"graduating" poems
This is Nigeria
This is Nigeria; presidency turns sick leave.
This is Nigeria; one-sided democracy.
Double standard constitution, everything is dazy.
This is Nigeria; police bus be calling crowd.
Enter and become cowed.
This is Nigeria; best graduating student gets a thousand naira.
This is Nigeria; I hope we can differentiate between private and public institutions.
Lackadaisical attitudes everywhere, except religion institutions.
This is Nigeria; over a year strike in our foremost sector but it's a norm.
Corruption; a living form.
This is Nigeria; education is dull.
This is Nigeria; economy problem is solved by increased school fees.
Such government still gets a second term. Madness; it's our liss.
This is Nigeria; lot of resources but we still pray for light.
Food, security and rights.
This is Nigeria; lecturers give grades anyhow.
This is Nigeria; Animal is swallowing money.
In a government with the main aim of fighting corruption, it's funny.
This is Nigeria; politicians changing parties.
Playing with our lives like they're *******
Peter Oyebanji (PIRO)
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 5:38 AM UTC
in high school
despite the last bit of it
being spent as overweight
and with major lack of confidence
i found myself indifferent
to everything.
maybe it was because of the depression
and the abuse
or it was everything combined
but i wasn't excited or upset
about graduating.
i didn't have anything
to look forward to,
the life i imagined for myself
after high school
was a coffin
and i couldn't see anything past that.
sometimes i found myself thinking that
if i failed my senior year
i could stay another year
and maybe that would mean
another year for me to live
before i met the end.
mostly,
in those last few months
i found myself growing fonder
of the people that spent their time
teaching me the things they knew
and i had begun
to entertain the idea of becoming a teacher
since i thought
that i would get nowhere
with art or writing.
after i graduated
and realized i wanted to live after all
i spent little to no time
looking into becoming a high school teacher
it all seems too much of everything
too much money, too much time
not having enough time
that's the thing holding me back
my excuses that keep me stuck
and flailing around
wallowing in self-pity
in the pig sty of my room.
maybe if i took a leap
took a chance,
grew a metaphorical pair of *****
(or just got a shot of testosterone)
i would man up
and do the **** that it takes
to get where i want to be.
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 9:20 PM UTC
My boyfriend does not say he loves me.
“I love you” is reserved for family members only,
and even then, sometimes, it’s a boldfaced lie.
My father “loved” my mother,
he cheated on her, drank away her money
and,
he abandoned me.
Another victim of his so called love.
I don’t even know what “love” means.
Somehow there is a supposed difference
between
Love
and
in love.
I don’t see it.
I love you, should mean
I love you.
Period.
But it doesn’t, does it?
We can’t even rightfully define the word love,
so how can it mean something?
No, my boyfriend doesn’t say
I love you
instead he swears he adores me.
Adores.
Me.
Now that word has meaning,
it isn’t common.
It’s unique to us.
It means he respects me,
he likes my quirky smile.
The way I walk, talk, and sing.
He likes the way I fight
the way I dance
the way I like to read in the dark.
My boyfriend also doesn’t call me
honey, sweetie pie, cupcake or worst of all,
love muffin.
I am not a pie, cupcake, muffin or honey…
although I do like all of those things….
a lot.
He calls me by my name,
and there’s something special about that too.
My name, the thing that is constant.
All of my accomplishments are wrapped up in that one word.
I own it.
Tying my shoes for the first time,
riding a bike,
driving,
graduating,
acing that test I studied all night for.
It’s all there
in my name.
Honey, sweetie pie, cupcake and worst of all love muffin
don’t hold any meaning.
It’s what a guy calls a cute girl.
great.
That’s so original.
My name carries all of my accomplishments,
and my failures.
The first time I fell off my bike,
and my best friend had to walk me home.
The first time I got into a car accident,
and the airbag bruised my face.
The time, my ex boyfriend said he loved me,
only to cheat on me and have his mother call.
