Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Madison Sep 2018
The moths followed the little square
Like he was a flame
The little square wrote a book about his despair
And the moths made a proclaim

The little square didn't like us
So he told the moths to find us, "the mess"
He told them to do it without fuss
'Cause without us his garden would be flawless

The moths came out to his garden
They found me and my kind
And pulled us out with a gun
Treating us like we aren't apart of mankind

We were put on trial by them
And thrown into fire
We were shoved into a room by 'em
And gassed because it was "prior"

Occasionally the moths were bored
So they played hangman with us
This was a game that they adored
All we could do was stare at the hanging carcass

They were our friends and family
They were the only medals we had left
We were too broken to be angry
So we ignored the theft

When the moths got rid of us
They went for the most damaged weeds
That often made us anxious
Because of it some did misdeeds

Some couldn't deal with the pain and fear
So those weeds jumped to the birds
On the floor they left a smear
The smears thought jumping would send them homewards

Though we saw death so many times a day
We were still able to eat and treat people with hate
It was because from our god we have gone astray
Maybe because we were all under weight

In our stomachs prowled lions
Our hunger was so severe
If we found stray scraps we would go for the ****
If you went for the food you were a volunteer

One time we ran out of food
So we complained even more
The moths got tired of our complaining mood
So we ran to a new camp door

We were often moved
We went from camp to camp
Of course we all disapproved
On the house that was based by our stamp

On each of our wrist
Was and inky black stamp
It was on the moths checklist
It was our name in each concentration camp

When we were saved from hell
We were all broken weeds
We couldn't even sleep well
But the ones that saved us answered our needs

The ones that saved us helped end the war
And some were normal citizens
Everyday we are grateful for their loving core
Even if we had great differences

Though the Holocaust made us different
And the memories haunt us
It was kind of a movement
Because now people won't walk into war without a fuss
This poem is dedicated to the Jews that suffered from the holocaust
ogdiddynash Jul 2018
helping the kids with homework


no one told you,
was part of the job description
paycheck earner a-ok,
gruff but tender lover,
knowing her special places,
building a tree swing,
a tree house safe and satisfactory,
one the neighbors envy

taking them to the hospital for
broken arms and chemotherapy,
part two of the non-routine but a very possible foreseeable,
going to school to give that principal a look
that will make him think twice before suspending
one of his for defending himself

you remember your daddy doing the same for you,
forgetting to repeat the tar and hiding that came later

the tucking in, the pretense ouch
when your end of day
scratchy beard ruffling the skin of babies,
carrying tissues in a toolbox,
never heard of, nevertheless done,
tho not a memory defining the future inclusive,
definitely a learning ability, a likeability

doing homework, nuh uh,
no way jose, don’t dare let them
know how you never got a gold star,
always sat in the back row, outta sight,
all day dreaming, chemistry rhymes with mystery,
and poetry is rhymes needing a big vocabulary
which means lots of words for a man who don’t talk much

ain’t exactly his strong suit

sure, heard of Shakespeare but never met him,
know where the on/off computer button hides,
the rest is up to them;
got no email address, but taught them sir and ma’am,
how to address humans with respect,

i’ll promise them anything
but not doing any homework,
unless it the kind that that makes

a home work
#homework
Serendipity Feb 12
Homework is inspiration,
written in secretly,
between the lines of due dates,
and boredom.

Listening to music,
whilst studying a sad song,
is my favorite pastime.

Melodies written in poetic prose,
I find them stashed between notecards
of memories I haven't organized.

A folder filled with expressive mathematics,
hides the secret of
a hidden prompt.


And somewhere along those empty desks,
and tattered mess,




I find myself, haunting the hallways of the hollows in my mind...

































once more.



