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kay Mar 2015
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.
Derek Yohn Sep 2013
The brambles in the emo forest
grow sharper with the passing days.
Three months deeper into the oatmeal
on the heels of the turtle goddess
and i am compelled to ignore the trees.
i have never been crazy about shrubbery,
being that the majority of my experience
has ended badly for the plant.

**** it.
It would appear that my green thumb *****.

My pillow is a poor substitute
for the warmth of sweatpants
or the comfort of your arms,
but i am locked into the devices
of another two year paper binge.
i would greatly prefer to be
static in my global positioning
as long as i can lose myself
swimming into the recesses of
your vibrant blue Oceania.
i want to hand you my eyes
so you can see my fixation on
the perspectives of action
and identify with my analysis
on the frailty of beauty,
intangible though it may be.

When i was weaker,
i appraised the value of
a man to be intrinsically
linked to the relation
between time and pride.
Driving a parallel path
to the stars, there is
only one thought:
Reality is like a dissected
frog: i poke and ****
and pull and poke and
probe and stare and ****
and pull but i still
can't figure out what all
those little tissues do
when they are turned on.

What if i want to taste the fruits of serendipitous fortune
or walk the garden path of chivalric sunshine?

If i could liquefy my soul,
i would pour you honey-laced
shots of my longing so that
when the darkness of the mid-week
slanders me you can touch
the sea spray of a wave
i have sent to wash away
the fears of circular evolution.

i want to build the hearth
where we can light the fire
of roundabout destiny and cook
the flesh from the slaughter
of our angry cows and bulls
so that we can incorporate
our weaknesses into our strengths.

i want to shape a necklace
out of my scar tissue
and wear it loudly so
that you can see the pain
that enables me to feel yours.

i want to finish my marathon
with my bag of bricks
because it is impossible to
truly win without the
burdens of justice and morality.

i've collected the screams
of my travels in a glass jar.
One day when the sun
struggles over the distant
cold horizon, i
plan to exact revenge
on the container and
make a concerted effort
to buy American.

In the hills above the
languishing sticks
i appear to have
dislodged a rock slide.
In my estimation,
the carnage will be
exquisite and swift.
If i survive the
judgement of guilt,
i can visit the friends
already lost to the
perpetual fires of the
sanctioning underbelly.

Why can't i take the
burgeoning petals of the
dark rose and elevate myself
above the sickness i have
seen in the eyes of my
accusers and those who would
trample the silly notions that
are all i have ever owned?

i feel that in the life i have witnessed
there are innate weaknesses in the
system i have supported.

In the instance given,
i have allowed myself
to be collared and
pent up by unspoken
deeds and words.
When my candles flicker
and reform, at least
i will be able to stand up
and clarify the point with
the authority inherently
granted to an elder whom
most ignore or ridicule in
the comfort of a happy living room.

i have seen hints of the futility of
nouns, verbs, adjectives, adverbs,
prepositions, and conjunctions
because they cannot begin to
express the vertigo i am cursed with
or the gravity that will not allow me to
escape unscathed.

i'm afraid that one day
my ink well will run dry
and my fingers will fuse
together and conspire to
undermine my sanity.

i fear the ticking of
my watch when i can
feel its echo deep inside
the canyons between
my synapses.

i cower and whimper
under the auspices of jest
when my soul is overrun
with desires that cannot
be slaked with water.

i want to detach my
aorta so that i will not
be bothered by the
binding of my skin
to the dry earth.

i need to hum the
melodies of aquatic repose
and bathe my wounded
feet in the streams that
flow to the cliff's edge.

When the time comes
for my foray
into the sublime,
i can fade away into
the arbor mist and
not feel the piercing gaze
i have become accustomed
to during this.

And for so long,
i have fed the horses
and watered the hedges
for everyone,
only to find that
all my livestock
dies within the
fences i have built
to protect the few
things left after
my tornado.

Approaching six full, and
i'm camped outside the
city gates and starving.

i puked when the moon
cycle shifted this time.

i thought that if i
sacrificed fuchsia to the
demon he would mistake
it for acquiescence, but
when the clock struck twelve
my pumpkin only rotted.

Why did you want to see the water?

i'm not going to buy
the dumb tourist act.
You knew the sand
was poisoned.

Nevertheless,
i am 3/5 of a man
when engulfed in
purple madness for
your affection.

the bells have fallen silent,
and i have seen your persuasion,
like an old silent movie.

What of your petty elucidations?
Can you teach me about destiny?
Do you have any watermelons?
If not, why not, or, even better,
who cares?

i don't think you have
seen my rose garden,
the thicket i entered
once to reenter time
and again, lonely and
bleeding, twisting and
turning, with no
right-hand-rule
to guide...

but this isn't your story anymore.
this is an old poem, but i like the narrative...i apologize for its length, i hope it is an easy read.  it was written over a twelve month period, and the course of my life dictated the course of the poem.  I will let the reader draw their own conclusions about that year....
Raven Gates Apr 2014
I'm nothing to the people around me.
Everyday they clown me
See I'm something no one likes
Blades cur in to my skin, yet there is no pain
But I will never feel shamed
I'm EMO and proud to be
There are many people just like me
Look inside and you'll find
A broken heart,  not to kind
My family will never understand what's it's like to feel
My kind of pain, it's just so unreal
Sometimes I wish I could die
So I can never cry
ryn Oct 2018
Emo
Is this why
my eyes cry
and my heart
is set aflame?