“Hey sweetie, I’m sorry I just don’t think you guys are in love
and as you know he’s already moving on.”
I guess even though I “loved” him,
I lost him.
So no,
my boyfriend does not say he “loves” me.
And the next time a boy-
because he will be a boy
calls after you
“Hey sweetie pie”
“Hey Honey”
“Hey cupcake”
or worst of all
“Hey love muffin”
Tell him you don’t have time to talk,
you’re looking for the man,
who will adore you,
and learn your name
in all its glory.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
throwing papers
up in the air
everywhere
wonderful bliss
4 years for this
I miss you now
we talked about how
this would be us
kissing
throwing it up
not giving a ****
i don't give a ****
i really don't
graduating next week
and i pretend to be sad to go
it really doesn't matter
ill walk and ill bow
ill get my diploma
i really don't know how....
I got the papers from the recycling bin
it says a lot doesn't it
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 3:20 AM UTC
tonight a girl stands on a bridge.
the midsummer breeze dances around her curves.
it begs her to come play.
her heart beats steady.
her gaze is motionless.
the changing air steals a whisper.
"we are moving into the house of Aquarius"
under the bridge a man sleeps.
in a few weeks he'll turn fifty-eight,
but he doesn't know that.
he hasn't had a birthday celebration in years.
he hasn't had anything to celebrate in years.
the bridge is home now.
above him,
a girl is rediscovering herself.
a girl is rediscovering her fear of heights.
she looks 25 light years above her, at Vega.
in a way, she thinks, she is like this star.
she is about midway through her life expectancy,
but her light died a quarter century ago.
the man sleeps soundly.
a smile is spread across his face.
he is dreaming of his dinner,
a footlong sub.
extra olives, just the way he likes it.
it was his first meal in several days
but tonight, his stomach is full.
he has come to like the grease on his face.
it shows he has survived many challenges.
the hardships have only made him wiser.
the girl, she minored in astrology.
she was fifth in her graduating class.
debt lurked deep in her mind.
it polluted her every thought with
reminders that she was not in control.
now, she tries to justify her current position.
on the bridge.
looking out at Lyra, partially hidden by clouds
"nothing I do will matter."
she reconsiders.
she recalls an anecdote she overheard
on the subway, or somewhere:
"when you're dead, you're dead for a looooong time"
she smiles. kids say the darnedest things.
tonight she curses her 'lucky stars'.
nothing the girl does will matter.
tonight she will become a woman.
tonight she will give herself to the wind.
the man will find her in the morning.
the man will chuckle to himself.
"they always make it down here,
one way or another"
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 1:23 PM UTC
The Boy called Tony by his grandpa and others, lights up his corner of the world. Be it kids or very old Big Kids,(adults who are kids at heart) wherever he goes, “Hi. My name is Tony. What is your name?” Usually following this introduction, if the response is received warmly is, “How old are you?” Than after that is decided, “My grandpa is really old.”
Kindergarten year saw the two of them at the Arctic Circle most days after school. The older “Big Kids”would see him come into Arctic Circle and wait for their turn to talk to the Boy called Tony.
Many times they stopped at Tony’s and Gpa’s table and talked before leaving. New people who had not talked to him before but “listened in” on Tony and Friends conversation, they would then stop at the table to say what a “delightful little boy he is”.
At the time of this writing, sitting in Arctic Circle, he is regaling a mother about the fine points of Pac Man and Frogger on Gpa’s phone. Let’s see, Gpa had that phone for years and did not know Pac Man and Frogger were on it. And so it goes…
And so it went… everywhere he went Tony learned People’s names and remembered them. Later, where ever he happened to see them, “I know you! You work at… or I saw you at…” and the conversation would go off in a multitude of directions… eventually.