Truly, boredom is the true inspiration, for without it, we would not be motivated to find one.
rebecca Sep 2018
YouTube videos replace my creepy, old, Chemistry teacher.
I can't keep up in French, and don't ask if I can understand: I can't.
AP World History might put me to sleep in a coffin with all this stress.
I'm much too anxious to be my old, creative self for English class.
Who would have guessed that I look forward to Algebra II,
where things are somehow simple--
where black and white puzzles can be actually be solved.
I'm so stressed I can't do anything to stop being like this
I should be studying.,
I should be reading,
but here I am about to have a mental breakdown
because I'm so **** stressed!
I'm exhausted because I stay up too late,
due to the fact that I'm literally drowning in a sea of papers and books.
I just want to sleep,
but I can't,
I'm too busy worrying about my next exam.
Sorry, but I really needed to write something. I know it's bad, but I am too tired to care, so enjoy.
Salmabanu Hatim Aug 2018
Excuses,excuses,excuses,
I am tired of you lazies,
For once why don't you handover your homework on time,
Thus, make my life devine.
Don't tell me your little sibling tore your homework,
Or you were absent, such bad luck,
Your grandmother spilled tea on your maths sheet,
Here, to give you is not fit.
I am tired of your lame pretexts,
Finish at break,I will be less vexed
What!You  finished your homework and you left it at home,
Well, call your mum to bring it when she comes,
I didn't understand the topic, can you please explain,
What were you doing when I went over it again and again?
I started to do my homework when the lights went off,Sir,
Most homes now have inverters
or generators.
I know you find the tasks I give you a bore,
Do you think marking them at home I adore?
So, please help me not to spoil your break or give you detention.
Do your homework on time and with great attention.
Madison Sep 2018
I worked so hard, not even drawn
Now all my work is far gone
It was beautiful like a butterfly
It just melted so bye bye
The fly I carved of butter is now gone
The Nazis took our electricity now everything is gone
Without the cold it melted away
Now my tools will just decay
A storm is brewing, we need more help
The Nazis make me want to yelp
The poem my bff wrote. What the poem is about is very sad, but for some odd reason I laugh when I read it. He even drew a little sad face of the back of the paper that the poem was on
silentwoods Aug 2018
Two years into adulting.
It’s possible, who knew?
I look the same as yesterday
But today I’m twenty two!

Dentist trips still freak me out,
Sometimes I burn an egg.
My blanket covers both my feet,
So monsters won’t grab my leg.

I don’t go out on Friday night,
My ankles feel the weather.
And when I help the kids with homework,
We both learn math together.

Sometimes I’ll burst out crying
For no reason at all.
I know the words to one rap song,
And still prefer guys tall.

My puns are all intended,
There is a spoon I hate,
I’ll never mix my whites and brights,
I can’t stay up too late.

My life has been a wild ride
But I’m thankful for each day.
One day I hope to be mature,
One day... but not today.
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
Em Dy Jan 27
what my forays into online dating offered me that wasn’t s*x; european coffee beans, a film camera from the 70s, a workshop on ceramics, chicken parmagiana, bottles of blueberry lemonade, thai food that isn’t spicy, help with calculus homework, notes on gen chem, all the Star Wars movies, a book about magic: the gathering, a ride to an nba game, museum visits, nature walks, impulsive road trips, stories about their exes, silly anecdotes, photos of their pets, quality memes, awkward hugs that felt good.

such small intimacies, never blossoming into something bigger yet still imbued with meaning..

filled with what-ifs, if-onlys, and almosts.
haley Oct 2017
The trail of a wedding dress
The flower girl holds with tiny fingers
Clutches

We too hold the endless stain of blood
On white t-shirts
On nights that scatter blue trees over black heart
Alight by shooting stars
The mother tells her child
Unwilling to unlock the truth

The truth
The truth those stars
Don't grant your wishes
They grab them
With scarred scratching hands.
Alight,

The damp stitches in the soil
Cemetery symmetrical to hospital
Those shooting stars circling
Like a vulture
Speeds towards dead carcasses
Still, the murdering star will not cease

To break bones
That have already broken
To take lives
That have already been taken
To burn
What is already charred

Today
It smells like not your favorite food for dinner
It smells like having to do your math homework
It smells like burning books
It smells like gnawing on your own skin for feast
It sounds like tired, howling machines
Spurring and sputtering, never-ending their onwards trek

Swallowing distances and with it, nameless faces
Nameless places
For nothing has gone without the occulent scratching hands taking hold

Today the earthquakes of death
Don't make the land shake anymore
For it has learned to cope
With the desolate cemeteries filled with mute bones

Today burns like gasoline
Looks like intestines decorating destroyed doors
Today it rains curdled crimson

Tell me shooting star
If the child liked  jam on his toast
Did he snore?
Did he like math? Or english?
Shooting star doesn't know and neither the bombs.

As bodies fall from trees
like rotten plums.

