Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
mikey May 1
the beep beep makes me hardly do sit up
with some skins about to crack
open the laptop. write half of it
and cry over uncompleted tasks
wearing the clothes that is all black
******* snow, extremely ****** me up
The class is draining me so I’m gonna skip it
Stuck in the mindset thats make me wanna go basking
In the bed where I can fully go dreaming
Brie Pizzi Dec 2017
To the people who think education majors have it easy,

Nothing, and I truly mean nothing, gets under my skin more than people who have the same mindset as you.
People like you think that my 3.8 GPA isn’t as worthy as someone else’s in a different major.
People like you think education majors can’t possibly be as stressful as other majors.
People like you think that my 40-page unit plan doesn’t even begin to compare to your 40-page report.
People like you think that teaching is easy.

it's *******.

I’m not going to sit here and go into detail about all of the difficult assignments I’ve had over the past four years as a middle school math major because frankly you’re just not worth my time. Also, because that would mean that I have something to prove to you, and I don’t. You can’t begin to judge a major until you have sat in on their classes, done their assignments, took their tests, etc. So, for you to judge my major based solely on the fact that I’m teaching children makes you arrogant and ignorant.

Imagine the excitement you feel when you get an A on an exam you spent days studying for. Now imagine that same excitement being stripped away from you in a second because someone tells you that your major is easy and that that’s the reason you got such a good grade.
Imagine working your **** off to earn Dean’s List every semester you’ve been at school, for someone to turn around and tell you that the only reason you’ve achieved that is because of your easy major.

It’s hurtful.

I chose to become a teacher because I want to take part in shaping children’s minds. I want to take part in making students grow up enjoying math. I want to take part in making learning fun.  
I don’t think that is something I’ll ever regret, no matter how many times you try to bring me down.
Please just focus on your own major. Focus on your own difficult assignments, your own difficult tests, and your own difficult projects, that way you can truly strive for success.

And I’ll still be here, an education major, cheering you on.

A future teacher.
Amaris Oct 30
I want to take my car at two a.m.
Drive to the lake 2.6 miles away
If I’m not alone, the shadows will hide them.
Under the frosted glass lamp of the moon
I rip my heart out at the seams and scream
Towards a horizon I cannot reach.
I traipse with unconscious purpose
On broken pebbles shifting underfoot
Collect the biggest, the prettiest, the best
And throw them
One by one, after the other
Relish the splash
Feel the weight of each rock leave my hand
Messy arcs into impartial waves
There goes the GPA I still want to recover
Years lost to overthinking when younger
I drain every tear I had wanted to show.
I can wander wherever the night takes me
If only I could learn to let go
Alaina Moore Jan 25
Eye lashes brase my brow with a flash of awareness.
Of gravity, of heart rate, with fading memories of mental images and sinking in reality.  
Argument insues among the self
"why do I have to get up?"
"I don't know the ******* answer, just get up."
It goes on repeat.
Get up, get up, get up.
Frozen in the warm sheets and safe feeling that just barely lets the pressure fade.
"Why can't I stay in the twilight of REM and awake where my body is light doesn't hurt and my mind has solace?"
"I don't know, just get up."
Get up, get up, get up.
This feeling has lost me GPA points
and this feeling has cost me jobs.
Place my hands on my chest and streach out my legs.
Rip away from the fetal position and complement myself relentlessly.
Get up, get up, get up.
"You're okay" I wisper as though the echo will ensure it's truth.  
Deep breathing to irratic breathing to controled breathing.
Rise, wash, repeat.
Get up, get up, GET UP.
Rip the sheets off like a bandaid and immediately stand.
Run to the warm shower.
Pretend it's rain and back to deep breathing.
Complement what a great job I'm doing, getting out of bed, not even crying.
How proud I should be I'm taking care of myself - by taking a shower.
A basic Target pattern, fortress of solitude.
Consumed in the hot artificial rain drops I find another fleeting moment of solace.
Deep breathing, "you're okay."
Let the water run over my shoulders until it turns cold.
Dry off in the shower, take advantage of the ignored greenhouse gas - bask in the humidity.
Look into my dark eyes in the mirror, and ask questions. And hope they are good that day.
Skaidrum Jan 2016
"Take your crimes and medication."