One Saturday morning in January after the “BIG GAME!” (see note) Tony, his Aunt Kristen and Gpa were entering IHOP for breakfast. He bounced through the door still wearing his basket ball uniform as an older couple was exiting. Gpa was holding the door for the older “big kids” when the woman got all excited and said to Gpa, “Isn’t that the Arctic Circle Boy?” At which Gpa replied with certainty, “Yes it is.”
Graduating from kindergarten, if such a thing is possible,the class sang a song “Don’t Talk to Strangers”. Gpa thought at the time it was a scary little piece. But what does he know. Later in the afternoon a couple came walking toward Tony. Tony observed them approaching, he studied them intently, and then just as they were going by him, he called out, “HELLO STRANGERS!” Gpa thinks they are the only strangers he really knows.
——————(c)09-12-2011————————-
Sep 16, 2011
Sep 16, 2011 at 1:52 AM UTC
Did you decide to go?
Maybe go out with some friends afterwards and
toast to being a year closer to graduating?
Did you decide to ask the freshman who is only popular because of the clothes she wears and things she does?
Or are you staying home?
Are you all dressed up in a tux?
Possibly wondering what I'm doing and
what would it be like if you
had asked me?
Or maybe you're just getting off work and had decided to skip on Prom this year?
Are you walking onto the dance floor at this moment with a date or your friends and wondering if you should have asked
me instead-
while I sit here reading my book
and wondering if you're thinking of me?
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 8:32 PM UTC
She and I exchanged disdainful glances
across the parking lot. The verbally brash
invitation she gave me at 10:30 two nights
earlier from a low-riding car resounded
in my brain. She wanted our graduating class
to get together and sit awkwardly around
a campfire while a few reminisced
of homeroom and half days back in high
school. And as the last few embers glowed
like residence halls, she would clear
her throat and bash college. She’d denounce
the curriculum, professors, and parking spaces
then praise the days of hurrying through carpeted
hallways and freshmen traffic. To see our classmates
laughing with hands outstretched to the flames
would bring a smile to her summer-chapped lips.
But we’re no longer classmates.
We’re just seventeen people trying to live our lives
outside the confines of Galeton High School. Sure,
we’ll bite our tongues and fake smiles every now
and then, but we’ll never be more than superficial.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 2:36 PM UTC
Knees buckled under his huge frame.
Words emerging from the man in red were
inaudible, indistinct
unable to focus or navigate direction,
incapable to comprehend
or follow verbal instruction.
In spite of the instruction
the little man still contributed.
“Simon Michael”
Words wafted around the courtroom,
unfamilier, verilly a different language.
He felt like one would who was
surrounded by a foreign tongue.
He could not comprehend,
grasp the meaning of this slow motion droning.
He could however see the time.
The clock on the kitchen wall.
Twelve minutes past three.
He was heading outside,
escaping,
he had to get away from her.
Perpetual
Constant
Bellowing
On and on and on and on.
Arms raised
for protection
from constant
slapping and punching.
At thirteen minutes past three
she lay in a crumpled heap
on the hard stone tiles
of the cold kitchen floor.
Her face was split in two
encircled in graduating crimson.
One minute to change a life.
One minute victim,
now, Assassin.
One minute of blind anger
and a life taken!
“You will be taken from here
to a place of execution.
You will be hung by the neck
until you are dead.”
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 5:56 PM UTC
I have a name
I have an address; & some contact
information
_I am educated_
I list working on a degree in your field June 2012
And many relevant classes. GPA: 3.0kay
I graduated high school with flying colors. June 2008
_I have experience_
I've done a few interesting things before: Various Times
Various Positions, Various Places
* I worked one or two places you might even have heard of.
* I even got work on a product that you probably use.
My experience isn't that extensive: I'm Not That Old
A Personal Project, Various Clubs
* I'm just graduating,
* How much can you really expect?
_I have many skills_
I claim to do: some things that you do;
I claim to use: some of the tools that you use.
I look pretty much like all the others in this pile:
My content is glittering, my formatting pristine,
But
I'm special.
