"ostracized" poems
**It’s okay to say no. It’s okay to say no to someone you love. It’s okay to say no to a friend. It’s okay to say no to a parent or child. It’s okay to say no to a job or relationship.
*It’s okay to say no to ****** advances. And it’s okay to say no to a person who’s romantically interested in you. Even if it hurts someone’s feelings, even if you disappoint people, even if you’re judged and ostracized — it’s okay to say no to anything and anyone that causes you pain or makes you uncomfortable. You’re allowed to put yourself first. You’re allowed to set limits and boundaries.*
And you deserve to make your happiness and well being a priority. You don’t ever have to settle for something or someone that doesn’t feel right. And you definitely don’t have to compromise yourself for the sake of making other people happy. YOU HAVE TO TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF, AND IF THAT MEANS SAYING NO, IT'S MORE THAN OKAY.**
A quote by – Daniell Koepke
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 3:56 AM UTC
I tried, x
**
something I get a lot is, “you’re too young to be a feminist.”
too young to be a feminist for you’ve yet to witness a rhyme or reason to believe we lived in a patriarch-fueled
society where the erectile dysfunctions of men are paid for by health care but, God forbid a
woman seeks birth control to help herself
God forbid a woman does anything to help herself
a society where women are taught to be happy with what they can get
yet to be ashamed when they get it
a society where I grew up being taught not to trust a man for he’d hurt me but
taught to have the house clean and his dinner on the table when he got home
a society where a woman in a tank top and a pair of daisy dukes is a ***** who is asking for it”
when the same woman is what’s used to market the male population who are taught that this is the woman they deserve
a society where a woman is unworthy and ***** if she isn’t a ******
but a man is a man so long as he is “getting the hoes”
a society where women are taught to protect their innocence and their virtue
and the society where they are ostracized and ridiculed for not being ready
a society where consent is hopped, skipped, and jumped around and the so called “fact” issued by
Scott Johnson that says men can’t control their issues
a society where a woman’s womb is not her own whether she wants this baby or not
I was taught *** was shameful and wrong unless you were married
but please, give him a baby and keep him satisfied
we glorify teen pregnancies and ignore the accomplishments of women
if I’m too young to be a feminist,
then it’s quite **** sad I can point out what’s wrong in the world.
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 1:45 PM UTC
maybe the reason why I dislike Batman
and love the X-Men
is because Batman, gifted with money and power, chose his struggle
the X-Men were forced- they had mutanthood shoved upon them
and had to be crucifed as society pushed them away
hiding in fear and hatred of what they must face
the X-Men learn to adapt, they take what they have
and choose to be the better man, or the worse man,
but they take the fight that was given them
and the freakery that they were born with,
and they adapt.
Batman, however, was born normally,
did not have to run or hide, for he was privileged,
and he walked, walked straight into freakery
he took the burden others were throttled with
and laid it upon his own shoulders, crying 'woe is me'
whilst he went about the noble task of hero-dom
he made himself a fancy suit- he had been given
normalcy and he invented freakery in order to claim sacrifice
he did not need to give himself- he was an ordinary man
that laid down his life.
The reason why that bothers me so much
is that ordinary men do not need to lay down their lives
they are not called to that future
it is not in their cards
he claimed his heroic deeds and choose to throw himself into the
furnace flames- while others suffered unwillingly
he chose it
he took their pain and made it less
'see, I can do it! anyone can do it!'
what makes the X-Men special is that
their mutation isn't 'deal with pain of superheroism'
it's some other power, but they have to learn how to be ostracized
not anyone can do that- they had to
their survival depended on it
Batman walked into the struggle of their lives
and declared himself a hero
though, for some, the declaration
was not in their words or actions, it was written
into their DNA, it was marked in their skin
by the brands of their oppressors, it
was pounded into every heartbeat shocked with electricity
they fought and hid their heroism their whole lives
for they knew- it was not something to love,
it was something to suffer with-
and Batman took that, he took the heroism
and he projected it across the night sky,
declaring, "I am Batman",
and it is something he can escape from,
he can walk away, he can walk away, he can walk away,
and yes, he chooses not to,
but what he does is steal from those who cannot walk away
his heroism takes the nails in the hands of mutants and orphans
and masochistically drives them into his own palms
crying whilst doing it.
rather than being forced to adapt and look normal,
he puts on a suit and prances through the night dramatically
he takes everything sufferable about being a hero
and tosses it out the window-
he takes everything noble about being a hero
and growls it in a dramatic voice, posing, in his fancy suit,
when he could be safe at home. why would you choose this
why would anyone choose this
be thankful for your ability to be safe,
that is the real superpower- the ability
to be normal, to have a home to go back to, to
have a normal purpose and a normal life,
and Batman is completely, utterly, ungrateful-
he wishes there were more,
while those born with 'gifts' would be satisfied with even less.