Is this the reason
behind aching muscles
and weary joints?

Is this the cause
of my trembling digits
and crumbling esteem?

Or is it
just mere overthinking
and a sorry case
of overindulgence?
eccentricities Nov 2013
They said high school was a home of learning
Oh I learned alright
They said it would construct my future
All it did was destroy me with the past
They said it would be safe
They have no defense over the demons
They said it would develop me as a person
But I remain who I was... only shattered

They said so many things, yet understood so little

This goes to the pillow-clutchers
to the broken who carry soaked and salty handkerchiefs
to the flesh that thrive for streaks of red dripping out
to the souls that are constantly bombarded by screeches of lies
Lies that overrun every beauty in and out
Lies that lead to masochistic actions
Waiting for the second heartbeat after every punch
Hoping this would free the monsters trapped within
This goes to the insecure
No, we are not emo
How can one contain our being in just three letters?
We are not superficial pain lovers
We are violated, dispirited, downhearted, beaten, unsettled, splintered, forgotten
But we will never be merely emo

A high school is not filled with students
It is filled with labels, rumors, divisions and fake personas
filled with eyes that look straight into your soul
filled with whispers that spread like a virus
Getting worse and worse after every ear it has jumped into
Savages looking for the flaw that can destroy you
Until you break and mindlessly follow their example

High school is where you lose who you are
And be who everyone else wants you to be


Everyone thought I was just being vain
Always staring at the mirror, trying to be cute
Never did it come into their minds that I was already believing the lies
ready to accept the rumors
using FINE as my own maxim
**** I'm Never Enough
But I waited
Waited for someone to drive out the beasts
to heal my scars
to fill my emptiness
Yet until now I remain drenched in loneliness and fear

High school is worse than hell
A quick and small crack in your soul hurts more
Than an eternal burn of your flesh
This is why we're ready to see the light come out of our eyes
But I'm holding on
For you need pain before you're declared strong
For you need darkness before you see the stars
For you need death before you reach heaven
For where there are angels,
*there will always be demons
Extremely personal poem. Forgive the length. - a.b.
I write far too many
*******
run of the mill
every day
emo poems

But guess what?
I follow in the footsteps of Andy Warhol,
a hero of my city.
You want this crap?
Okidoke!
Taylor St Onge Feb 2022
We all know that life can thrive in the most inhospitable of places.
                                             Plants grow from volcanic soil.
                                             Bioluminescence crawls beneath
                                               immense pressure on the ocean floor.
                                             Microbes most likely thrive below the icy,
                                                        radioact­ive surface of Europa.
We all know that life—love—perseveres.  
                                         ­                                 It’s nothing new.

But we don’t talk about
                                            how ******* hard that actually is.  
That’s what the strengths perspective is for.  
What resilience gives name to.  

But what if I don't want to?  What if,
                                                                ­  for today,
                                                                ­                     I’d rather the **** not?  
Is that okay?                           Is that allowed?  
That today I'm the vinca vine dying on the ledge?  
Withered up and not drinking any more water.  

Today, I am every succulent that I’ve ever accidentally killed.  
Today, I am excess formaldehyde.  I am a brain floating in a bell jar,
                        undulating in an existence that is an ethical quagmire.
Today, I am in limbo.  Purgatory.  Stasis and static.  
Suspended upside down in a frozen wasteland, Dante style.  