Pick me!
9.19.11
D.B. Guy
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 2:46 AM UTC
I remember the first time you kissed me.
We had escaped the loud echoes of your drunk friends,
and left my too-sober roommates to wait for my return.
Your best friend ran up the stairs after I left,
I skipped down the street as the girls called after me, questioning.
I remember the smile that would not fade,
the one that gave all of the answers away.
I remember the second time you kissed me.
We drank too much wine and sat too close together
and told each other too many things.
You yelled at me to stop talking so much,
I asked you questions you pretended not to hear.
I remember the way you kept trying to leave,
but how you did not want to go.
I remember the third time you kissed me.
We got into a fight that you tried to fix
with an overnight stay in the room where we first kissed.
We didn't talk about the fight.
I told you things I'll never forget because I knew you'd never remember.
I remember the way you tried to kiss me in the morning,
and how I left, pretending I didn't know.
I remember the fourth time you kissed me.
That night, I realized we would only ever be friends
and then our hands kept touching, our legs intertwined.
You asked me to tell you everything and anything,
as you wrapped your arms around me.
I remember the way I could see you, looking at me,
out of the corner of my eye when I was too afraid to look at you.
I remember all of the times after when you kissed me.
Graduating to morning, then afternoon,
private to public, drunk to sober.
You kissed me for all reasons,
and no reason at all.
I remember the way you always smiled afterwards,
and how it always made me feel sure.
I remember the last time you kissed me.
It was too early in the morning for there to be time,
my eyes couldn't tell if the sun was awake.
I waited and waited for there to be another one,
but there wasn't.
I remember thinking of all the other kisses,
and knowing too deeply that this would be it.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 8:07 PM UTC
Hey Dad,
It's been some time since we last spoke. I miss you, still. I'm writing to ask that you pass a message on to Mom for me. She never was one for sentimental stuff; but you know that, already.
Tell Mom that she is missed by all of her children; we miss her especially on this, her first Mother's Day away. I will miss not calling or seeing her. I missed sweating over what to get her this year. I miss her voice those times when I just needed to hear it; the first time that Noah had an ear infection, those times that I needed to know what was wrong with my roses. She always seemed to have the right answer no matter what. Just like you.
Tell Mom that I'm doing well. I've stopped drinking. I know she never liked that. Tell her that Noah is graduating from High School next month. You both were always so proud of him. He misses both of you very much. You should see him now, Dad. He's as tall as I am. As tall as you. He has grown into a good man; he is a lot like you in many ways. Noah sends his love to you both.
Well, I just wanted to say hello, and ask that you tell Mom that I love her. Tell her that I understand. It was time. She missed you. You were waiting up in the high pasture for quite awhile. I'll let you go, now. I know that you two still have a lot of catching up to do.
Hugs to Mom.
Love,
Rick
r ~ 5/11/14
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 3:25 AM UTC
I live in an
Enchanted Forest.
Where woodland animals appear
In misty twilight from behind
The mineral-stained shower curtain
And dewdrops sparkle on
The toothpaste-spattered
Mascara-blotted mirror.
Tiny little elves
Rumple my sheets and
Throw my clothing on the floor
Magic fairies dance over
The dresser top and eyeliner-strewn vanity
To the mystical, elusive strains of Owl City.
Mushroom jewels spring up
In my closet while I sleep
Dreaming of princes and turning sixteen
Ruling a kingdom and graduating highschool
Christmas lights twinkle like the
Multicolored stars of a fantasy night.
I spend my days in
This little woodland cottage
My loyal mutt snoring on her rug
Notebooks lined up on
A shelf with drying herbs
Chattering mice and potions of tired hopes.
I live in an Enchanted Forest
Or maybe I just sprayed too much perfume again.
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 2:27 PM UTC
Suffocating time
Clocks tick beyond infinity
Beyond our numbers
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 5:47 PM UTC
I'm lifted.