The world was born in blood
And has not ceased to suckle its wounds
Endless blood thirst, Endless war
But not endless skin to bleed
laura Oct 2017
three's up
i'm throwing my life away
throwing my three's up

three **** summers in a row
three nights in the slammer
three days getting drunk

been thinking about all my exes a lot
been thinking about you a lot
and how we'd spend the night doing homework

and then sleeping together
used to get me chicken nuggets afterwards
and now you know what goes on in my brain
***, programming and chicken nuggets
from mcdonalds
haha
Tim Benjamin Apr 2014
To the girl sitting next to me in summer school
I want to tell you that you look beautiful,
Beautiful like in the way the summer sun bends around the north pole because it refuses to set its constant and lasting
Just like the way my heart jumped the moment i saw you for the first time and it has refused to come down
Everytime since, when i see you, although i have never been much of a dreamer, i daydream about all the things i want to do to you like...
Make you smile... or blush
So that my daydreams will have the perfect backdrop of love to memorize your every freckle, and then i want to drink the smile i put on your face beause i know it is the only thing that can quench my thirst
I want to tell you that I want to learn ballet, just so i can catch you everytime you jump and make sure that ill never let you fall... unless it's for me...
I want to learn to draw
Because I want to draw my way into your life, van gogh my way into your past present and future, i want to spend my whole life with you, and on your dying day i want to roundhouse kick death for even thinking of taking you away from me
But most of all i want to make you... happy
Happy in a way that is unexplainable
Like why do birds suddenly appear everytime you are near
It would be to easy to say that just like me they long to be close to you
And i want it to be unexpected like when you fall asleep after a long day
Slowely at first and then it engulfs you completely
I want to tell you that I want you to be able to feel the sunlights warm caress even on the darkest of days
And on days when you can't see the stars in the night sky
I will cut stars out of my paper heart
Even though they always seem to rip when held in hands that aren't careful enough
and then I want to hang them from your ceiling
So you will always have something beautiful to look at
And if you would just notice me I promise that I can love you like that...
But instead when I finally noticed that you caught me staring at you about 15 minutes ago... I opened my mouth and instead of all the soliloquies that dance through my head whenever you saunter into a room all that came out was hi...... did you do the homework?
I think it was a good start.
Nomkhumbulwa Jan 7
I am sorry mum
for everything,
For who I am,
For what i've done.

I am sorry mum,
For everything,
For what im not,
What I havent done.

I am sorry mum,
For staying away,
For being with friends,
For being far away.

I am sorry mum,
That I am ****,
For what I wear,
For the state of my hair.

I am sorry mum,
That my opinions are wrong,
That I spoke without asking,
For the things that I know.

I am sorry mum,
That you think I dont care,
That I have upset the family,
That they never wanted me there.

I am sorry mum,
That you couldnt love me,
That I wasnt normal,
That other people like me.

I am sorry mum,
That I have expressed things,
That I have dropped things,
Caused a mess in your home.

I am sorry mum
That I wanted to study,
That I liked being outside,
And that I looked untidy.

I am sorry mum,
That Im an embarrassment,
Have caused so much shame,
And that I cause you pain.

I am sorry mum,
That im always a disappointment,
Showed you my photos of Africa,
I know now that I shouldnt.

I am sorry mum,
That I didnt have the right friends,
That I didnt wear enough make-up,
That I read about Science, not fame.

I am sorry mum,
For being vegetarian,
For picking out bits of meat,
In front of everyone.

I am sorry mum,
For when I didnt know what i'd done,
And you had to stand on my foot,
Or pinch me ******* my arm.

I am sorry mum,
For going walking,
For not doing house work instead,
Or finding something else to be done.

I am sorry mum,
For my work with charities,
For my love for Africa,
For feeling there so free.

I am sorry mum,
For having weird phobias,
And letting you down,
By mentioning it to others.

I am sorry mum,
That I struggle with Maths,
For being dyscalculaic,
I know this is bad.

I am sorry mum
For causing you sickness,
And for not being there,
I know it looks like I dont care.

I am sorry mum
For upsetting others,
Being the cause of all problems,
And hurting my brother.

I am sorry mum,
For my choice of work,
For the places i've been to,
For not always putting you first.

I am sorry mum,
That I made you so angry,
You had to hit me in the face,
And I made you go to bed unhappy.

I am sorry mum,
That I was quiet in school,
That Claire was my best friend,
That we were both quiet in school.

I am sorry mum,
That I chose Scotland,
For moving far away,
It cannot be forgiven.

I am sorry mum,
For my musical instruments,
I know I dont play them well,
That I gave you a headache instead.

I am sorry mum,
That I played the violin,
At my brothers wedding,
For you- ruining everything.

I am sorry mum,
That i;ve never been good enough,
That I always let you down,
I am just never good enough.

I am sorry mum,
For speaking about family,
For letting you down again,
And the family.

I am sorry mum
That I struggled so much,
You had to put chilli in my mouth,
As I couldnt do my homework.

I am sorry mum,
That I went "home"
That I let the **** happen,
That I spoiled your "name".

I am sorry mum,
That I do not love you,
I have cursed myself and tried,
But I cannot love you.

But I still hear your voice,
And it tortures me still,
And the thought of your anger,
Still gives me chills.

I am so sorry mum,
That I am a failure,
But I am no longer "Emma"...
...I am "Nomkhumbulwa"....
Back to the depressing style sorry :(  This could have been much longer, but think ive bored people enough.  If you can understand it, then thanks.
ronnie hunt Jan 24
I'm 12 and I've been reading for 352 days straight and I have no interest in the people around me and why should I?
I'm 14 in this one and my sheets have polka dots on them and my pillow is Avril Lavigne's face and I'm thinking about the girl at school with pink hair and slow penmanship.
When I'm 16 you are 15 and holding my hand and I'm asking about french homework and trying not to focus on the movement of your thumb around mine which is not friendship.
This time I'm 21 and your thick bones outline my thin and I like this small feeling.
I spent a lot of time growing up wondering about my ****** orientation and struggling to find a box I could fit and move and wiggle in at the same time as being terrified of other people and completely fascinated at the thought of not being.
Nat Lipstadt Mar 2015
(I love) Dignity

tearing words apart,
a part
of  a joy I cannot
explain or share exactly


knew a man once,
forty two years gone,
died too soon enough,
soon enough,
he and I will be
the same age

this man
a duck out of water,
a stranger in an adopted land,
trouble-stooped, a hard life, well lived,
never bent,
dignified in every step

I cannot remember him
ever kissing me, tousling my hair,
holding my hand, loving me in
a manner I wanted beyond  desperately

yet here I am, 5:22 am
weeping tears recalling him
in glimpses long ago seen,
adding them all up to get a
single sum

Dignity.

tearing words apart,
a part
of a joy I cannot/explain,
share precisely


dig
in
to
my
chambered memory storage units,
unlocking those rusted locks with freshly oiled
tears
and loving the dignity he exampled

to the son he could not kiss, hand hold,
but taught him the one lesson, digging deep
to respect life and stand apart,
stand with dignity.

all else will follow

the son kissed his children plenty,
in a vain attempt to make up his missed
homework

now the grandfather,
now the grandfather
is still kissing
his last hope, his newest babes,
rolling on the floor,
so silly kissing belly buttons,
smelling their skin repeatedly,

in a manner most
undignified

still weeping
the son,
he tries to sort it out

and forgives and does not forget
the man that taught dignity
in everything,
even, especially,
in slow dying,

forty two years is a long time to wait
to weep.

it takes two hands in the dark
repeatedly
to collect all the waiting patiently
wetness and the
accompanied sniffles,
so undignified,
the son smiles at himself
declaring unabashedly,
digging out from himself
a poem, a self-reflection
on time tarnished reflections
clear enough to make him
sob,
believing

I love dignity.
for my father...
Skyla Dec 2018
I’ll put the fork in my eye, and the knife in my heart.
Not the best beginning to a meal, but it’s a start.

Cut the food into tiny pieces.
Nibble on the smallest morsel you can find.
Oh no! Too much! Press pause, and rewind.

Do the only thing you know how to do:
Shrink shrink shrink your food.
Cut it all up until the pieces are so small, you’d need a microscope to see them.
This may take hours.  But at least it will last for the entirety of dinner.

Dinner conversation, make the first initiation.
“How was your day?”  and
“What did you do?”
Whistle for the dog, and “oh no! I dropped my food!”

“School was quite interesting, and my day was great”
You smile as you quietly scrape the demons off your plate
Your hands almost pick up the bread, with a tug and a pull
“I’m buried in homework, thank you mommy, I’m full”

Those lies will send you straight to Hell,
You’re rotten with sin.
But a girl’s gotta do anything to stay thin.
Finally, another night, and another win.