Tomorrow, I will thaw.  
                                Rise from the soil fist first.
write your grief prompt #25: Read this poem, and as quickly as possible, write.
"Happiness grows back / Like saplings after a forest fire / Barren grief / No longer your primary / residence / That old hollowness / Carved out / Washed/ With holy tears / An old topography of loss / You will follow / Back to life"
Johnny Noiπ Feb 2019
I feel like a romantic love age.
Great night I want to leave my friend,
I have a busy day to talk. Talking
about my friends.                                                      Tal­king about my friends,
I do not know when to talk
to my friends about my friends.
I come white hands Caucasian
naked dressed happy dark blue
eyes cry cry I know how to cry
like an empty shoulder in my
country my father is a bad star
flickering blows looking amazing
family emotion shaking happy;
happy baby real true addictive
smile help today; free *****, old heart
confused steals the heart.
The remnants of the street answer
to useless words pain pain pain misery
Good Crow unknown man
who wants a lie CPR has received
a word is the dream of being free to fall
and hurting summer bouts emo
emo emotion emo teen emo message
to a trusted country Grid locus Red Purple
fear of cat mania Activates Li Publish one
of the Hip Hippies explosions process
Love pump Storm Tired to hear;
Play do not open more operate nearby
Go after an expensive decision do not
ask for a smiling voice The smell
of a smile does not have the nationality
of nature Today the crystal images
of a smile is clear and a spelling Never
ignore the ignorance and the terrible
century a drop of rain to save the world foreve                                              r.
Wonders of Memory Big Cyberbreads
in Cosmetics Small Cosmetics Fresh
Beautiful Beautiful Beautiful Fruity
Films Fuzzy Folded Folding Binseason
Sparkle Choice All White Butter Wall
Climber Climber Indistinct Very good
will always be hypnotized song with
a special high scam fraud, Manassa
deadly forgets a place to learn to understand
the tolerance of pseudo-offenders,
so that the spelling broadcasts
a limited version of forgotten
homosexual memories.                                               They are full of anxiety,
bruising their ears while others
call their nails when drunk.                                  NUCLEAR BABY woke up from Aatal blood facts Diet
elephants for a dangerous
events soul; soul friend friend's
friend favorite story Half martyr night.
Abusive hypocritical attack salt to fly
for children motivation to acquire;
Oy, Wealth beautiful beautiful beautiful
beautiful beautiful beautiful beautiful
beautiful beautiful beautiful beautiful
white Teen dumbbell Nina The Sleeping
Sleeping Daughter Stop Dangerous Desire
Tongue Excellent Knowledge Book
Knowledge Nurse Guide Complete Dental
Defense Full Mother Live Leather Vaginal
Skin Mascara Complex Wonderful Y Scream
Make a Beautiful Monster into a Charming
Angry man disguised with a mosquito gun
that smiles with hydrophobic and bacteria.
Basically I had fluorescence in many parts
of Ferigotini Fluorcinity. Love, heart disease,
should be the general community
in Karam'Orrayetti Isogo.                                                    Protein­ molecules,
1/3 and 2/3 of air, sugar, fatty acids,
other molecules, proteins
and corrosive proteins. This application
was used by a team of young friends
in Europe with Thomas Thomas Sirius,
such as South America John Ross
and Marilyn Reeves,                                                          ­                             G
AbbieRoseee Mar 2011
I have gauges;
That doesn't make me 'emo'

I have some chubby features;
That doesn't make me 'fat'

I have big *****;
That doesn't make me a '****'

I waste time playing video games;
That doesn't mean I'm a 'geek'

Just cause I'm bi;
Doesn't mean I want every girl I see.

You stereotype people to much,
How you you feel if I picked out little things
on you and used them to make you feel like ****?
Koty Peter Aug 2012
Emo
I'm stuck here in my sense of defeat.
I should collapse. I should retreat.
I should give up.
I don't know why,
I even roll out of bed sometimes.
Woe is me
I'm so melancholy.
And your all invited to my pity party.
Now I'm finally calm.
The waters still.
The storms have past.
Puddles filled.
Get out of the dirt.
Leave the dark room.
Isolation is the farthest thing from a tool.
labyrinths Jun 2014
Flash back to grade four, sitting in my room, listening to Fall Out Boy and My Chemical Romance. Pin up posters of Pete Wentz and Gerard Way filled my room. (Thanks a lot, Tiger Beat.)
My sister held out her pinky saying, "Promise me you'll never be emo."
Fifth grade me, not even know what emo meant, intertwined our pinkies.

Flash forward to grade six, sitting in my room, listening to Fall Out Boy and My Chemical Romance. Pin up posters of Pete Wentz and Gerard Way filled my room. (Thanks a lot, Tiger Beat.)
My tiny pale wrist appeared to be a canvas for art. I wanted to draw a self portrait; a sad little girl with big dreams, no friends, a mommy with a heart condition and a daddy that didn't love her.
I took a tack from my wall and began to paint my wrist with blood.

Flash back to grade five, when wen we spent all our time on the soccer field behind the school.
Whether we were playing soccer or picking at the leaves that hung by the fence, every recess we were there.
Sometimes the older kids would come along, if not just to bug us.
Eighth grade meant swearing and spitting.
My best friend was always braver than I was. I remember her saying "the Earth has never tasted anything as vile as your spit."
I swallowed down my own saliva.

Flash forward to the eleventh grade, where we spent all our time in the smoker's pit in front of the school.
Whether we were smoking cigarettes or waiting for someone to finish, ever lunch break we were there.
Sometimes people would walk through us to get to the bus stop.
Ninth grade meant coughing as much as you could just to let everyone know you were ******* about breathing the smoke filled air.
No one was brave anymore. We were all cowards, our vile, nicotine infused spit hitting the pavement in front of us.
I stepped on my cigarette ****.

Flash back to first semester, grade nine, hearing about people I used to know doing drugs and hooking up.
I said I couldn't believe it. These people that I used to know. I couldn't believe Sarah was doing drugs. She was so pure and innocent.
I promised my best friend I would never do anything.
She promised me she wouldn't either.

Flash forward to second semester, grade nine, doing drugs and hooking up.
I said it was just a coping mechanism. The person that you used to know was still there. I'm still pure and innocent.
I promised my best friend I was okay.
She asked me if I was high.

Flash back to my first day of kindergarten. Letting go of my mom's hand for the first time.
The caterpillars in my stomach had turned into butterflies for the first time.
I kissed my mom goodbye and finally, like the caterpillars in my stomach, I broke through my cocoon.
For the first time in my life, I was free to spread my wings and fly.