Floating to the place where I'm just high enough off of the ground to feel the boundless freedom
and just low enough that coming down won't hurt me a bit.
I'm seven again.
On the playground where me and my schoolyard buddies used to play tag.
I would have never imagined in my youth that two of those kids would be gone
by my senior year of high school.
None of that matters now.
Randy is seven too, and he doesn't even know what alcohol is yet.
Sarah is six again, and has yet to know that your heart can be broken.
Dan is "it", and all the girls are running from him.
but this was a time before the needle and before the germ.
Back than they ran from him because he was "it",
now they run from him because they don't wanna catch "it".
No one would have guessed it,
That this was our fate.
That we would ever grow older.
That we would ever grow up.
That five students of our graduating class would be mothers.
That two of my best friends would be dead.
None of that matters now,
I'm seven again.
We're playing tag.
The swingset is a safe zone.
No one can touch me here.
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 1:34 AM UTC
She is a girl
She has two sisters, a dog
And a pair of worn-out headphones in her pocket
She is fifteen
She plays violin in the school orchestra
And sings duets in the sun
She is left-handed
She’s also pansexual
(Just thought you should know)
<><><>
She is a girl
(A different girl, mind you)
She has bright hair and dark eyes
And a sky of freckles spanning her body
She is a netball player
She listens to everything that’s said
And laughs at everything in response
She is an Aquarius
Her girlfriend is an Virgo
(Is this what they call diversity?)
<><><>
He is a boy
He is on the males’ baseball team
And recites prophetical speeches in the dugout
He is an early riser
He likes old-fashioned comedy movies
And his favourite colour is either orange or black
He is graduating next year
He’ll finally get to ask his school’s star pitcher to prom
(Finally is the right word)
<><><>
‘She’ is a boy
(A different boy, mind you)
‘She’ lives in the countryside
And travels 2 hours to campus each morning
‘She’ is a realist
‘She’ studies human relations
And has wanted to visit Rome since 'she' was eight
‘She’ is a part-time barista
‘She’ prefers the pronoun ‘he’
(No big deal if you forget though)
<><><>
They are people
They have people they love
And people who love them
They are people
They may have changed to you
And yet they haven’t changed to themselves
They are people
They are still people
<><><>
(Just thought you should know)
<><><>
Nov 4, 2016
Nov 4, 2016 at 9:33 AM UTC
At yon boundaries are shrubs,
Waiting like unlit chapel bulbs,
Under are flowers also plugged,
Within wet soil, grabbing waters,
Rains once pelted withal seeds,
Into the skies they both breathe,
Under earth, worms wriggle up,
Graduating in swirls to the sun,
On blankets of grass are daisies,
Wildly napping a dreamy breeze,
Thrushes in rushes joyfully sing,
Lilt of lullabies from skies begin,
Songbirds dropping windy hues,
The giddy butterflies justly knew,
What bees do bounces, busy for,
Such patchwork paradise galore.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 1:45 AM UTC
After Pamela Sutton’s “Forty”
Since when are words lost, numbers dominating?
Until today, it was vernacular, not mathematics.
All changed at 18
when numbers engulfed my life like a tsunami.
1 life.
1 drive to school, traffic on the 405, 25 minutes;
10-minute parking; first class at 8.
8 dollars per hour x 3 day work week = no shopping.
Under my parents’ life insurance,
for now.
One life.
One dream of commencement, a sea of black and gold;
students as adults, graduating, growing up,
careers: the only things that matter now.
One dream of wheeling a patient into the OR
and he grasps my hand.
One saved life.
66 specialties for a nurse.
8 stories in CHOC Hospital;
279 beds.
One goal for everyone; nurses, patients, families—
disease-free, healthy.
One hospital specializing in children;
one in Orange, thousands of facilities.
One late night in Riverside the kitchen fluorescents
slowly brings the eyes of two, one father, one daughter,
to a close.
