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UA Jul 2018
Sometimes it's hard not to fall down.
Clouds have a way of relating.
My mind just gets so foggy.
And then I get tense.
And then I lose all power.
Eventually, I'll cry.
But there's only a 75% chance of showers.
Not every time I'll cower.
A fueling, flashing fulgent, furnace, fulgurous, frothy, fumes and feathery flakes,

I do not speak of waves of snow, hoary frost, or ice, a cold gelare or even frozen lakes!

Formidable, furrows, fructifying, functioning fruition to foremost fondly found a flaming,

I revel not in such destruction but choices for my naming!

For flowers flow fields forever, forswearing funneling fjords finitely, fire fray’s forests furthermost,

Instructing in the arts of language, for I am your gracious host!

Fakir formulates factious forms fading flummoxed into fury, a fugacious fusible and furtive fleeting feigning furiosity,

A deep ditch dug, tight as pug, wrapped blanket snub though not a flub, all perspicacity!

Finds frosty frore a frozen freezing faction for fusty flaming feasance,

Fomorian fantasy of formidable faggoting, facient up to fancying, fancying, furnaced flesh fluidity finds itself factitivity, facets for fabulists from the faint familiarity,

Relating cold to heat as such, requires but a human touch, apologize I do you see for all my clueless severity!

Fans of all the falconry, who fallow fields of family, falter for a fallacy, falling into infamy as forgone flame frontogenesis, fatigues a Faustian felony, for which fate finds is fastigiated foolery, febrile features featly and yet furiously, favonian fear of fellowship fiendishly, figures foal to fatherly, finally fiddle flinchingly, although not so too furtively;

I finagle in my filigree!
This contains nearly every word under 'F' in the dictionary. I would have used them all but I could not get a consistent story with all the words so I used the most possible. Wauhermes in Toto means, "The totality of thought about F."
SelinaSharday Feb 2018
IS THERE A y.o.u!

Confidently waiting
Confidently hiding. comfortably chilling..
waiting On Nothing but Y.U.O to come along..
I'm relaxing in a tub filled with caressing roses.
Me soothingly preparing me!..
Enjoying me and this time getting to enjoy this new me and
who I've come to be.
Working with dedication, personally I'm sure your relating.
As your working On you too. And laboring hard day after day.
I'm not wasting this time till we are found.
Love waiting to unfold.
Its wanting to be released and be yours to keep and hold..
I'm here and sometimes I do feel that lonely.
Knowing your not holding..Me!
Yet I am enjoying this new Me!
I'm confidently enjoying.
I have my family and my friends and them I'm enjoying.
But can't wait to laugh and smile and be loved by Y.O.U.
Wondering thinking of what would it be like to touch on Y.O.U.
You..You.. You.. Feel the touch of you..
In my heart sometimes I have conversation with Y.O.U.
Thinking what If I never be found by you.
Then I'll be content to live imaginatively with you.
My perfected Y.O.U. Soul mate in you..Perfect for me kinda you.
Blessed to be tapping my fingers musically because of you.
Desiring.. confidently praying.. silently hoping there is this Y.O.U!
By SelinaSharday S.A.M. TM 2018
waiting on H.I.M THE most compatible love..
Heidi Shavill Aug 2016
"Friend's" like you are a dime a dozen,
     And I have far too many...
Smiles don't light up your face, and depth?
    You don't have any...

Transparent is the color of your eyes,
your dismal soul is ****...
Beyond the nose on your face,
there is a world you disregard smugly...

I've tried to gain perspective,
    and see **** from your shoes...
Honestly, I can't fathom,
    relating to your views...

Believe me I don't trust you,
     I never will, in fact...
Because you've done me *****,
    And stabbed me in the back...

How can you keep track,
    Of all the lies you spew???
I suppose it's relatively easy,
When spewing lies is all you do...

I deeply regret sharing with you,
   My darkest, inner demons...
God I wish your mother,
   would have swallowed your dads *****...