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 7:23 PM UTC
For my wonderful sister.
These moments of togetherness,
That we share,
Will soon be lost,
Like time in our hands.
It’s sure to occur,
And bound to be gone.
And so, they become, memories of past.
Leaving us with a longing of remembering it,
Again and again,
Till last.
Some feelings are complex,
Can’t be understood by all,
Like our relation.
However at each other,
We might vex,
In the deep, deep bottom of heart,
We both have an ocean of love,
In camouflage of pond.
I never thanked you right in your face,
Faked an attitude of solace.
But you don’t know,
How much I cried,
After a fight,
When you said-
Our relation has died.
You would not talk to me,
I remember;
Much significantly.
It was always me,
Who broke the silence.
At times, I cursed my fate,
For me being younger,
“Why should I be the one to kneel down?”,
This is something,
I’ve asked myself,
Often.
In the moments of solitude,
When (I felt) I had been ostracized by peers,
You stood there by me.
We both have grown together,
Had fun, and laughed at one another.
Now it’s time to part our ways,
As you have to go the other.
Believe me; I too have always been by your side,
When you were scolded,
I had cried.
These years we’ve spent together,
Have sadly now,
Come to an end.
But you are, of my life,
An integral part.
I thank you from the fathom of my heart.
Let me unveil the truth today,
You are my best friend,
And will forever stay.
Just as we’ve been.
Come whatever may,
We were together.
Little did I know,
That someday, this will come to an end;
But I’ve these moments treasured,
Because some moments are meant to last;
Forever.
In memories,
To be cherished;
Forever.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 11:40 AM UTC
**Unprecedented poetry,
newfangled conception in
idiosyncratic transparency
perceived by the hierarchy
to be the garb of peons,
thine command accepts nothing
less than the likes of sonnets
penned deliberately archaic
in Old English tradition,
figurative language
of the huddled masses
is strictly forbidden,
contradicted,
ostracized,
anesthetized
and possible grounds
for poetic eradication**
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 8:06 AM UTC
Hello my name is Neroamee
Alucard if your nasty
and I'm a nerd,
I've gone through most of my life
socially awkward
Now you'd think at the age of 19
I would've gone out of my cocoon
and become a social butterfly
but I'm a walking Pariah
I'm not even close to fly
Just for liking manga and listening to music
that is older than me
I ended up ostracized
but I did gain friends
and we became like family.
So yes my Name is Neroamee
and yes I am awkward socially
I'll admit I'm sensitive, a nerd and don't fit into a culture homogenously
but I promise you this
you'll never encounter someone like me,
I guarantee you this
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 2:32 AM UTC
Told my feelings were fake
Laughed at for crying
Brutalized for refusing
Depicted as anomalous
This is my "home"
I exploded, caught a breath as I felt the silencing
Crossed volatile environments
Misunderstood ephemeral friends
Bullied, ostracized
Experienced injustice
This is school
I performed, in the illusion of shutting silencing
Living my curiosity
Knowledge is my strength
Reflexivity makes me grow
Embracing my difference
This is my refuge
I introspected, in the freedom of their paralyzed silencing
Meet mind-like people
Discovered my emotions
Explored my preferences
Dug my family history
This is my travel
I free-fell, as in my trust I hit structural silencing
Communicating humbly
Nourishing healthy relationships
Trusting my positions
Affirming my autonomy
This is my womanhood
Becoming a mother, I urge to gather the pieces for her freedom
Feb 19, 2019
Feb 19, 2019 at 6:13 PM UTC
a:\>_about_race_
oh, back in civil rights times
i would have been right
beside you fighting...
oh, what the hell you mean?
there-s no such thing as
racist police,
the conversation
should be about
black-on-black violence...
besides if he pulled up his pants
he wouldn-t have been profiled then
sure, mlk was killed in a suit,
but he was speakin' wild, man...
oh, and besides, i don-t see race,
i have colorblindness...
except if a poc gets a job over me,
then that-s the only
reason why they hired him...
why do we talk about racism,
it doesn-t exist, for
godssake can-t you see we have
a black president...
oh, please don-t play the race-card,
besides no one is more discriminated
against than we are...