Flash forward to my last day of high school. Wrapping my arms around friendships I had worked so hard to build and saying my final goodbyes.
The caterpillars in my stomach had turned into butterflies for the second time.
I shook my teacher's hand and took my diploma and finally, like the caterpillars in my stomach, I broke through my cocoon.
For the second time in my life, I was free to spread my wings and fly.
sometimes people change
but it's all right
because you'll find your way back.

spent my day inside a hospital today talking to doctors.
i learned more about myself in the four hours that i was there than i ever did in school.
kain Nov 2018
You don't need
Black jeans and band tees
To be ripped apart on the inside

I'm sorry sweetheart
But this is going to hurt
I love romanticizing mental disorders.
bethany cotton Oct 2014
oh you must be emo
i mean the way your music screams and screeches
oh you must be a preppy little *****
i mean the way you one direction blares
oh you must be old too
i mean the way you prehistoric music plays
oh you must be a jesus freak
i mean the way your gospel music is sung
well does music really define you
i mean i knew a person
she was happy
she was a tomboy
she was young
you knew her to be a christian yes
but her music was a variety
you'd think her crazy
you'd call her music taste bi polar
oh well you must hate all gay people
i mean you go to church on sundays
oh well you know t'v is in color right
i mean the stuff you watch doesn't even have sound or words
oh well you must be happy never thought about depression huh
i mean your hair is blonde clothes are pink and you're head cheerleader
oh well you must only own long sleeves and take anti depressants
i mean you are always so quiet and never stand up for your self
but that girl who goes to church
she doesn't feel accepted at church because shes gay
but that girl who watches black and white t.v.
it was her moms favorite movie
but that pretty blonde cheerleader
her dads a drunk and beats her and her mom
but that girl painted black
shes really nice once you get to know her
if only you knew her secret
if only you knew her mother
if only you lifted up her skirt and looked at her thighs
if only you got to know her
never let a persons music or look describe them
why don't you go try to talk to them
Eric Nov 2013
William Blake asks, “Who can stand!?”
Every day my unspoken non-answer is “Not me.”
Demons Sep 2018
Who would’ve guessed,
The Nerd sitting by you failed their Test.
Who would’ve guessed,
The Emo in the back passed that Test.
Who would’ve known,
The Nerd sitting by you had sinful thoughts.
Who would’ve known,
The Emo in the back had no scars to bare.
Who would’ve Guessed,
The Nerd sitting by you wanted to die.
Who would’ve Guessed,
The Emo in the back threw away his razors.
Who would’ve known what went through that Nerd’s Head.
Who would’ve Known what the Emo felt.
When everyone
Expected
Him to
Do it
1st.
Just to clear it up in the stereotypes.
Daniel Hunt Jan 2015
I'm not like the other guys.
I can't escape this it always finds me,
I try hard to stop it but there's no stopping.
I can't fight it off because it's not of my control,
It's how other people think and I'm just a fool.

I can't escape what others percieve me as,
I just be myself and I guess I'm an ***.
I don't understand why I keep getting pushed down,
I am the nicest guy I know and yet I'm being like all guys around.

I try hard to be the best and the opposite of the others,
But it seems like in the end I'm just like my twin brother.
I'm nothing special and I'm just an idiot,
Don't feel bad if you've called me that I'm used to it.

My dad would say I'm a failure at life that I need to just see,
I tried to block that out but that's exactly what others have shown me,
I'm nothing special and I'm just like the others why even try?
It's like every girl I come across would be better off if I die.

I'm the guy that will cry when I'm told something wrong,
It's probably because I've held all my emotions in for so long.
I know there's great times but then there's the bad,
and when those bad occurs it just makes me really sad.

I'm not lying when I say I try **** it I try really hard!
I don't want to be that ******* of a guy that ****** in peoples yards!
I try not to be that horrible guy that plays 2-3 girls,
I try not being that horrible guy that's ***** rules his world!

I know that I think with my brain or atleast I say I do,
I'm sorry to all if I've ever hurt any of you.
I'm reconsidering what I've thought from the first time this happened,
I might just delete this account and that's just going to be the end.

Please don't be mad or sad, don't tell me to stay.
I'm probably going too anyways,
I'm just trying to smile for once again this is my escape,
But how can your sanctuary be something that's worse in a way?

I love you so much, I love you all I'm not lying.
But I can't stand the girls that turn their backs on me,
Because inside I'm really dying.
I'm not an emo so ***** all of you if that's what you see.

I'm just someone confused with this site,
Who can't stand all the fights,
I want this to be the place that's right,
But soon it'll take over my sight.

