Autumn Whipple Jan 2015
sometimes I think
that I really need makeup
to hide me from myself
when I look in the mirror
all I see is my bad
personality
brought to life
small eyes, full of lies
full lips, I'm a bitch
my mother likes to say that
I don't need makeup, that I have a nice face
but that doesn't explain away
the facts
because girls snicker at me,
boys call me crazy behind my back,
that my father calls me fat
because "he loves me
and
is
trying
to
help"
so maybe the one, two, three layers of slick and color and shine
will bar the anger and wrongness
and lack of reason or rhyme.
maybe one day i'll have the courage to wash all the makeup
away.
maybe one day
Jayce Childress Mar 2015
Why can't my parents understand why I want to wear a button up and pants not a dress?
"Kylie just wear the dress"
No I'm not Kylie and I'm not wearing a fucking dress.
I'm not wearing something I don't feel comfortable in.
Sorry if really bad I made the poem because my parents made me angry about the dance my school is hoisting
louis rams Oct 2014
He was not one of wealth and fame
And no one even knew his name.
He was just known as dad, the only father they ever had.
He worked long hours for very little pay
Yet their clothes were clean every day.
He never lost hope, yet he learned to cope.
He worked at night so he could stay with his children during the day.
He would give them breakfast then take them to school
So that they could learn the golden rules.
His routine was always the same- it would hardly ever change.
Clean the house, take a nap, and for the children prepare a snack.
Then start to prepare for dinner, which wasn’t always a winner.
Yet they ate healthy and never went without
Of that there is no doubt.
In the afternoon pick up the kids and bring them home
During the day they were never alone.
They would change their clothes then have a snack
While he took another nap.
They did their homework when he slept
In the softness of his bed.
He would then wake up and dinner he would serve
And not a complaint was ever heard
They would say grace and he would ask:” how was your day?”
Wash the dishes and put them away.
They could watch TV. until it was nine
Take their showers and then bedtime.
This was the life of a single DAD
, and it was the best part of his life he ever had.
                      CHILDREN ARE A BLESSING!
Jaycee Nov 2014
Tears,
Shatter.
The floor,
Cracks.

Against the splashes,
You hear them splat.
Your heart beats furiously.
The girls heart breaks.

She falls.
Eyes shut.
The hits,
Leave cuts.
Her smile,
Vanished.

Against her own will,
She lashes.
Screaming,
"Mother, no!"
Bob Sterry Aug 2014
I got this body from some people I knew,
For a while, at least,
And all of its shortcomings
Including shortness
Were presaged, previewed and
More than adequately demonstrated
Over the years we lived together.
In the years I ignored that, listening
Rather to their voices
Which illustrated another prophesy less physical
And am now stunned to welcome
Both my Mother and Father
In the shaving mirror everyday.
How far from the tree can an acorn really drop?
kg Oct 2014
for seven years i believed that i had no right to say
that i had been abused because it wasn't physical,
like my friend who was beat by her drunk father on
a daily basis.

my abuse was only on an emotional, psychological scale
and while sometimes his hand slipped or gripped too tight on me,
i honestly wouldn't count it as abuse.

recently i began reading into this and while it's not
as talked about as physical or sexual abuse it still counts
and it carries over as children grow up from these experiences.

even experiences that i didn't think counted as emotional abuse,
from times when i was far younger than just a teenager.

the abuse i've dealt with hasn't made me any stronger than i was,
it's made me the exact opposite;
instead of being the person i was before, bright and optimistic,
i'm apologizing constantly for things i don't need to and
second guessing myself and others intentions.

constantly i wonder if i'm bothering someone,
am i being too much of myself? am i allowed to speak?
does my opinion matter? is it all right to assert myself?

after being told for three years that i don't matter,
and there is no point of me for existing and that
it's no wonder i don't have any friends,
i'm trying to break myself out of the box i've placed myself in
and it's so damn hard.
Maisha Aug 2014
The day after I got rejected, my dad called me out of my room and I knew what was coming. I wrote him a note. When I finally saw him sitting on the sofa, he told me to sit down. He began with, "Son, what's your plan?" I mumbled bluntly, "I don't know." He scratched the back of his bald head and continued, "You know, you need to find your passion in life. You might have thought that mechanics was your thing, but maybe--" he yammered on and on, about how to live life and what to live for. I handed out the note to him. He paused. "What's this?" "Please read." On the paper, I'd written, "I know, I know. This whole thing might just be a hobby after all. Yes, I have to find something that I'd be happy to work on. But right now, please let myself be delved in the sadness, so once I get out of it, I won't ever look back."
Romeo Dec 2014
GUN
What I have in my hand
Does what I say
What I have in my hand
I’ve had for more than one day