oh, blacks shouldn-t say the n-word,
just cuz of how dreadful it sounds
oh, since we are best friends
can i say 'nigga' now, huh?
you won-t let me say it???
that-s discrimination! things are
different now, you are no longer
in enslavement...
catch up with this nation,
catch up with the times,
this isn-t about race,
why don-t you admit it?
just because i-m white doesn-t
mean i have privilege...
i mean open your eyelids,
i know blacks never got
indentured servitude
but for a second,
can we focus on the irish?
they suffered too, even if they
won-t subjected to
the same **** kidnapping,
mental breakdown to force subjugation,
and violence.
sure we always ostracized black people
but y-all put y-allselves on an island
y-all will get more respect if y-all just
stop embracing your race, your heritage
stop calling yourselves black
and african-american,
just call yourselves american
stop complaining,
and just be silent
i don-t like talking about race
so much controversy surrounds it...
you know the only way to stop
racism is just don-t talk about it.
j:\>_j_c_c_
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 6:56 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Smoke a blunt?
Somebody's gonna!
Though it ain’t
The same marijuana
That they smoked
Back in the day
So what’s inside it anyway?
Truthfully, it’s hard to say
It might be laced with
Fentanyl
Until you smoked it
How could you tell?
Ya see, it’s properties
Don’t ring a bell
So their affects
Could be hell
And now they rush
To legalize
For the dollars
I’d surmise
Whether, or not
That move is wise
See those who object
Are ostracized
Yet all the evidence
Isn’t in
And that alone
Speaks to the sin
The wise go slow
But fools rush in
So John Q Public
Takes it on the chin
Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2019. All rights reserved.
Feb 6, 2019
Feb 6, 2019 at 5:02 PM UTC
In the midst of sea, we scream
Where are humans?
Where are super humans?
None to respond to our desperate scream,
In the midst of a sea, we are
A deserted island
One that can most likely be submerged or
Reach shores unlikely
By the events, we remain helpless
Being human less and with inhumanness
We, at the brink of death & last inch of hope
Expect miracles and wonders
Nature fails us
Kills our expectations, fills more sorrow
Nature fills our body with
Slow approaching death,
We remain as a secluded mass of useless disposed waste,
On a world that has a place for all the flora & fauna
Modern nations-the epitomes of peace
Wash their hands away remain
A hopeless, useless, helpless puppet
Ostracized from our ancestral land
Vehemently opposed and reluctantly accepted
We remain a displaced alien
In their eyes.
There are nations,
But where are humans? Where are humans?
A hope puts us to survive,
Where we leave a message,
As we get back to the graves.
We send the waves of final message; we fall,
Not as a disposed waste,
But as a Phoenix that falls as a nutrition,
For the soil,
To revive an infinite and eternal humanity
That stands tall as an undestroyable banyan tree
Unshakable on any crises
For humanity, we give ourselves
As dare-doers and daring self-killers.
Let's harvest the human hearts
With the ever rising flames
And give back
Our future generations the homes.
We lost and dreams we wished
With a thin ray of distant hope,
We dream to give our future generations
A world that has no,
Hopelessness of being helpless.
We assert
We are helpless, but not hopeless
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 1:17 AM UTC
Do you ever feel like you just don't fit in
to all the cracks and cliques
that society puts you in.
Or do you ever slightly fear being fully yourself,
scared of the raised eyebrows and curious eyes
that
dig
dig
dig into your timid soul..
I try and solve this by putting up walls made of paper
that slowly turn to concrete, a roof, a cave, a den, a house,
away away on a hill side,
so that they can't get in or smell or see
the beast that they've made of me.
For they love to toss me two and fro
with words and chatter. *Vulchers * of
'Why do you look, talk, dress like that'
There mouths like open caves I can see there teeth,
rotten and decaying.
Graves stones.
I don't want to explain
I don't want to talk
I walk away alone
and peer through windows
watching them silently turn to stone,
mannequins of each other
letting my spirit grow.
-
To me it means sacrifice
to hide who I am
never
For I'll find people
who know and understand
what its like to be
ostracized
beaten,
battered,
and
killed over and over again,
all for just wanting to live,
for just wanting to be human.
People forget we are all human.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 7:01 PM UTC
Unfathomable to many
desires loneliness
and
solitude,
Explores realms of beauty,
Freedom
and
dreams,
She speaks of Desolation
Seeking journey of life
and
peace,
Mind jammed with uncertainity,
Ostracized by society,
All she seeks Desolation.