58 notecards, handwriting messy and smudged.
12 prefixes, 37 roots, 9 suffixes.
44 years: 1 student: Dad.
The point where my future was clear.
One goal, one career,
one life.
The subtle hum of the white lights lulls us to sleep
as the room slowly darkens.
September 2013
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 1:33 AM UTC
Sound of a pen clattering
Admonishing beauty of arts rendering
Lines of rhyme rhyming
Mixed with rhythm rhythming
Like a poem life flowing
Like a drama life pushing
Like a prose life rushing
And then comes representing
Unrepentant life projectoring
The literati's lyrical lyricalling
Recalling the gods of writing
With written words calling
Calling calling calling coming
And hence societal ills hiding
Bad leaders, leadership running
Disillusioned souls troubling
Marginalised masses crying
And crime rate like jet flying
Bombs like pure water exploding
Politicians still stealing and looting yet fearing
Fear! phobia! fear embracing
Minimum wage hurting Governors like bee stinging
Unemployment destroying like earthquaking
Half baked graduate graduating
Our education unseriously provoking
Undefined boundaries exposing
Immigrants immigrating
Police, Soldiers, customs, Road safety, etc all corrupting like they feeding...
Inec election in chaos resulting
Nigeria a name of peoples's confusing
NEPA, WATER, ROAD, HOSPITAL unrealistic absurding...
Corruption! corrupting!! corruptioning!!! Are we starting or finishing? Building or destroying?
The lyric of the literati busy deconstructing...
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 2:07 PM UTC
There's something scarier about graduating
Than going to college,
Moving out,
Starting a life,
Studying,
Independence,
Or freedom,
My biggest fear about leaving this place
Is leaving you behind
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 12:55 AM UTC
when i was little, i dreamt of being a princess
because taking charge is what i do best
and why not do it in a long pink dress?
i may not be royalty but i am royally *******
by being an overemotional teenager who ...
listens a bit too much to what society says
and not enough to what she has to say
about herself
i feel like that needle in a haystack
when it comes to the future.
i’m still asking if i can use the bathroom
when i’m expected to have my whole life planned out
by the time the leaves start to change
and i have to surgically remove my arm to sell on the streets so four years from now i’m not living on one ... with nothing but a fancy degree held above my head when it rains the cold realization that i am $100,000 in debt
and have no idea what i’m doing
so what am i supposed to do
when i still find myself comparing who i am now,
to who i could have become
without the challenges of 2012
still hanging on my shoulders
when i lay in bed at night,
thinking about how different i would be
if life hadn’t thrown me a curveball
that knocked me off home plate and out of my comfort zone,
out of the dreams of an ivy league school or graduating with high honors -
when i’m just lucky to be graduating on time.
while my peers are getting acceptance letters,
i’m getting the reminder that the battle has just begun,
the war of me against myself in accepting the past as it is,
regretting my mental disorder will not make it go away no matter how hard i fight.
i know that forgiveness equals growth,
a never-ending road of
constantly changing
twisting and winding
paths that never seem to have any clues
as to which one is the right one.
i’ve blindly picked a path, a quest if you will.
i am on a quest to be the best
no no, let me rephrase, MY best
because my best is all i can give and someday,
those that told me otherwise
will be eating those sugar coated words
when i have finally accepted MY best is true success.
so when i was little, i did dream of becoming a princess
but today, i’m dreaming of being a better me than yesterday
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC
A body cradled in a nightly cocoon of blankets and self-loathing.
A contact list full of numbers in which calls go straight to voicemail.
An explosive cocktail of one part perfection and three parts depression, with an overdose of cheap coffee.
A personality of anti-anxiety pills and choked down insanity, with a side order of slit wrists.
An A+ on your history test, smudged with tears and smuggled *****
A sleeping tablet.
A mind like a room with the blinds down for weeks, a smile like a gunshot in the darkness.