Pill one.
I have come to loathe eating.
Countless days pass without a morsel of food,
typically weeks without a real full meal.
I find it remarkable, really;
that my sense of taste and hunger became living corpses
that linger within my mouth like something died on my tongue.
I have a few options at this point but here's my choice~~
~~leave the silverware clean, bare and cold---
it's purest when cold.
I don't even know why I am not hungry.
I never thought I'd see the day where I'd decline the offer on raspberries.
(They always will be my favorite...)
Now, my ribcage blooms like a garden~
~rib bones that beg to flower through
the soil that is my skin.
Skeletons don't sit at the dinning table because
starving is a special kind of beautiful.
Yet this is oddly okay to me.
And when I do dare to silence it,
the mild sting of hunger that pulls you like the moon;
It's regret that's delivered in a bullet or two.
Disgust crawls up my spine and drags nails along
the lining of my stomach.
Don't eat that, it's poison.
Rejection becomes my immediate releif.
Family and friends can't help but worry
Eyes flicker to the length of my waist,
voices question my weight when I'm lifted
the subtle stare at how my bones scream against snowy skin.
I don't blame them or the rumors;
I know I am skinny, and I know am empty.
I just don't want to eat anymore...
I am so sorry for that.
(Am I supposed to be sorry for that?)

Pill two.
Don't ask me if I got any sleep.
The answer will always be "no", or "not enough."
I was diagnosed two years ago with insomnia.
You don't know what suffering is until
you can't ******* sleep.
I didn't think it was that bad,
boy, I must've been related to ignorance.
It's torture watching the world never press pause.
My record is six nights and seven days, almost a full week
Caged myself in because my thoughts
were killers for freedom.
Why can't I sleep?
Here's the catch though;
I don't like sleep either.
No comfort calls your name,
not when you can remember every dream you've had since
the year 2009.
I don't have happy dreams, for those of you that do not know.
They call this disease hyper-realistic dreaming,
it's something my doctor hesitates to openly discuss.
(They don't have the answers to my mother's panicked questions or my father's accusing glare.)
They're terrified of the unknown too.
The concept of dreaming in such detail,
of every person place or thing
isn't exactly treatable
Fun fact:
I talk to the dead sometimes.
You know, people who have passed away.
They tell me it's the regrets that ******* you behind your back.
Hyper-realistic dreaming is absolute madness.
Pretty sure wonderland doesn't look any different than
the waking realm.
The word nightmare,
yeah, I don't like using it.
It visits whether I'm awake or not.
Doesn't make a ******* difference.
But the doctors only care about my insomnia.
Figures, I mean.
"It's just a sleeping sickness, strong medication should fix it."
Rest has become a form of torture for me.
I'm sorry for whatever I did to deserve this.

Pill three.
Speaking of torture,
I own 19 scars that I never asked for.
My father is responsible for 18 of these scars.
Abuse is just a 5 letter word.
Funny how death sits lightly in 5 letters.
Pain is just a 4 letter word.
Oh look, so does life.
I've been waiting for salvation but I know I'm not worthy.
My father is the root of my depression.
I am his flawed design and greatest disappointment.
"YOU *******----"
hands crash into my lungs
nails engrave wounds like some sick reminder
you don't need to remind me
I already know what I've done wrong
please dad, don't hit me

Yet instantly I hit the floor harder than any stone does.
I cry quietly, forcing the sobs to talk the language of silence.
If he knows I'm suffering it'll only make it worse.
Praise is something that does not pass his lips.
"You're ******* worthless, you **** girl."
Insults act like vultures that never quite leave our house.
"You stupid blonde *****, DO IT RIGHT."
My grades weren't high enough to please his highness.
(I had a 3.975 GPA this semester.)
"I can't wait to watch you fail."
A disgusting disgrace of a daughter that's never going to fill the shoes of "enough."
There are so many times where I have been punished for
my "crimes",
kicked, beaten, scratched, sliced, man-handled, hit, and bruised..
I don't think it's fair to name the rest.
It's all an act of order to obtain my obedience.
The secrets within these walls sneer at me~~
~~how unfortunate that our walls are white.
You see blood is a hard stain to remove and red likes
to leave the ghost of orange upon the white paint.
I don't think you understand,
that this has been happening ever since I was his little 7 year old.
Or, you know, maybe longer.
Oblivion flew south and reality crawled in long ago.
You can't just chase reality out,
she's a force of nature that takes the life out of all of us.
I have been a victim to my father for as long as I can remember.
An example of the cycle of abuse continues tonight;
Tonight my father told me,
"I wish you were dead."
That can be arranged, dad.
You don't know pathetic until you've seen me lying there
after the aftermath that was my most recent "mistake",
clutching the ground like maybe if I pretended enough
it would hold me.
They tell me it's just the alcohol talking.
That all of this was his own father's doing.
My dad had it "so much worse."
I'm sorry your father hurt you, dad
I'm sorry you feel like you have to hurt me.