If you want me to stay, then show me that im diffrent,
Make me know, im not like the others,
I want to show guys here, that im diffrent.
Tell me should I stay?
I made this poem, becasue I wanted a way, to tell girls that i'm not like all types of guys on this Planet, some can be diffrent.
Holly Oct 2015
From start to finish I wonder why
The cuts look good in this messed up lie
The blood that trickles down my arm
People all stare at the girl who self-harms:-

"The emo" they call me
I turn to my name
They act out slicing their wrists
I hang my head in shame
I can't help my feelings
Of being alone
I hide myself for the day
Just longing to go home
I sprawl on my bed
With my razor in hand
And take myself away
To a much better land
I stare in the mirror
And let myself cry
Looking forward to the day
That I finally die
Chelsea Spears Aug 2015
Cutting could be an emo's second death, or cutting could be an emo's second chance at life...
Just a dream
Lucy Tonic Jul 2012
You’ve got your ragtime, got the blues
Got country, rock, dubstep, each a different hue
Hip-hop, rap, Americana, funk
Disco, electronica, they all go bump
Indie, groove, folk and heavy metal
Screamo, emo, punk, they’re for the rebels
Pop, classical, tribal, thrash
Dark wave, bluegrass, techno, acid
Garage, roots, acoustic, dance
Alternative, jazz, *******, trance
Afrobeat, christian, reggae, jam
******-tonk, surf, ska, big-band
Ambient, industrial, club, tin pan alley
But who’s ever heard of plow music?
Johnny Noiπ Nov 2018
The burning of Laura's bright empty eyes leaves a pestilential smoke on the walls of the children's tops, a tablet burst into the temple, the sound of the eye of a monster child carrying Thomas, the food of the people of the city ​​for Google propaganda while the children kneel from a sacred place in the safety of the city all of which leads to the ******* of the daughter of the desert; to the police dogs, to a flame of the evil spirit that loves Laura to feel the food that they eat is bread. The blond tone of a small area, the stupid one gains dance at the foot of his foot to scratch the earth in the arms of the drawers. Ivan easily removes the ******* of the ladies; mother Eva to all things muses, muses speaking with enough intelligence for the kidnapping of leather Anger that calls of love knowing, flipping, holding, skinny, say: not to marry the young man, a child, and his head is sealed for God. 13 Yes, however, the first time I heard? Listen to me, lest you get pregnant. Especially in the sun. However, the British Prime Minister, David Wing and the dog ****** of the United States, Batman (October 20, 1612).(16, 1672). Dore, South America ******, prostitutes in North America, Great Britain and at the beginning. The first prostitutes of England went to the United States and became the prostitutes of the United States. Women of 8 cats and more than necessary. In addition to adding another book, the book will be our priests, angles on New York. The shepherds challenge, the challenge of Guinea (1544 Moroni, Peca, July 15, 1990). Jen's medical teams and criminal prostitutes' Benefits of Georgia. Three spells (1584), prostitutes and three bands. (1584) CPSIN (1578) International "ice ready and waiting" (1584-1603). "Today, in a better situation than in 1544, Thomas (pollen), the starting point was established in the Catholic Church, which was not really a long-term coordination with North Korea." In 1566 and 1570 among the married, we faced themselves and their daughter Patricia, who lives on the island of the United States, was a ******* and an American mother and the wife and judge of prostitution. Thomas, who was two years on the island. . . island. "Aliquippa trained me in the fight and I became a leader, prostitutes in the night seek the way of peace and they the prostitutes name me in the land of pregnancy and the eggs of the consumers whose moment are measured in the number of buyers. For example, the ****** that bought a ***** that died had really big feet of naked amino acids, three European stars, cold-blooded lines of the sacred value of the famous story of the conversion of the future English golden poet of Italy in the morning of the dog; the queen of Africa; the beauty of the sea; Greece where an old man lived in the blue sky, half spirit, Wild New York lost the Ego of his wife. The southern art woman took to the art garden to find the RIG VEDA in the Russian drink of the house of the goddess. The number of goddesses in July is a Problem for the emo snooch of Moloch. The Russian demons were the despotic and little-known hands of Jesus of the French; the holy city full of *** that the real books call in English science. Igor's kitten touch the stone. The robot at the door in rich colors, was listening carefully to a second batch of ink on a well-known song that spoke about the sky, fresh manure from the football field of knowledge, hoping that poets would dance from Canada to Germany. First to fall, the young man, the one who chooses to walk instead to the center of the ****, the crazy kiss without cause; the blind earth warmed the whole park; a ****** church in the mountains of Asian rock; the secret of a permanent injury; my love, my love, the plastic of the gods helps us in the role of the dream; the question that arises from a window of vitamins from the gay ******. Einstein's Lacinda; gestalt throwing his clothes; people of modern times heard smoking the soul of tea, speaking with the lips of the course, making use of the message to see the family violence and the multitude of pink socks at the feet of the king of the world. On the table is Italy's Italian vase, the memory angels of a computer's pain are commonly used to convert and begin to dream that they saw the prophet listening to the cat; Alchemist of Barbie, the Sinai has arrived, since the songs of the drunks are below the average of life. In Europe, Jack receives jellyfish.
Bethie Nov 2018
I said this year I'm done with boys
I'm done with all this emo noise
And let's just say it worked quite well
But now it won't, as I will tell

I gave up all my childish loves
I set them free like they were doves
They flew away and left me here
I was content in this past year

The ones I liked became estranged
But now it seems the times have changed
For even as I left them be
They now come running up to ME

They cower under my commands
Do all my freaking dumb demands
I hate the every part of it
And now I think I'm going to quit

Before I go I have to say
If you want boys near you to beg
Just give up all your previous loves-
They'll fly right back like stupid doves
The irony isn't funny one bit
Noah Ducane Jul 2016
emo
I know you are the type
Who loves feeling sad
Who builds a temple out of sorrow
To worship your despair