Now that it's finally off my chest,
    There's one thing left to do...
Consider you my enemy,
    And embrace "friends"
who are true.

Heidi Shavill
You know who you are
ryn Aug 2014
I'm not a writer... Or anything resembling that
I am just me... Sharing my words picked out from life's hat

I can't find the most accurate to say
So letters I dabble in various permutations
Layers of letters turn into words and come to play
Could call them journals, these text-laden creations

But I'm not a writer... Or anything resembling that
I am just me... Penning the words picked out of life's hat

I'm not a poet... Or anything mimicking that
I am just me... Relating experiences out of life's hat

I can't conjure poems... About anything or everything
Can't use my words to incite or inspire
These are just ideas and I just like rhyming
They are just experiences that fuel my fire

But I'm not a poet... Or anything mimicking that
I am just me...  Spouting rhymes out of life's hat

I'm not an artist... Or anything pretending to be that
I am just me... Drawing scenes from life's hat

I can't sketch a portrait with a simple pencil
Can't put together an installation and call it art
I can paint fairly well; of which I have done several
I can draw out emotions and depictions from the heart

But I'm not an artist... Or anything pretending to be that
I am just me... Producing paintings out of life's hat

I'm not a musician.. Or anything fantastic like that
I am just me... Playing melodies from life's hat

I don't have the quality of voice to match that of a crooner
I can't play instruments that could earn a place in a band
I can sing in key without the help of a tuner
I enjoy music best with a guitar in my hands

But I'm not a musician.. Or anything fantastic like that
I am just me... Singing songs from life's hat