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 12:07 AM UTC
I could never love myself through the male gaze,
every part of me dissected into something that is nothing
objectified and dismembered into significantly insignificant categories
criticized, and ostracized from humanly functions
only to be put on display
as a mannequin.
Jul 9, 2022
Jul 9, 2022 at 2:21 AM UTC
the vastness of an empty soul
demystifies the Grand Canyon
and shrinks the universe
to microscopic molecules
barely able to manipulate energy
matter that doesn’t matter
madder than a hare in March
balance skewed
undue pressure
seasonal disfunction disorder
ordering medication
naturalization
seeking citizenship
in an isolation township
serving only self-pity
to the self-destructive –
squatting, gargoyle
surveyor on the job
soaking in the loathing
basking in the glow
caused by the discontent of others
opioid android locked in the void
unemployed
laughing at misery
in mercy centers
meticulously mimicking the miscreants
impersonating pain
seeking to blend –
ostracized miser in designer jeans
obscene in drag queen regalia
“whiskers from under his pancake make-up”
wake-up Godiva, locate the paraphernalia
mammalian musculature
hide the heart of a snake
as she slithers across the floor
searching for the perfect surfactant
….her scaly skin itches, uncomfortably
tearing my lip skin
in the din
of her poorly lit closet –
together in terror, the admission seems worth the cost
lost in the sweet melody
of sobbing children
and clattering dishes
shattered visions
misgivings
estrangement entangled with commitment
obligations
oblivion and orange peals
appealing to a higher power
unanswered questions hover inconsequential
adding to the ozone depletion
and altered climate
owning blame
for all the world and her problems
I sit with shoulders slumped –
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 12:23 PM UTC
Rainbow cascades down the clouds
In all its colorful splendor, only to
Ingress in a land listless and gray.
The people watch in horror as color
Invades them, the contrast, repulsive.
The children scream and run to their
Mothers, pointing at such anomaly.
“Don’t look, my dears. Such filth your
Eyes must not witness.” A curious
Bystander inspects the rainbow and as he
Lay his hands on it, color makes its way
Up his arm, flushing out the pale visage.
His hair the color of earth, hazel eyes, and
Garments, a fiery crimson and tint of
Sunrise. Pandemonium erupts as the
Man of color stands before the crowds.
“Mom, why does he have color?”
“Keep your distance, my dear, he might
be dangerous.” The man of color walks
Down the street as people scurry away
In fear. “You! Hands up!” Commands a
Squad of armed officers and they proceed
To arrest him. Cuffed, he is taken to the
Town jailhouse and studied by a team of
Physicians. “How do you feel, Sir?”
“ I feel happier than I ever felt in years.”
The man of color surmised he was free,
But little did he know he was imprisoned
By the town. Marked. Stigmatized. Reviled.
A freak who lost it all for showing his true
Colors. Ostracized and alone, why live?
But one fateful day, the man of color found
Purpose, and discovered an ability to infuse
Color on any object he chose. It didn’t take long
For his house to burst with vibrant blues, reds,
Greens, and yellows. He hurried outside to
Breathe resplendent hues onto pallid flowers,
And took a step back, glowing with pride.
Onwards he dashed to town to impart color
On the bleak streets and its ashen inhabitants.
“Hold it right there, freak!" Yelled someone from
Behind. "I saw what you did, and I can’t let you
Pass.” A shot was heard and a bullet pierced
Through his sanguine heart. Falling to his knees,
The man of color kissed the ground and
Declared, “May color come to those who love,”
And breathed his last.
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 5:48 PM UTC
Sombre loneliness in the abyss of power
Where selfishness begets solitude,
In which the powerful ones that be
Eminently hang alone self-ostracized
In a high catacomb of democracy
From which is connived the foul whims
Of dictatorship, the sole protégé
Of deliberate exclusion, rendering mankind
To beautiful menace of powerlessness
A pedestal on which civilsations of Africa
Substantially dangle in a stand.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 4:22 AM UTC
Bees nest chucked into a limousine
OCD's introduced to the filth and strobe lighting
I used to be a good kid.
But the suburbs got me.
Stripped away my hope, my individuality
crammed me into a high school
with 45 blacks,
20 Asians
and only about... 3,000 white run-of-the-mill
Shaler-Bubble kids
(All of whom thought, by the way, that being Catholic
was exotic) ,
and made to eat the **** of nothing to do.
It came out in nightmares
their bad behavior
that I stood for
touched and beaten by boys
I bared it
ostracized and devoured
last year I came into my stride
but do you have PTSD?
Can you look into the eyes of another man
without wondering how to **** him?
Do you want to hurt the people you love
because you fear,
no, you know,
they will **** you?
A whirl wind of insanity.
What was precarious
was pushed.
No ma'am,
the suburbs got me,
and I'm a burn out by the road
fingers dripping with paint and my own blood
and smudged with ink
I'll drink in your pity
whiskey on my mind
thank you
pass another flask of it
no drug makes me feel alive quite like asprin
maybe love, I guess
don't know how I got that, ma'am
the suburbs got me
maybe I can get out.
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 9:30 PM UTC
#21 | 31 Poems for August
Write to write, write to save your life.
The loved ones who’ve passed on, who’ll tell their story but you?
I’ve felt the sincerity of your words from Ostracized to August Blue.
Write to save your sanity, write for the sake of clarity.
Write until there’s nothing left for you to write.
Write away all the burdens of an untold story.
Write the world into a new existence whether it’s grimy or gory.
Write apologies in the form of love letters for all the times you couldn’t say sorry.
People should often see your pen in motion, you write your poems differently.
You pour your heart and soul into all these words and you bleed so effortlessly.
Many people still haven’t realized that you’re not always this quiet.
I’m intrigued by how your mind is as loud and busy as a protest march or riot.
It’s fascinating how you effortlessly create poetry out of silence.
You are so incredibly good with words, people still wonder what your hands can do.
Write to save your sanity, write for the sake of clarity.
Write to write, write to save your life.
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 12:11 PM UTC
I.
My parents don't drink.
They have their masters.
They both have jobs so that I don't have to.
They raised me the Christian way.
We eat as a family every night.
We live in a neighborhood where violence is ostracized.
To my friends, my house is the place for comfort.
They tell me not to take it for granted
just because I'm used to it.
So I took a walk through my house,
making sure not to take my life for granted.
Through the kitchen,
I remember the unrelenting fist curled around my wrist,
the ice blue eyes that I used to see as gray,
the tight lips and the seething words.
I shake my hand as I remember the bloodlessness,
the purple swelling as eyes welled with tears,
the way I raced out only to find that I could not open the door to escape,
with one hand broken and the other unable to curl around the ****
Down the hallway,
I reach up to massage my neck,
for the memory of choked tears
never leaves;
the sudden unforgiving fist
the strength with which a five-year-old could not compete.
My body swings from the neck down,
and the fist released as the arm powered me onto the floor of my room.
II.
I catch my foot on the dining room chair I used to hold in front of myself,
growing up a fighter.
When I learned to defend myself with the strength of age and experience,
the strangling fist became biting words.
When I gave up the religion under which I was raised,
I was told that I must not love that fist or those words,
that I took my life for granted.
I was told that I was the key to our family's unity.
I was told to grow up.
I don't drink.
I get good grades.
I find money for college so they don't have to.
I believe in loving everyone like Jesus did.
I make dinner when they don't have time.
I never bring home fighting friends.
To my friends, I make my parents proud.
They ask me how we have such a good relationship,
they ooh and aah at our affection.
But you don't love me.
I am your failure.
I am your tax break.
I grew up a fighter,
and you gave up.
III.
I used to fight for you,
but they say indifference is worse than anger for a reason.
My mother used to wonder,
where did these bruises come from?
I always shrugged,
telling myself,
I'll deal with this alone.
I'll get a reaction somewhere else.
And that fist, those words,
became teenage promiscuity.
The sweet, unmerciful clutch,
the never ending cycle of discontent,
miscommunication and misunderstanding
and the familiar feeling of not being able to escape.
And every time,
as feelings of decreased personal value were overwhelmed by temporary pleasure,
I sunk deeper into that comfort.
You don't love me.
And I don't want you to.
Oct 29, 2011
Oct 29, 2011 at 5:53 PM UTC
Speak with passion, never live a life of God with any fear
14 years is a fortnight of tears,
I go to sleep, just to see if your image still appears
My disassociation of my peers
Changed my way, but got stuck in my gears
If the ending is near, I die with no fears
The pain inside is a guiding light
I grip to every secret insecurities with all my might
Just to be judged by man that I'm not living right
My critics are angels in the light but devils in the musk of the night
I believe true vision doesn't come from just from our eyesight
I just love the thought of living more than if I'm going to die tonight
A man dies inside if he has no work, you can cut down the tree, but the roots are still in the dirt
Although, my father, your body rest easy in the midst of this earth
My success is only the trickle from the top of the product of your work.