A broken tape recorder of one missed calls, of slammed doors, of smeared lipstick in front of a mirror sparking with tears.
A cigarette for every sin, a dollar for every broken dream.
A full wallet.
A brain like a twisted forest path, a sketchbook full of scratched pencil marks, a screaming teacher at the end of every class.
A daughter of the human manifestations of nine-to-five jobs with a pension scheme and insurance.
A carefully maintained vocabulary of whiplash sarcasm and blank stares.
A graduating member from a class of 'Congratulations on Getting the **** Over Yourself.'
A bullet.
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 12:12 PM UTC
Daddy, I’m sorry!
All I ever wanted was to make you proud
But at the time it sounded like
The loudest voice was the crowds!
I left my virginity on the back seat of your car,
That night you went out.
And he told me that if I loved him
I’d go down.
So I did it.
I let him drive me insane
I did everything he wanted me to
Until he came, then pain came. Then shame came.
I did it and I wanted to tell you before
But I didn’t know how,
I’m sorry dad.
I’m still a child, I can’t be a mom!
I still have dreams of graduating and going to prom!
You know the girl with the big belly never wins prom queen.
And I can’t do this without him.
I thought he loved me. He said he loved me!
But what do I know about love?
I’m a just little girl and he just too old!
Your little girl, your baby girl.
Daddy! What am I supposed to do?
Adoption or abortion?
Neither of them sounds like a life option!
Daddy, I’m sorry.
I never pictured my future this way.
In my dreams we’d both be happy
Somewhere else far away,
But in reality life feels worse
Than my worst nightmares.
I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.
But I couldn’t look you in the eyes any more.
I had to runaway and find something worth living for.
Although all the stupid things I’ve done,
Besides the wrong path I choose,
I’m still daddy’s little girl.
And I’m sorry.
People say I’m a *****
They don’t know my story!
They don’t even want to know
Where I come from!
I do drugs not because I feel worthless,
But because I need something to ****
The pain of sleeping with someone else’s husband,
Brother, cousin... father!
Because I am someone’s daughter!
Maybe a ********** a failure, a drugs addict.
But at the end of the day I’m still your daughter.
Daddy, all I ever wanted was to see you proud!
To see that smile of yours you had when I was a child
And you would spin me all around!
So forgive me father,
For leaving town,
For giving up on the prom crown,
For failing in life somehow
Feb 21, 2012
Feb 21, 2012 at 11:10 PM UTC
I wish you could be here to feel my heart flutter when I think about you
Funny, because I hardly know you, but I still wish to be in your arms.
Arms which I've ever felt.
You're an enigma to me; mysterious yet captivating,
and I want to solve you.
I want to pick up your pieces and put them together like a jigsaw puzzle.
I want to see the picture they make when they come together,
and cry when I have to take it apart put the pieces back in the box.
I want to fall asleep thinking about you, and get a text message that you are thinking about me too.
I want to hold your hand and trace the lines on your palm, The heart line and life line, and laugh when yours and mine match.
I want to lean in close and whisper secrets only we know
and you'll whisper back that you agree.
I want you to mess my hair up.
I want my mother to be suspicious when I come home wearing your sweatshirt and not mine.
I want to lay out in the grass together watching the clouds with headphones in, listening to Green Day because I know you like them.
I know that much about you.
I know your eyes are brown and dark
and your mother thinks you are gorgeous.
I know your speech slurs when you get excited and start talking fast.
I know you tease me, and I think you like me too, but I don't know that for sure.
I know you have a silly ring of hat hair when you leave work, and I hate it but I love it too.
I know I recall all these things about you to write this poem, and I'm smiling as I think about you.
I wonder what you are doing right now, not this, for sure, you're probably playing Xbox with your friends and thinking about graduating in two weeks.
But not me, I'm thinking about you, funny, I know, because I really hardly know you, but maybe that's okay, maybe one day I will know something about you.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC