My dear sister, I’m sorry I wasn’t there
When they call you names and harass your crown on the street
When they tell you what you should or shouldn’t do with your body

My dear sister, I’m sorry I wasn’t there
When they pluck your honey against your will yet they tell them you enjoy it
When they touch your skin yet they left it bleeding and bruised

My dear sister, I’m sorry I wasn’t there
When they want you to cover your scars and pimples because they don’t meet the “beauty” standards
When they forcibly ask you to shave your hair because it doesn’t potray cleanliness and hygiene

My dear sister, I’m sorry I wasn’t there
When your rose is blooming and the moon is come but they show you their cold shoulders
When they make fun of your shape and laugh it off but they refuse to make a clean breast of it as an insult

Thus rise, dear sister
—for your pain is mine to carry
—for your wound is mine to mend
—for your war is mine to fight

My vision blurs but
my
     heart
             still
                   sees
All the faces that have done to me
Potray me as a criminal mind
Potray me as a bad person
Who am I to you is nothing but a devil
And soon justice will prevail who's the bad person is
And I will show you who the real devil is

What is a poet?

A poet is able to capture a feeling with words.
To adeptly potray one. single. instance.
with words.
With scribbled, illegible
Or cleansingly, typed
clear, crystal, words.

I,
am not a poet.

I am a monkey,
deftly punching on a typewriter,
finger smashing keys,
expecting Shakespeare
to appear on a backlit screen
or a pure white notepad.

I am,
not a poet.

I am the grouch,
in a trash can.
Yellow moss on a rock,
pointing south. South.

I am not,
a poet.

I thought I dripped words
like blood out of my veins.
I thought my muse,
was darkness.
Then the sun came out.

So,
I am not a,
poet.

I am a high school English paper.
I am the run-ons,
too many ands,
too many commas.
Not even a proper sentence.
I am the red-marked essay.


I am not a poet.

And I have nothing else to say.

No one gives a **** about your graduation party
Or the fact that you ******* invited everyone except for me
No one ******* thinks it's cool that you talk **** about every ******* person you speak to
No one thinks you're a bad *** for leading girls on into their depths of sorrow and shame
No one ******* likes the fact that you are voicing rude comments and being a greedy selfish ****. Or that you pretend suicide is an option to receive attention from people who aren't even friends with you, but dont know what to do with the fake blood on their hands
No one ******* thinks its cool that you cheated on someone with thousands of girls at the same time and led them on to continue undoing their pants in the back of your car
No ******* thinks its cool that you potray yourself as someone you aren't and wish people you hate "happy birthday"
No one thinks you should be with that guy, because he's a whiny ***** who acts just like his ******* friends
No gives a **** that I blocked your "Meninist" ***.
No one thinks you are ******* cool for throwing a party in someone else's house.
No one gives a **** that you correct everyone's grammatical errors. IT'S A ******* MISTAKE. GET OVER IT.
No one cares that your problems contain pity little things, when there are people truly struggling.
No one ******* likes the fact that you have been cheating on the same man for years, and continue to mooch off of him
No one thinks its cool that your moods are a switch and that you backhand the mouths of your children for trying to help.
No one ******* cares that your daughter is trying to copy everyone and become an "aspiring model."
No one gives a **** that she also tries to one up everyone in her ******* path.
No one thinks you are too **** cool for getting high every night.
No one thinks its cool that you have to flirt with every single guy in your sight and then act like a hypocrite.

NO ONE ******* CARES.

By Arcassin Burnham


Glad to be saying I don't like it here,
problems come and problems go,
just to grow up in a town where they hang you and they laugh at you and leave to wither.
Pushing daisies over here ,
bordem strikes me everyday,
I want excitement in a life worth living to potray and away in a haze.
Nothing left for me here,
I need to get away from here,
because lies won't stop and the people want
vengeance in world where they just take and take.
My skin is always a problem,
Thats why I always stay at home,
I feel disgusted at a country that is built using slaves and its own propaganda.
Sick and tired of fake people,
And women that just want your money,
cause they will use and abuse and accuse you of anything they want it to be.
And I think love is joke,
I tell them what they wanna hear,
because I've been hurt so many times to the point where love is a unimaginable fear.
Theres no doubt in my mind,
That being a loner suits me,
it was all about me and no one else in the world full of Cruelty,
Thats why I Got a Hole in my heart.

Have you witnessed  something
but Couldn't remember yet you can potray even minute
Details of that incident , I had
My 4yrs old eyes had witnessed that
She was burning right beside me
And I was busy wondering about the
The the design my castle should have
It went on , I succeeded my castles did
Even the heat from her pyre did it's job
Fulfilled what her child wished

My father poured the water from the river
Onto the settling pyre , as everyone with a bamboo threw the
Burned remains into the river , may the the creatures
Below this water satisfy their hunger , the priest chanted
While i kept jumping in the shallow blue waters
I was given a new name "Shankara". As I'd came home
On my dad's shoulders completely covered in the ash
As I had spent hours trying to build the castle with that as well


Everyone's eyes were numb , my father's weren't
Probably his heart would have been

A wonderful thought that shows the way,
A lover who is always there to stand and stay,
A heart that we formed together with clay,
Now shattered on the floor as we potray.

Each stroke defines what a perfect creation of god you are
Sea blue eyes reflect the vastness of the sea
Cherry red lips potray sweetness of cherry
No wonder where I got my sweet tooth from

Each dab of paint on the palette reveals your true colours
Red for love
Blue for no limitation
Red for pain
Blue for death
Black for demons

Each shade painted unfolds the number of lives you lived and desths you survived

She thought," Nature must have been made with immense love...and the five elements must have loved each other with so much passion...that they were so well entangled in each other's soul....
Otherwise how could this earth potray love!?"