Pill four.
My wounds make their homes beneath my heart,
six inches to left, furrowing downwards.
This is the nerve that throbs in death's long fingers.
False strength will save those who you love.
Good thing I "believed" I was strong.
It's a ******* joke.
I'm not strong.
I am a white angel dressed in lies.
Yet there I was;
Standing with perfect posture as the universe
and my friends stacked their troubles
up my trembling shoulders and back.
Nicknames spilled off their tongues,
I was proud of these titles that I don't actually deserve.
I am the psychiatrist.
The Healer.
The Caretaker.
The Mother
The Saint
The Kind Maiden
The Helper
The Keeper of the Dragons
The Poet of the Wolves
The Moon Warrior
The moonlight weeping through the willow branches;
The Person Who Fixes Everything
The Wise Guardian Angel.
How couldn't they notice I was nothing divine.
Plucking them from the coffins of depression and despair
that they laid themselves to rest in.
It is no easy task.
And sometimes this means their words are
the gashes to glide down my arms and sides,
blood making the puddles at my feet.
Physical pain is bearable when it's for them.
Again we revisit the word
As they are humans and they practice this sin
upon me.
I accept the harm with no self-defense.
Because I was cursed to love them.
Even the ones,
that reek desolation upon my soul.
They have all gone for the **** before.
You can take it out on me,
I will balance your burdens.
"Let me help you..."
I'm sorry you're hurting, I'm here for you
I'm sorry I became like this?
(I definitely am not supposed to apologize for that.)

Pill Five.
I have a past lover, she is my Wolf Girl.
I have learned to love her like ambrosia in a bottle.
It doesn't matter that I am no longer her lover...
She is and always will be my best friend.
We once talked about our friendship like a legend.
One man that went off to war,
and how he left his loyal dog behind.
The loyal dog waited for his master until the man returned from service and suffering;
the dog's love never swayed.
For many years they remained apart and alone
paths refusing to entertwine,
but once reunited they picked their relationship up and continued like nothing had ever separated them to begin with.
We never decided who the dog or the man was.
But we both have always known.

I hold her responsible for saving me, and uncovering
the remains of a silver child.
She ripped my heart open to expose the stitches and raw emotion;
below my feet sung the wolves,
along my collarbone perched the stars.
The moon basked in my skin when she told me,
You are beautiful.
I knew she was lying but I still forced those words down my throat,
swallowing the growing flame of black lies.
To this day I will never forget,
even if she has forgotten.
I don't see a reason to hurt, I knew I was unworthy to begin with.
Sifting through a jar of ashes I found our memories,
the day we first met, first became best friends...
She was the wolf and wasn't afraid to bite the hand that fed her.
That was how she taught me to survive,
Trust me when I say I learned more than just survival.
Casting a glance at the past 5 years I recall
what the value of strength was.
She lent me her own,
~so I bargained my way to the heavens~
a prayer for the day I would become a goddess of divinity-------
---- I found out Naïve was my middle name.
The demons found me and I had no fangs to sharpen,
so they tied me to a willow tree.
There I was possessed, and hung by my wrists,
humiliation and weakling branded into my ankles.
"This is how we put dreamers in their place!"
Is what the shadows screamed in octaves of smoke.
And that was how my wolf girl found me,
hanging and half-alive in my favorite crying tree.
She laughed with sunlight flashing in crystal teeth.
Before plunging vicious knives into my stomach.
Until the  words gouged at places hidden beneath tender poetic flesh...
My screams never reached another living soul.
Dragging open my belly to reveal what innocence I had left,
I watched as poison caught fire to her words;
I was annoying
I was clingy
I was loud, unaware, and
I loved the same she had loved
stolen the moon from her nightless sky without realization
and caused heartbreak and spread disease in her wake
she knew what the demons did~~~

