Charlie Jul 2015
Growing up gay wasn't easy.
Always knowing I was different to the rest.
I never felt right, never felt normal.
Because I'm not.
I'm different.
But sometimes difference is good, isn't it?
I've accepted myself.
But some haven't.
Jo Nov 2014
Oh!  There it is!
The blood of my Mothers’
Sins
Blossoming on
My white sheets
Like a bouquet of English roses.
A shame -
Laundry day had
Been yesterday.  

My thighs have been painted
Rouge -
They blush
Like my cheeks
When my gaze
Lingers on my body
Too long in the mirror
As I put on my Sunday dress.

The needles in my
Lower back fill my
Uterus with blood -
I am a woman now -
And as such I must
Wake before the sun
And wash my sheets
And my body
Before anyone has a chance
To smell the iron and the shame
Between my legs.  

I have never been so
Acutely aware of my body:
My sore breasts feel like
Overripe tomatoes ready to burst,
My stomach bloated and taking up
Space I’m told is not ladylike -
My head throbs, my limbs ache, and
I continue to shed my insides.
How is it I never noticed
The cry of my body before?

A week of blood
Before I have served my sentence
For a woman
Who dared to disobey -
I clean the stains
And wash myself
Away.
I may come back to this later.
Emma Marke Jun 2014
he looked at me
“friends… with benefits?”
i turned to him
“to be friends with benefits we’d have to be friends first
   other wise we’re just strangers fucking each other.”

                      [e.m.]
Tori Hart May 2014
You sat on the other end of the table
Glistening, shining, and taunting me
Rosy cheeks with spurts of Yellow and Green
Silently teasing
A juicy, little Apple.
Hopefully no one would see me, no one would pay any attention
As I grabbed the treat and the knife
And began to dangerously peel.
I knew I was doing it wrong
My hands shaking while my cheeks began to flush
Embarrassed by my ignorant inadequacy.
Are you left-handed? she asked from my left.
Humiliation filled the corners of my eyes, wet and distraught.
No, I mumbled. My cheeks reflecting Mose's Red Sea.
I was beginning to drown.
Your thumb needs to move, You make me nervous,
and she sounded nervous indeed.
Put it down here. Help yourself control it. Guide it.
Everyone was staring now, the whole table awed
My ignorance showing, like a medallion at my chest
My shameful Apple as pathetic proof.
You're doing it wrong.
Non così. Basta, faccio io.
Let me do it.
You're about to graduate, and you can't peel an apple.
I began choking, drowning in tears of Humiliation.
No, let her do it the small Voice on my left said.
She is finding her way. Let me watch her.
I finished peeling the Apple
Suffocating my tears as I ate.
You remind me of Daisy, she said soon after
From The Great Gatsby.
I choked and laughed, more ashamed than ever.
I'm not sure that is a compliment.
I could barely muster a mumble.
She couldn't do anything by herself.
She looked at me, gentle and forgiving.
I think it is, she replied
Wistful and Wise.
Daisy was vital to the story, you know.
And I believe that given the chance, she could have done anything that she wanted
*On her own.
"Sbagliando, si impara."
Clementine Eleos Jan 2017
life must decompose for flowers to grow

so did I

now I'm blooming
Just Melz Sep 2016
Polished and refined,
With death I have found
A life below ground
A place I can call mine
Destruction and evil deeds
A breeding of pure hate
Is all that I can create
Out of all these heartless seeds

I punch them in
To the deep sullen dirt
Water them with vengeance
And a sprinkling of hurt
Tonight is the night
I find what dwells below
I don't have a key
But I can bargain with my soul
As I place it into these seeds
I am but reeds in the grass
I'm letting go
Only Heaven knows
The blackness of Hell's wrath

I plant my lifeless soul in this plot
To groom it as it grows
So slowly that nobody knows
It's the place the devil goes to rot
Watered with tears, warmed with fire
And as time stands still, never changing
This fruition of evil continues growing
Until the depths of hell can go no higher

Then it will bloom
A flowering gloom
Growing out of control
The ground will harden
In this here garden
Fertilized by my soul
Joshua Brown Mar 2015
I got sick of shaving
Every day
So I started growing a beard
For a while, it was technically stubble
But now it would make William T. Riker proud
Or at least smile and nod in approval
At the effort
I bought a beard trimmer at Walgreens
And I trimmed that bitch
Made it nice and even
But it itches a lot
So I have to use dandruff shampoo on it when I can
I get compliments on it
From my mom and my brother
Whose beard should belong to a Canadian lumberjack
(Not my mom, my brother)



I love this beard
But I still get the urge to shave it completely
And return to baby-face
Sometimes in the heat of the moment
You need to be brave enough
Just thirty seconds of insane courage
Embarrassing bravery
I promise, you something great will come of it.

Wasn't  aware  of the Author  .
I changed it to make it my own ..
Matt Cardinal Aug 2013
We talk, often enough,
about not growing up
partially because we don't want to,
partially because we know we have to
and we're scared because we haven't.

We look at the kids
(if we can still call them kids)
a year, two years older than us
and say,
“fuck.”

And all I ever say is "fuck", really,
because I haven't grown up
and that's not a bad thing
if you don't mind reading
poetry by a sailor.

We get jobs,
and say we earn a living
finally,
but movies the odd time
and fast food some days
isn't exactly a life.

Our parents still have to
pick us up from parties
when we're drunk
(because adults do it)
and we feel older
because we can almost
(almost) handle the taste of alcohol.

We're in this phase
(phase is the adult word, see, progress)
where we give a fuck,
(I mean genuinely care)
about how adults look at us
but the important question is
why are they always looking at us?

Do they think they're looking in a mirror,
and all they can say is
“fuck”?
And all they can say is “fuck”, really,
because they wish they didn't grow up,
and how it's a bad thing,
because they know bigger
(more sophisticated) words,
yet they still talk like sailors;
but it's not  too bad a thing
because they have this word,
“phase”,
and they know it's just one of those,
whatever the fuck that means.
An 18 year-old's idea of trying to feel like an adult.
criediple May 2016
the tricky thing
about growing up
is it’s a choice

puberty happens
because of nature

adulthood is a conscious effort.
Nicole Normile Apr 2011
moving forward
pushing so hard
to be something more
moving forward so quickly
so far from being sickly
in the past
the horrid things that didn't last

moving forward
farther and farther
from being so unsure
catching truths
while still in my youth

moving forward
from crimes and lies
from superficial friendships that only die
being my own
learning to be independent
learning to be alone

moving forward
far from that dark need
of anyone other than me
K Balachandran Jul 2013
Phones, shapely, laughing beauties of yore,
once patiently rested in cradles , what elegance!
waiting for the prince to come, give a kiss
break the spell, remove the curse!
Gone are the days of pampered babies,
no cradles for phones anymore,
cell phones, the petite beauties we all care for now,
are born grown up.

The baby in the cradle now
sobs demanding the slimmest of cellphones,
once able to lay hands on it
the games continue till the eyes droop .
Cradles get vacant now too soon
the petite phone rings with out
any rest day and night.
Phones of new generation, need no cradles anymore,
and the touch screen babies of present  day too leave cradles soon.
ISABELLA M Jun 2014
This perfect little girl
seems like she's a storybook away,
and the image you wish to see
is drenched in black,
a shadow that won't reveal
the identity of its master.
This perfect little girl
used to hold your hand,
but is now letting go
to search for something greater
than protection -
she's searching for herself,
and this perfect little girl
you tried to create,
isn't who she's looking for.
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