I know you dream of death
Not real death
But escape
Like a love story
That ends absolute

I know you like the dark
And fear light
For someone might shine it down your well
And you won't be able to hide

I know you are the type
Who fears light
For fear of being burned
Who fears smiling
For fear of crying again
Sage King Sep 2012
Prepubescent voices

crawl back and forth

A squeaking, scratching chorus of topics

unbeknownst to the speaker

Meaningless sounds produced just to be heard

Drowned out by the unfortunately undeafening silence

of headphones plugged into nothing

Misdirected words, hidden insults, skewed meanings

Subtle bullying pretends to be older and wiser

when it is terrified of new things

Gay, ****, emo, ****, laughter

Because the body is hilarious

Crowded faces: authority is buried under the splotchy noise

Enter swear here _ _ _ _ _ _ _.

Because “******” is an address

And “You have no friends” is just kidding

“Go **** yourself” is love

Outward rudeness to the man who puts himself though it daily

An example for the even less learned

7-year-old cursing

Because “*******” means nothing to them

or anyone else.

Sit down because there are seats

Look in my eyes, taken back immediately

stupidity realized in a golden split second of mortification

Split second passes now with more phantom confidence

One by one skip, saunter, slither down three steps

Yellow noise recedes not fast enough

Obnoxious created by too much television

And its weird to be gay, and gay to be weird

Unacceptable open windows to normality

Jack my swag

Kindly,

Will you please shut the f* * * up.
Noah Oct 2015
a thousand eyes follow you from newly waxed floors
and trail after me with form-filled labels, white on gold
take as needed; do not operate machinery; relax.
the shadows follow our steps, ***** and blood next to God’s poster love.
pin it to the bathroom wall: peccavi, peccavi

two years, fifteen minutes, miles of scars.
we sleep through the days, and whisper
of nights before the hurricane

("what happened to those two?")
                                                     ("Deus misereatur, the storm took them.")

I daydream of sinking my teeth into the flesh of redemption,
to rip muscle from immaculate bone.
can we not move on?
copper denial drips from our jaws.

and Deo gratias, they say, you survived.
limbless and naked on tiled floors.
Deo gratias et Deus mortuus est.
survival is in our veins.

I watch you waiting in LCD purgatory
as you see my fingers bleed into the vinyl shielded couches of the 12am ER

perception through observation — I let you reveal who I am.
what am I feeling? how do I act?
breathing through each other with liquor in our lungs.
I know how the bile tastes in your throat,
and you know the burn of the whiskey on my tongue

why do we still reach for walls
where cicada-shell notices cling with scotch tape?
take a number and restore the riches;
leave the room and tear them down.

who but God can build over the ruins of fallen cities, fallen worlds?
and ora pro nobis, He is yet unwelcome here.


we are holy, in our own names we pray, and Hallelujah, we are saved
pretentious **** based on the experiences my close friend Xander and i went through idk. here's to 2+ years up from rock bottom, man. we've got this.
mark john junor Nov 2013
pastel monotone thoughts paint
an image of me in her mind
complete with shrinkwrap
and a bright smiley face sticker
her eager hand sweats the dealt moment
she awaits with impatience for
her daily christmas time package
her daily reprise of her happy moment
she remembers it with fondness
her pastel colours spread slowly
like an intellectual STD
a malfunction of the common man
she is a true modern miscreant
she wants a pretty girl lover
that comes complete with emo look a like
laptop gamer girl
attached the hip down to matchin **** selfies
a hundred smooth moves and cheat codes
she wants the complete package at the discount rate
shes a card carrying member of
some fan girl fandango
she calls me captain saveahoe
street nasty superhero with kung-fu grip
trailing through the dank alleys
in search of the legendary ultimate dumpster
the prize of every divers wet dreams
wandering all night with a few vampire hangers on
looking for a fashionable means to a glorious end
meanwhile the corner girl is waiting on me
thinking i'm just trying to find her a safe place to be
she is my safe place and i'm hers
the few of us that survive the moment
stroll on through the rain
to the dairy queen
to see and be seen
dont cha' hate that whole show up
to show off
she lives to die for it
but thats ok
cause i love her just the same
Maddie Jan 2016
The words rings in my ears
Printed across my forehead
My worst fear exposed
Right when I thought...
I thought...
Why do I keep thinking?
And hoping?
Trying to be
Trying
How many people think so?
Or rather
How many know?
These rips in my jeans
Don't change me
If only eyeliner did the trick
The loud music
Doesn't make me one of them
No matter how hard I try
But I guess everyone can see
See through this disguise
While overlooking what I want them to see
You tried to bring me down, it worked. I hoped no one knew I was just a wannabe but apparently you did. It only hurts because you're right
Mary K Jul 2016
the days are long and exhausting
but they're a distraction I desperately need
until night falls and I'm left alone
laying, staring at the ceiling
and everything I was sure I pushed away
comes back strong and forceful
and all I can do is hold on and try not to look directly into the blast,
wait for it to be over and wallow in its wake
until it's shockwaves finally succeed in knocking me unconscious,
and the distractions begin again.
even the nightmares are welcome
because they, too, are an escape.
nothing seems as bad as the battles of my mindfield
during every waking moment.
so I welcome the monsters and make them my friend
if nothing but to eat my thoughts
before they destroy my mind.
I have no clue I apologize
Mason Jay May 2016
bow tie and collars
nice pair of suspenders
buzzcut and braid
wanna get laid?
***-tuned world
labels all swirled
high level of confusion
doubt and frustration
all the stigma about
sexuality gender who you are

we tell you where you fit
labels aplenty
let me name many
****, ***, thot, *****
these and much much more
*****, *****, and traitor
see you all later
*******, druggie, and ****
nerd, geek, emo, goth
****, ******, loner
crackhead and stoner
athletic and pretty
simple or ****
labels aplenty
go on, take your pick
Anais Vionet Dec 2022
Gigi Hadid wore pearls, a t-shirt and jeans to Paris fashion week. So, our (Lisa, Leeza and my) theme for this New Year’s Eve is “Jeans and pearls.” To be accurate, Gigi’s distressed, slouchy bottom, boyfriend jeans were embroidered with pearls - the pearls weren’t worn as a necklace - but Lisa and I think anything involving embroidery is a trailer-park trend - so we’ll be wearing strings of pearls. If Karen (Lisa and Leeza’s mom) lets us, that is.

Karen has four strings of Tiffany pearls - called Essential, Ziegfeld, Akoya and South Sea Noble. They’re all 16-inch, single strand strings (which we all prefer) and they range in value from $600 (the Akoya) to the expensive (South Sea Noble) string - that she won’t lend anyone. The good news is, if anyone is thinking of buying me a string of pearls, I can’t tell the difference between the cheap string and the expensive string.

Leeza (Lisa’s 13-year-old sister) wants to be included in EVERYTHING this year, which is funny because last year she either attacked us or completely ignored us. This year, Leeza has a thirteen-year-old’s razor-sharp instincts and relentless curiosity.

As we’re Planning New Year’s Eve, Ethan Bortnick’s song, “Engraving” was playing. It’s a crazy song with middle-school, EMO, angsty vibes. One of the lines of the song is “strip for me”. As the song ends, Leeza suddenly asks us, “Have you two ever been to a *******?”
“No”, I answered.
Lisa said, “Once.”
“What?!” I asked.
“Really?” Leeza gasped, “Spill!” She demanded.
“This has random context,” Lisa begins, “I’ve been inside a ******* once in my life.”
Leeza and I tittered nervously. “I’m scared,” Leeza said, as an aside, grinning and rubbing her hands on her knees, clearly more delighted than scared.
“I was attending a middle school, Model UN conference, at Brown University,” Lisa continued, “and they took all the kids to a ******* for their model UN social.”
I gasped and blurted “There’s NO way this happened.”
“Yes,” Lisa insisted, “you can ask my mom.” she said, with a serious look, “And, and obviously, it was rented out for the night, but they didn’t, like, think to take away any of the normal features. There weren’t any strippers, but they didn’t take the poles down and they didn’t turn off the multiple TV screens on all the walls that were playing their normal rotating video content.”
“Wow,” I said, with my hand over my mouth. Meanwhile, Leeza was chortling like a mad woman and rocking back and forth.
“Everyone walked in,” Lisa went on, “and it was just middle schoolers, thirteen years old. There were pictures of the dancers on the poles, and our history teacher came in, and freaked OUT, saying, “Oh, no, No, NO!” Because it was a school event, we had taken school buses there, it was a boondoggle. They turned us all around and hustled us out of there.”
Leeza had stood up and was twirling with glee. Middle schoolers live for chaos.
“Taken out of context,” I said, “It was crazy you went to a ******* in middle school.”
“It was a jump scare, for sure,” Lisa confirmed, “we went from one vibe, a school field trip, to a *******.”

Anyway, for New Year’s, a lot is still up in the air - undecided - but we’re determined that we want to have a blast. We’re young and we want to support bad ***** energy (BBE).
“Oh, I have a BBE song!” Lisa squeals, “Mafiosa!” (by Nathy Peluso) She names it as it begins playing.

The songs in Spanish and when it ended, I’d looked up the lyrics because my 2 years of Spanish weren’t good enough. I tell Leeza the lyrics go: “Let the bad men fear me, when I arrive in my car - they speed off.”
“Yes!” Lisa Laughs, “We don’t drive - but, YES!”
“Emotionally,” I say, laughing too. “But verse two asks the great question, “What the frack is wrong with men when it comes to women?”
“It’s,” Lisa started, looking up and searching for words, “SUCH a timeless question.”
“Why’d you pick that song?” Leeza asked.
Lisa chuckled,” Because you don’t get more BBE than a female Mafiosa killer.”

Update: Karen agreed that as long as Charles is with us (and really, when isn’t he with us?), we can borrow the three inexpensive pearl strings (worth about 5k). So, I’ll be wearing the Akoya pearls, an Anna Molinari white, basic, cotton-shirt, washed denim cropped jeans with white bridal flats and Lisa and Leeza will wear their own, white tops, jeans, flats and pearls and we’ll be on-theme.