"And yet you loved every second of it, didn't you Lycan?"
I know, I know
all of that was so long ago, yet I cannot help myself.
I don't hang from trees anymore,
and I don't talk to wolves in sheep skins any longer.
That doesn't stop me though;
The questions slither into my palms and onto the page
where navy ink scratches letters
into rotten white paper;
Like snakes in the tomb of my heart.
"Why did you save me?"
"Why didn't you save me when I needed you most?"
"Oh wait, right, you never had to..."
"What love could you possibly harbor
for me?"
"Did you ever love me?"
"No, probably not."
"Will it ever be okay again?"
"Why didn't you let me in when you needed me?"
"Was it worth it?  Jack I mean...was he worth it?"
"Was it worth those seven months?"
"You're more than lust."
"Did your sins finally catch you, Lycan?"
Wolves find glory in preying upon the weaker species.
You knew I was weak from day one.
"Why didn't you **** me when you had the chance?"
I'm sorry I defiled you.
Apologies that you went to the trouble of teaching me the hard way.

And finally,
I'm sorry that I dared to love you, Allie.

Pill six.
Let me put it in simple terms;
I hate myself.
I have come back from the brink of death for the thousandth time,
and I'm so sick of it.
My mind is a battlefield of depression and
I am no match for the darkness that borderline feasts on my soul.
They never left after they hung me pretty in that tree.
Thoughts that take my life piece by piece like casualties in war.
No, you don't understand.
I am beyond saving.
I have been,

for a very long time.
No matter how long I look into a mirror
I cannot find a trace of beautiful.
The glass doesn't bother lying to me, not anymore...
That's how I know all of you are lying to me.
I have let the insanity slide a dagger into my spine
ripping a **** upwards to my neck.
This is where bone touches the air and I don't recover.
R e l l a p s e
I hate everything about myself,
what I have become,
wallowing in the pity because I am far too tired;
to swim, to try, to leave.
I descend into the black sea of ink that
I bathe myself in every hour to keep from feeling agony.
As a poet, it's the only title I hold onto with an ounce of pride.
Among the fields of grief I lay in my oaken coffin
pathetic words snaking into my mind
betrayal chewing at my insides,
memories play hide and seek between lost and broken treasures.
There is nothing left.
Not anymore.
And never again.
What more can I give when the nightfall erases me?
How much longer must I endure
my punishment for being human?
I was never mighty but
my how I've fallen.

"Are you okay?"
Don't think, just lie.
"How are you feeling?"
Lie faster.
"Oh my god, what happened?"
Lie for their sake.
"How are you?"
Whatever you do
"What's wrong?"
Just lie
"You seem kinda off today..."
If you tell them it's all over.
"Kira, are you alright?"
Lie until the truth becomes one.
"Seriously, you''re sure you're alright?"
You can't let that monster out, she'll destroy whatever you love left.
"Are you lying?"
"I'm sorry everyone.
I'm sorry
I'm sorry

I forgot to mention I have pills to take now.
For my insomnia, way back up in pill two up there...
Special pills that play roulette with the grim reaper.

"Kira, take only one pill at a time.  Please make sure to count if you swallow several at once.  These pills are very dangerous, potentially deadly if not consumed correctly."
"Take one pill, and if you can't fall asleep in an hour wait til tomorrow night to take two.  If that doesn't work, then the next night take three, and then four.  Do you understand?"
"Kira, please be cautious if you take five. I cannot stress enough how much I want you to be careful, it could damage your internal organs. It's like asking for a light coma, for 20 hours you'll be asleep."
"And Kira...whatever you do... NEVER take six pills.   You won't wake up after that.    Promise me you'll never take six...
"I promise Dr. Cline."
Well, I lied.  Shocker, right?
I am so terribly sorry that I cannot keep my promise...

that's all it takes.

I'm sorry is the only signature I leave on my suicide note.

I couldn't keep this in,
it's not poetry it's a rant.
Apologies for my confession....

But it's over now.
Kate Jan 9

Low-calorie, no-calorie, sugar-free and…water.

I was never like the other girls. The beautiful, tall, and skinny girls

Instead I had the words ****, worthless, fat, and unloved branded on my face

The words empty, broken, dumb, and unwanted covering my entire body

Skinny was never a word that described me

Until I stopped eating


I lost 5 pounds, then 10, then 20. Striving to be double digits and not triple.

Eating in front of a mirror.

Crying over a bathroom scale,

Cause i only felt pretty when i was hungry.
2, 4, 6, 8

To me, being accepted was more important than being healthy

It was a never ending cycle of "Will I eat today?"