I'm not a writer, poet, musician or an artist...
I do a little of everything, not excelling at any one title
Although I wish to have everything clenched in one fist
All I ever really do is just dabble....
Big Virge Sep 2014
Some people are ... Evil ...
Some people are ... nice ...
some people Believe ...
in the Lies they ... Contrive ...
Black People
White People
Yes ... ALL TYPES ... of people
Don't think you're exempt ... !!!
Most people ... tell lies ... !!!
Some people want ... TRUTH ...
These people are ... "WISE" ...
These are the people ....
who use ... their ... "3rd Eye" ...
I'm sick of these people ...
whose lives are contrived ...
like poets who act ... like ...
their words breed ... insight ...
Maaaaaaannnnnn .... !!!!!
These are the people ...
who lead a ... FAKE ... Life
because they can''t deal
with ... what's ...  
"... REALLY INSIDE ... "
Inside of their minds ...
Inside of their hearts ...
See .......  
these are the people ...
who Fall ... at the ...  
Start ............... !!!!!!!!
They ...... STAND ........  
by their ... Pride ...
but .... Pride ... we all know ...
comes before a ... "Fall" ...
How many of you ... folks ...
are playing that ... Role ... !???!
Let's go ... Toe to Toe ...
and see what you know ...
because ... " I Guarantee !!!" ...
you'll be a ... "No Show !"
See .........
They like to ... "Deride" ...
Their comments are ... "Snide" ...
Maaaaaannnnnn ........
These are the people ....
I .... CANNOT ABIDE .... !!!!!!!!
They talk a ... Good Game ...
but .... have .... No **** Shame !!!!!
because ... these are the people ...
who ... DON'T ... deal with pain ...
They ... pass YOU ... the rope ...
and then say ... "Take The Strain !!!!!"
See ... these are the people
who need their blood drained ... !!!
They ARE ... the Bloodsuckers ...
who steal from ... "The Sane" ...  
They talk about ... Truth ...
but ... soon hit the ... Roof ...
when ... Truth ... is thrown at them  
they're ... Quick to ... Abuse ...
"I'll issue Court Action ...  
I want a Retraction ... !!!!!!!!!!"
Well, here is my view ...
These people are ... "Fools" ...
who've got some ... Screws LOOSE !!!!!  
Deal with ... YOUR ISSUES ... !!!!!!
I've been in courtrooms ... !!!
Don't ... EVER ... assume ...
I'm .................................
An Ignorant ... **** ... !!!!!!
This isn't ... Pulp Fiction ...
Don't think i'm ... "The Shepherd"
I'm Not ... Samuel Jackson ...
I'm ready for ... action ... !!!
You will be ... Collapsing ... !!!
when I start ... Reacting ... !!!
Don't Ever presume ...
I'm into ... Play Acting ... !!!
I'll leave that to you ...
and your ... Idiot Crew ... !!!
cos' these are the people ...
who don't give you clues ...
cos ... these are the people ...
who ... Simply ... "Aren't TRUE !!!"
They like their doors ... Open ...
so they can ... walk through ...
Maaaannnnn .....  
these are the people ...
who walk in ... "DEAD SHOES !!!"
Now I'm ... NOT ... making threats ... !!!
but on this ... You Can Bet ... !!!
Messing with me ...
means ... You're messing with ...
.......... DEATH .......... !!!
cos i'm ready and willing ...
to take your last breath ...
cos people like you ...
are ... Humanity's Dregs ... !!!!!
But ..........................
Enough about ... "THEM"
Society's ......... " Phlegm ! "
Some people are ... nice ...
These people ... I Like ... !!!
cos some of these people ...
do use ... the mic ... Right ... !!!!
They talk about things ...
that affect ... peoples' lives
without ever ... thinking ...
their wordplay ... "Delights" ...
These people are .... "Humble"
and ... SHUN ... Foolish Pride ...
cos these are the people who .....
Look ... DEEP INSIDE ...
Inside of themselves ...
and find .......................
Love of the self ...
cos ... Love of the self ...
can ... Preserve ... Mental Health ...
and ... Help you to ... Deal ...
with ... Dud Cards ... you get dealt ... !!!!!
These words .... folks ....
are ........ " Heartfelt !!! " ...........
Good people ... Do Help .... !!!!!!
Without ..... Ever Thinking ......
of ....... "Helping Themselves" ........  
Good people are .... VITAL .....
for .... Human Survival ....
This is now the reason ....
I do these .... recitals ....
I'm trying to put .....
something ... GooooooD ... !!!
in the ..... "CYCLE" ...... !!!!!!!!!!
The ... Cycle of Life .....
that has ... Many ... Good People ... !!!
but ..... Too Many People ...
are now ..... doing  ...... EVIL ....... !!!!!!!!
which is why i'm ... relating ...
my views folks ............
.......... about ...........
......... People ..........
Just some of my life's visions of ... People.
Kara Jean Apr 2016
The long hours of the night highlight our inner insecurities
Relating to the change slowly disappearing in a clanking machine
My stomache burns
I didn't suggest to pay this, indebted to the alcohol
No filter to the lewd humorous words we speak
As we cruise away from the wild eyed life, bits of lint collect on the drivers glass
The mistakes and embarrassment blinds our minds
A push of a button, watching the grey fluff slide down the wind shield
Turning into a tumble ****, rolling down the loneliest highway
No commitment to the grief
The clouds smother the brown smudged mountains
A white submissive canvas, I see
My metaphoric future becomes one with the peeks
My heart weeps as they come back into view
The world once teaching me, is now background beauty
Where shall this car take me
Dominique Dec 2018
One inhalation of the sky
To separate the murky sea
And reassure you as you cry
The clouds still hover by your knee.

Two puffs of moonlight left behind
As products of the midnight rose
Then let your sorrow be refined
As angels let their weak wings close.

Three champagne bubbles of a laugh
A courtesy sent by a friend
A flash of lightning in the dark
Like vaulting over to the end.

Step four is harder than the rest
As it depends on nature's strain
Abandon sunshine on your quest
And wallow in torrential rain.

And halfway there it's number five
And rhythm marks a saddened truth
A little song to drown alive
A beacon in such inky youth.