Never see a limitation, only imagine the celebration
Conscience *********** of the mind of a people who were ostracized by our own nation
Memories of our time, often leaves my young mind so vacant
So I get on my knees, and thank God that you made him
I didn't know back then how precious is each day
From a sharecropper to a degree to from Penn State, life is only a code if you know how to crack safes.
One life you get, I promise I'll never waste it
Your no longer here, but thank you God that you made him.
Rest in peace, Mason Land Sr. The greatest grandfather a man could ever pray for.
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 1:19 PM UTC
My love for you is a different kind,
less explosive and hardened;
no longer plagued by ecstasy.
No romance, roses, or advances.
My love for you is a different kind,
not light-hearted, friendly, or smooth,
lacking tact, natural, or loose.
Not friendship, laughter, and chances.
My love for you is a different kind,
ostracized in form, yet firm, careful,
restless, persistant, and withdrawn.
Not lost, forgotten, or resentful.
My love for you is a different kind,
now,
and I don't know what to do.
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 2:03 AM UTC
#2 | 31 Poems for August
Lately I’ve come to realise that I’m scared of what the future holds.
Lost touch with reality, I’m losing most of my control.
I know I don’t show but I have a fear of being ostracized.
I haven’t seen you in quite a while.
Everything has changed, you can see it in my eyes.
I’m lost and I can’t seem to find you.
I’ve tried being patient but I’m gradually losing time.
On some days it feels like I’m losing my mind.
I’ve been broken, battered and betrayed.
I’ve been booed off stage in a city far from home.
The truth is, I wish I still had an audience I could recite these words to.
Sometimes, sometimes, sometimes I get caught up in my own world too.
There are millions of questions I can’t find the courage to ask.
But even if I did, I probably wouldn’t get all the answers.
I probably wouldn’t be able to fully accept the truth.
There are millions of questions I can’t seem to find the answers to.
I’m not afraid of the dark, I’ve seen the light a million times before.
A million times before I’ve been trapped in this detrimental allure.
My love will never die even when it’s ostracized.
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 3:18 PM UTC
I sometimes wield the pen in spite
Of why I am convinced I write
The poetic words that I spill
Spill like a glass of water
That’s been stirred to overflow
By my feelings and thoughts or so
I have gotten to know
The will of the flow
The direction that it wants to go
That’s what po-
etry is all about, no?
Because poem starts
with a P for personal
Not popular
Or populous
Not for the people who prefer prying
Pickpocketing or playful plying
In the placid plains inside
It’s for the persons who pray
To the poet’s plight
To go out on an odyssey,
with an O, the second letter
Not omniscient
Or omnipotent
For oscillating with your own
Is only for ones once overthrown
By an onslaught of hydrogen per-oxide
Those ostracized and odd
Off, yet open to the outside
E is the third letter
And it stands for emotional
Or extorted
until emptiness
Extended
after the excavation had ended
and emotion was evacuated ere
The embodiment of ecstasy
Had been enterred here
Lastly M stands for me!
Me, myself and I!
Not the masses who maim
My mind and meticulously aim
For the mark on my midbrain
Just the men and wo-men who make do
With musing about the mechanisms of
Mother Earth and her miracles too
Poetry is a gift
Out with it to be at ease
Especially for yourself
May it help you find peace
Aug 4, 2017
Aug 4, 2017 at 6:54 PM UTC
She wrote love on a screen,
copied and pasted Death Cab
lyrics most sincerely.
But sincerity in high school
leaves few friends.
It is ostracized
like curly hair
and blemished faces.
So she followed her
forgotten heart into the dark.
Obit quotes of friends and family
vacant of responsibility.
Everyone blind-sighted,
to the scholar they wanted to see,
leaving her final breath
warrantless,
as if advanced Chemistry
excused her from Depression.
No one payed attention.
Her suicide was a crime of pain.
Her favorite song was the beauty of Death
And with her friends gone,
family busy,
and identity lost,
her soul embarked
on finding light in the dark.
Allyson,
you found it,
suffocating your isolation
to cardiac arrest,
so I didn't have to
a year later,
crumbling next to a stuck window screen,
next to a world that
didn't love me,
rationalizing two stories
wouldn't **** me,
crying in the flashlight
of remains below
I feared being.
Sleep peacefully,
Allyson Rose Green,
because your soul
is forever breathing in that song,
at least, for me.
And eight years from your death,
hearing it again,
I wish we could have been friends.
Maybe then, high school,
you could have survived.
And I could have lived it
with at least one lonely friend.
I barely scraped by.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 2:45 PM UTC