I was trapped in the walls of my mind with the door wide open

Why didn't I just walk through the door?

In my mind

I couldn't fit
2, 4, 6, 8
need to lose weight
2, 4, 6, 8

I lost all of my friends because instead of going out and enjoying life

I stayed home, adding all of the calories I had eaten that day

Instead I stayed home in fear of gaining weight from that one slice of pizza

keep going through the days
2, 4, 6, 8

My scale became my best friend

Watching that number go down was my fun on a Friday night

Drinking water on an empty stomach was my feeling of enjoyment

But no matter how low that number got it was never enough

It was never enough until I had finally collapsed

2, 2, 2, 2

Female, 14 years of age, height 5"3, weight 65 pounds

I had done it

I was so skinny I was dying

I was dying because society told me that I wasn't good enough

I was dying because society told me that I wasn't pretty nor skinny enough

I was dying because I was afraid that one day people would see me

The way I saw myself
I fight all day and all night
            this is your own fault
My body shows my battlewounds
Scars and bones and scratches
            you did this to yourself

I need to eat
   but you can't
It's just food
      but it's not
My minds thin
         but you're fat
This is breaking me
            I'll fix it for you
I'm going too far
               you're not far enough
I need to turn back
                  that's not an option
Release me
                     not happening
I've gone too far
                        push it a little further

My weight became the only thing I cared about

I was failing all of my classes becase the only numbers I cared about

Were the ones that would appear on my scale telling me how much more I needed to lose until,

I had nothing to lose

I didn't see a future

I had already lost my friends


My family

And myself

All for what?

I lost everything to be like the other girls

The beautiful, tall, and skinny girls
JaxDillon Jun 16
Dashing through the halls
With teachers up my a$$
I have to take a test
I rlly hope you pass
This school is actually hell
I can't even spell
You get to class right now, you wanna make the bell
This is about school
Serendipity Apr 19
If I hold my mind
above my GPA
would the numbers spin the same?

4.5 my ***,
I hate the way prideful disgust
enters me at teachers praise.

Parents proud at the cost of their child.
A "Your best is not good enough"
for every B received.

4 Cambridge classes, 2 college classes, a sports medicine class, four club-

"Your best is not good enough."

4.5 GPA, A in advanced classes, 11 exams this ye-

"Your best is not good enough."

Echo your complaints in the sound of the bottomless pit that is my word count.

I do not recall signing my sleep away,
when signing up for classes.

Some will understand,
some will say "That's life"
and disregard everything written above,
as a child's last attempt
to be saved
from a system
she is a slave

How many intelligent friends do I have,
that refuse to take up their time with busy work,
that teachers scoff at?

Too many.

I spend this weekend doing a 1,200 to 1,500 word essay, a power point counted as an exam, writing over 70 slides of notes, rescheduling finals, then volunteering from 11 to 1, and do not forget to go to church.

No, I'm not exaggerating.

take a week and spend it in your child's shoes,
and find that
back talk is nothing but stress
built up.

I used my break today to write this,
Because God forbid,
I take 5 minutes to myself.

in conclusion,
mock me,
or relate,
The truth of the matter lies
bare in the numbers.

I care not how long this is or how many will save it or relate,

this poem is for myself,
I can only hope to have reached another soul.
josie May 10
If I am constantly told that
my grades do not define me,
then why has my entire life
been centered around making
them perfect?
Why do you not care if I
have values or morals but
instead care if I know what
the hypotenuse of a triangle is?
Why am I graded on how much
I can jam in the already
stuffed file cabinets of my brain
when I am constantly told
I am more than my GPA?
Julia Rose Dec 2018
I want to flip my hair
I want to laugh
I want to date a football player
I want to be popular

I want to climb a mountain
I want to bungee jump
I want to tame a tiger
I want to feel dangerous

I want to have a 4.0 GPA
I want to have straight A’s
I want to get accepted into Yale
I want to be a genius

I want to smile
I want to laugh
I want to be with my friends deep into the night
I want to dress up, wear cute clothes
I want to write
I want to bake
I want to become a lawyer
I want to be me

I can’t be me
I can’t commit to anything
I can’t stay true
I can’t stay true to myself
I can’t stay true to the ones I love
I can’t stay in one place

I have to stop
I have to make better choices
I have to study
I have to make better of myself

— The End —