I’ve held it close
Yet never afraid
I’ve held it close
So it stayed
Close to my heart
Where I always pray
That I don’t lose its sight
Any day

It keeps me happy
That I don’t have to use it
It gets me sad
When I see others abuse it

He told me
I made him proud
That one day I could be
Just like him and receive

A present
From him to me
To show his love
Of the family
He gave me
His father’s heart
From son to son
It’s his father’s heart
In the form of a gun
first poem

im currently writing an essay that has a few things to do with gun control im attaching this to the back
it just popped in my head and I couldn't stop
Rj Sep 2014
Watching the touching story of a girl coming out to her parents,
Her parents being completely loving and accepting
I realized my parents would have the opposite reaction
Kira Massey Sep 2014
Faggot
A word I have heard a thousand times
A thousand different ways
But has always sounded the same,
Like ignorance

A word that has never left me feeling worthless
Or unloved
Just misunderstood

Even when followed by being thrown into the bathroom stall of a Girl's gym  locker room
Or by the few friends I had left helping me clean up my battered face and the hide the bruises

I have always been proud of the term faggot because even though it was said to be offensive
I was being acknowledged as me

But when the word was spilled by the woman who once rocked me to sleep till I was no longer scared
The woman who has always protected me
It was then that all the pain I ever should have felt
Took a hold of my heart and ran it up to my throat until the pain leaked from my eyes
I was angry
I was sad
And I was scared
Because I knew that word was always followed by violence
And I didn't think that I would be able to walk with my head held high from this one
My face turned red and my blood turned cold and I watched my father defend me
Finally I stopped him and I looked at her
And I said yes, but I'm your faggot
LN Apr 2014
Rocky roads and crumbling gravel,
Fathers work hard to put bread on the table
Selfless decisions and callused hands
The pain that a mother goes through
is one we yet have to understand.
Appreciate your parents :)
Grace Jordan Mar 2015
Its interesting to be in a home so different than mine. A home where almost always two people at least are in the living room, bonding. My family I love, but we are always in our respective corners; father in the basement, brother in his room, mother in the living space, and I around randomly, uncertain where and who to belong with.

This weekend I visit Hockey House, the affectionate name I'm giving my boyfriend's home. I mean it full of affection, because they are brought together by movies and food and especially hockey.

In my home we are only brought together by food and then we run to the hills for our alone time. Very odd entirely, because of the extroversion holding my heart.

I guess as I grow, I find a disconnect with the family who is so different from me. My mother, though the easiest to be with, can be a staunch, stubborn hypocrite when it comes to all things social. My father is a determined conservative who opposes all I believe in. Brother is being molded into the man my father wants as his son, which is slowly distancing me from him.

When I'm home, I'm a repressed me, who keeps her tongue latched inside her mouth, and keeps her head down as to not get attacked. Even the natural peanut butter I asked for became a battlefield of who was right and who was wrong, not just a happy cheer for me being healthier.

Its odd in a house I've only been twice I can be less afraid than in my own home. I guess things change when you become the person you want to be instead of the adult your parents want to be proud of.

Maybe its easier here because I care less if they judge me, while my parents judgment terrifies me. Parents tend to be scary gods who rule your life, and to let them topple in your eyes is something all more traumatizing to watch.

I still love my parents, as children do, but there's a disconnect between who we are that cannot be passed.

Love can exist everywhere, but it  cannot transcend all obstacles, and that, truly, is what terrifies me most.

I never want to lose my parents, but I cannot lose myself either.

Only time will tell, and I guess I'll just enjoy college and my times at Hockey House.
Jarred Stagen Dec 2014
I like to meme all the time
I like to meme with a rhyme
I like to meme when I dine
Give me my smart phone back, mom, or I’ll fucking kill you
Ah mom ur the worst i mean its not really racisim if its in minecraft wtf
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