A devil's dance at number six
Invest in favouring your greed
Some crime electrifies the mix
Prioritise things you don't need.

At seven let yourself break free
And choke in sympathetic arms
Unscrew the lock and break the key
Because your friends contain some calm.

Except, at eight you'll be alone
Reciting old quotes that apply
And spending hours on your phone
Relating till your eyes are dry

At number nine then, here it is
The scent of fear that smells like grace
You tune your blood to lightly fizz
And brush the tears from off your face

Ten gashes end the whole ordeal
Of shortened breath and shaking hands
Though sunsets bleed the way you feel
No one else will understand

It's not a choice, it's a command.

Now your mind is stressing less
You've cured the chaos with a mess.
(Please don't follow number 10)
Mystic Ink Plus Aug 2018
My next project will be
Dissecting ego:
From where it begins
To try to explore, where the seeds are
To unveil who showed it
To confirm if it is heritable?
To witness how fast it grows
Is that us who tame ego,
Or does ego tames us?
Does ego dies before the possessor?
Method used, 
Tracking the loud voice
Tracking the grandeur side
Dissecting skin deep
Relating all connections
Exploring circumstances
Done exclusive on humans
Saints excluded
Ego never discuss
It stays ahead
We are the one
We tame ego
Absolutely acquired
Understanding is the antidote
Genre: Structural Abstract
Theme: Being Human.
Show me that Person
Who don’t have ego

I can introduce
Why he/she is a saint.
V L Bennett Aug 2018
In the air, floating just next to the window
solidly constructed
as sure as the golden highway
stretching from Frisco across the Bay
looking square
as the acres of boxcars
north on the interstate
on the south side of Chicago,
it's all atoms...

This morning my son postulated to me a so-far unrealized condition
relating to matter transmitters and, probably, hyperspace. "What
would happen, " he asked, "if some guy transported himself inside a big rock?"
Putting on my ears, I considered the situation.  Would the hypothetical solid mass of rock give way, shudder just enough to allow the insertion of a soft, squishy human being?  Or would the spaces in their respective atoms--rock's and human's--intermesh neatly with each other?  Molecular integration?  But such a challenge to the atomic bonds holding the things together might result in a nasty atomic accident. Would that leave a human-shaped void inside the solid rock, a mold exact down to the finest details of skin texture and even eyelashes? Imagine the crystal-filled waters seeping down to find such a hole--Behold!! Geode Man.

Holding my silver pen extended
like a rapier before me,
I dissect the wispy chunks
of smoke. The balance of air
that gave them form
is destroyed.  They are
no more.
Michael John Dec 2018

(relax,i am 59
and i am still


just of late
i fancy myself
a teller of tales!

i should look
on the net but
if anything

i have learned
is one learns

one´s mistakes..
not much changes


when man sat
by the fire side
long ago..

relating his day
of near scrapes
with sundry

beast to the
****** sun
and ****

there were the
song and
howling rhythm

the quietly crackle
bones were cast
the tale told

the stars bled
man found his

and mighty
pause the

a sleight

a known
and unknown

reason or
a wry

and the


the skies
and falling

the fire
the eye
the nights..
Terry Collett Sep 2018
How you managed to get
through the day of battle
without a wound, made you

wonder years after, relating
tales to your grandchildren
by the log fire(leaving out

the gore of war), exciting
them with tall stories of old
men's glories. But at night in

bed, your old wife sound
asleep, the carnage and fire
of war invades your head,

sights seen too ****** to
relate, and cries of wounded
men and horses survive in

your nightmares, year after
year. Limbless carcasses,
headless corpses in the mud,

bodies piled four high, and
those wounded soon to die,
and just a brief glimpse from