Happy New Year’s Everyone!
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Boondoggle: a wasteful activity involving public money or labor.
Emo
Being sunshiney just isn't my thing
if it smiles too much I want it to leave
I live in the darkness, I like to hear it sing
but other than that I have a knife up my sleeve

I want to cut down all that's not dark
***** you sun, give me the moon
I want to bask under the stars in a lonely park
I wont tell you anything soon..

Just leave me alone, i'm coping just fine
don't talk about my heart, I know what to do
I mean, after all, it is MINE
I don't need any input from people like you
****** knuckles
****** wall
****** fingers in the hall

Hand sweep hair
Hair sweep face
Someone trying to erase

Loving heart
Bleeding soul
Handled rough and broken whole

Coping mind
Angry eyes
No one ever should tell lies

Could he be
Someone Loved
Precious in God's hand above?
Jordan Frances Jun 2015
To the freshman sitting alone on the bus
Counting the scars on your wrists like train tracks
Creating a laundry list of the socially acceptable ways
To **** yourself.
Wondering if you'll jump off a bridge this year
Or bleed out in your bathtub next summer,
They'll be watching you.
You wish you could tell them they're wrong
You're different than all the depressed emo kids in the bad movies
Plastered to the television set like gum on the bottoms of desks
You're popular
But you're not pretty
Or happy.

To the freshman can I just tell you
In four years, you'll be happy.
To the freshman can I just tell you
You are pretty, you are beautiful, they all love you.
To the freshman can I just tell you
That the amount of likes you have on your profile picture
Equates to dust dissipating in the distance
To the freshman can I just tell you
The earth's curved wall will keep you grounded as you go through Hell
To the freshman can I just tell you
You don't know what *** feels like right now
But it is both amazing, like birthday balloons racing through your stomach
And overrated.
To the freshman can I just tell you
That a friend's overdose, two grandfathers' deaths, and one suicide later
You're still here.
To the freshman can I just tell you
Losing friends is the only way you know you can rely on yourself
It hurts like crazy, but the bleeding heals
And you find your own skin was the agent.
To the freshman can I just tell you
You'll go through horrific fashion trends
(Though none worse than the skeletons of middle school)
And still come out looking ****.
To the freshman can I just tell you
Graduation is not far away.
To the freshman can I just tell you
You're going to be ******* fantastic.
To the freshman can I just tell you
How ******* fantastic it is
To grow up to be me.
Levi Kips Oct 2016
Bully, you are no gender. Your objective is to always dismember. you
are a scar, and drive that knife into my arm. but i always seem to be
strong, no matter the odds or participant you seem to draw i'm always
walking tall.

Bully why do you do what you do. trying to control my friends like
voodoo and take their lives with a combat knife but you don't hold the
knife they do...  so thats why i say you smell like doodoo and you
won't dare put me through the things that they been through. thats
case i'm a strong emo

Bully you label people wit names that are sexist, rascit, and
sometimes full of bullish, but you won't ever change because evolve
wit age. saying the same things but in a different way, all in all it
still hurts the same.

Bully you try to disquise yourself as a friend in a form of a weak
link hurting the group from the inside. giving emo a bad name. and the
worst of it all you hide very well but you can't sell something that
you never had. meaning you can't fool me cause i see right through
you with your innocent lenes, and your non muscular figure, you mess
wit me i'll show you the real raff of a true ninja. but i'm censored so everyone know that i meant N*a.

Bully i'ma let you know that i am a
strong emo you will never enter nor hurt me though. and will never
take another life or influence another person to commit suicide nor
pull another razor against the arms of the weak and blind. cause as
long as i am alive. i will always come back for the dead and the ones
who has survived to stand against everything that you pride.

Bully you are loosing victims by the day and not because they are dead
but because they're getting strong like me. so pretty soon we will win
the fight in society and finally gain equality like the great martin
luther king always wanted.

BULLY DEAD SOMEDAY IN 2014
throwback poems
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2013
Heartbreak Poems Writ After Midnight

Poems writ after midnight
Effervesce intensity, how can it be, both an
Awakening, a dreading, a deadening?
Volcano in the chest, bullet in the head,
Cry stifled, but heard blocks away,
Almost reaching a house where you live

Poems writ after midnight
Presage dread of day soon to start,
Come forth more effortlessly,
Spill, soil, stain - simultaneous - pillow, cheek, us.
Rivulets of senses aflame,
Police cars and fire engines scream warning, coming,
Roaring warning lights of silent pain, heard blocks away,
Almost reaching a house where you live

It's June and from hallways and town streets,
Your shadow will disappear, graduate, not from, but to
You-know-where, the place where
Emo music is born and screamos die,
Same **** place that
Poems come from after midnight

Offered emollients, creams, stupid words,
Drugs, hugs, catch phrases that never soothe, irritate hurt worse,
The only word in the universe of words
I can't explain
A four letter gift my lover 'presented' and
It is pain

Read somewhere some poems never end,
Now I understand that better,
Cause there are no bandages, stitches that can close,
Cause there are no pills, switches that can shut off,
The ripping sound, the cutting noise, the raging inside
Heard blocks away, almost reaching a house where you live,
And dying in the same **** place that
Poems come from after midnight.

5:16 am forever
See: Some Poems Never End

— The End —