anyone to shed any real light
and without light the shadows creep and crawl
and I can watch the walls but who mans the halls
all night long I wait awake
every blink and every breath I take another reason for me to fear
"major depressive disorder"
doctors croon that like a sweet lullabye
but that does nothing to dry my eyes because what?
I'm not sick, just crazy?
I'm not hurt, just lazy?
I know the pains I feel so deep
if they aren't real then neither am I
I fall short of every sunrise with color but I try
major depressive disorder according to books
(allow me to paraphrase, I can't be bothered to look again)
is categorized by an extreme feeling of hopelessness
and loss of interest and I feel they are lacking finesse
when I am told I am a sad sad soul because the world is grand and wide
and I would invite it all to come inside
but I can't and that makes me sad.
it makes me sad when I see the way people are treated.
it makes me sad and often downright defeated
and when the little flame that keeps this broken heart burning
gets washed out by the darkness of the world awake and yearning
waiting for a moment of doubt and weak
I feel so ******* meek
me, meek.
I feel like the world is collapsing but only in my chest
I feel like an infant in a bulletproof vest getting shot
my skin starts to itch and I can't scratch with my nails deep enough
and son of a ***** they don't trust me with sharp things anymore
and the scores on my arms are the times I have lost
and this battle isn't won and this is hardly a war
this is slaughter, this is me standing alone under the whole wide world and keeping it up
and this is everyone I love looking at me straining and telling me that I'm slipping up
alaska is too far south today, do I even give a ****?
depression is not a feeling of overwhelming sadness
I am not sad because of misaligned cables in my mind
I am sad because no matter how hard I try
I'm told that I am not.
but here I am still trying, standing up from my cot on the floor
and every step outside that yawning door
there are people pulling me back and slinging words that cut deeper than I ever did
and every hand that grasps my shirttails to try and pull me home like a lost little kid
leaves mars all down my back, claws that sink and ravage leaving me ****** and raw
and bleeding open and sloppy all on the floor I keep my pace, like every step will be the last straw
like every step is the last one I need to take to get away
and as I go I follow all the trails of similar blood, refreshed by people like me every day.
and I just wanted to say
I don't give a flying **** what you think you know about my scars
I don't care if it makes you uncomfortable to see my arms, the sun is out and it's 90 ******* degrees
don't lie to me and say I should be ashamed and not wear these badges like good luck charms
don't tell me my survival is offensive to your eyes because you should know without being told
these scars are here to help me grow old
when I needed to remember I was alive these scars
were fresh cuts, science experiments on a corpse brought back screaming "I'M ALIVE"
I'm not ashamed for surviving because if I were ashamed
I wouldn't be.