An angel’s gotta do a devil’s work to stay looking like an angel, outside and within
Emily Jan 2016
The girl who would rather spend her Friday night at home organizing her room than at the parties.
The girl who would rather curl up and read at lunch than sit and socialize over talk of nothing but "people".
The girl who would rather drown out the world with music than sit in class and be involved.
The girl who would rather work alone and finish her homework in class, than sit in the big social groups making weekend plans.
The girl who would rather be independent and be judged as a loner than be friends with people who will secretly judge you.
The girl who would rather collect books and records than makeup.
The girl who would rather study astrology than watch every show on Netflix.
The girl who would rather thrift shop and buy $3.99 boots than buy top of the line $80 boots.
The girl who realizes that all of this does not make her any better than them.
The girl that realizes she is only trying to impress herself; confidence is key.
L B Oct 2016
I let you go
to Philadelphia
I let you go
thirteen goin' on “life”
to your momma-- (God rest her-- and keep you
--from wherever she is)
to your father in Philly
outa the picture

Sheepish in the doorway of my classroom
back again
one last time--

Say good-bye, kid, to your short stay in Scranton
a town that can't rhyme
whose name falls over its own misery
No use for outsiders

“Where's your book?
Found your binder in the rain
Soggy protest to school's demands?
Of course it's yours
I checked, ya know”

"No way!"

Desk's been empty, three weeks now
Still, gotta ask
“Whacha doin?
Where ya been?”

“Khmir,
I'm sorry for your loss....”
Thirty seconds shares our grief
Thirty seconds for your future's-- all I got

“Listen to your teachers!
Do your work!
Please-- be okay?”

Khmir
in your wooly black coat-- like a bear
like a dare
shruggin and dancin in the doorway
of the “show”

Homework? Aint happenin'
But one paper, though
on why--
YOU-- should be president

and I almost vote for you
"Life" refers to a long prison sentence.

This poem is meant to be an indictment of the American
"prisons for profit" system that disproportionately targets African-American males.
Daniel Y Oct 2018
As I sit at the table
Seemingly unable

To figure out this math
As I make myself a path

In this work-intensive
Price expensive

World.
Cece Sep 2018
nothing like going back
to the golden days
when getting up 20 minutes earlier
was a fun thing
to put on a bit of mascara
and lipgloss;
the blush was natural.
now 20 minutes of sleep
seems like a treasure,
worth everything
and never to be given up.
back when laughter was sunflower yellow,
music was neon blue,
and friends were a sweet purple,
their smiles like lavender
addicting and easy to find.
nothing like going back
to the golden days
when choosing the font for a paper
was an hour long experience;
the funnest part of writing anything.
now no writing matters
to anyone
unless it's 12pt font,
Times New Roman,
double spaced,
and with a heading in the top left corner.
back when school was light,
homework was a breeze,
and the only thunderstorms
were those that involved
coffee shops, window seats,
and copious amounts of hot chocolate.
nothing like going back
to the golden days
filled with warmth
and honey
and a whole lot of butterflies.
joe thorpe Aug 2017
the people vs. my every waking moment
                         me, for every heart I've stolen
                         the lost light given to homework
                         an idea embedded that our souls are
                         search machine engines
                         are we waking, are you my dreams

the people vs. contemporary art of all periods
                         angrier and more painful hearts
                         suicide as a solution
                         recycling factitious pollution
                         no one says a thing about ideas repurposed

the people vs. intelligence
                         truth
                         passion
                         anything other than money as a practice
i keep procrastinating
and i know i'll be crying later
in my bed
with the tears slipping off
my cheek

into my pillow
where they will eventually dry

but i will go in to rush mode
and get it all done
not learning my lesson
and i'll be back in this same position
next week

i'm so done
i swear to god i have lost my mind
harlee kae Nov 2014
what ******  me off is that my sister says "i want you to marry him" everyday. okay, i understand he's a nice guy. but i don't love him.
the one time i was in love NO ONE gave a ****. and you want to know why? because i was in love with a girl.
no one said ya'll are so cute together. no one said i want ya'll to get married.
well let me tell you something; people that don't support same *** relationships. you are ignorant.
the love is there. the feelings are there!
why does it bother you.
also, *** DOES NOT equal stupid.
the words aren't synonymous.
"this homework is ***"
"that picture is ***"
"your haircut is ***"
no
no
and no
to the people that use the word *** as a descriptive noun, you are also ignorant.
okay, i'm good for now.
Next page