afar of Napoleon, then away,
and the countless faces arise
from the mist, day after day.
A soldier of Wateroo years after
Emeka Mokeme Sep 2018
That's just the way it is.
The way of the heart
is really baffling.
It keeps changing, turning,
swivelling, grappling,
peeping, checking,
evading, listening to what
you are not saying,
scheming and can't
keep quiet for a second.
Beautiful things happens
in the heart of a beautiful
soul that makes life brighter,
better and more beautiful.
Some committed crimes
of passion and become
prisoners of love,
how can we get to the
other side of the soul
where the heart cries
out to be loved.
Isolation and loneliness
invades the heart of the one
who never care to risk relating.
We are the extension of each other.
We can't get enough of ourselves,
we are smart, sharp and
intelligent and beautiful inside.
Love is the best for the moment.
A soul that never loved is lost
and it is definitely the one that
lives in hell.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Dondaycee Aug 2018
There are many definitions of pride,
All in which, are perceived from a side,
Notable opinions indeed when we’re addressing the dogma that arise when mind project words that express one; wise,
However, it’s all contrary to me,
Pride isn’t something relating belief,
It can’t be put aside if it’s beyond side; choice/time,
Egoist defined when declined, rejoice inclined,
I can’t respond to a situation,
There’s no resolution when living unconditional and uncertain,
I am beyond interpretation,
I do not allude in illusions and wonder why they’re certain,
Abracadabra Hocus-Pocus...
Omm, “This State Farm jingle isn’t workin,”
AHP; “Magic”; Ouroboros,
Analytical Hierarchy Perspective on Serpent,
“They have power; They influence the course of events with supernatural forces”
That’s Magic?
The law of attraction; influencing life with thoughts; Quantum Mechanics, Force is,
Say “attract it,”
Demographics defining diplomatic, power be to the tree that’s aristocratic,
Problematic if geographic determines what’s democratic,
Tragic when ethnography constitutes what’s archetypal and habitual;
A classic ritual opposite of obsolete; of course bigotries automatic,
Bring back the art of holographic,
I’m leaning back like Crack if it’s dogmatic,
I do not understand how we understand species before intelligent and acknowledge intelligence like we never had it,
As if dyslexia was a natural condition; as if this ability was somehow previously hidden so with awareness became magic,
Freedom of speech,
“But I don’t like your words, sir”
Freedom to be,
“Those are not the clothes I prefer, sir”
Being discrete,
“He’s not in my position, he must concur”
Oh, What is believed?
They’re obligated to assumptions, so they infer most-
Too much pride will **** a man,
By picking a side he’ll lose a hand,
If using his pride he’s sure to win,
If losing his mind; insane a friend,
Clueless of time; he’ll never die,
Til P take a Ride, and replace his pride with another man’s.
Yenson Aug 2018
But why do they do all this, I asked, shaking my head pitifully.
Its unimaginable  the amount of time and efforts they expend,
over nothing. Not to mention having the inclinations for such

She leaned in closer and whispered conspiratorially as she puts
down her glass, while she waved at me to lean in closer too.

Her cute lips barely moved as she whispered theatrically,
" this is a secret, don't quote me."
I nodded.

" POST TRUTH" she uttered, " It's all post truth, they have put
all their people in a post truth world and they all live in post truth now"

"Do you know what Post truth means?" she asked, her eyes glaring inquiringly in a straight gaze at mine.

"Yes I do I replied, basically its, ‘relating to or denoting circumstances in which objective facts are less influential in shaping public opinion than appeals to emotion and personal belief’", I trotted out. Leaning back in my seat, I considered this, and what she had just shared.

My plight has been Orwellian, from the very start, but I honestly wouldn't have believed people would be so gullible in this day and age. But then who was it that said " No man ever went broke overestimating the ignorance of the public".

Internally I processed things again, Welfare spounging Crooks burgled me, I gave them a piece of my mind, crooks call on their Socialist mates, who then launched an unjustified campaign of
slander, vilification, harassment, hounding, intimidation, ruining
my marriage, career, reputation and my health. I, the victim of a fowl crime becomes the villain and the criminals gentrified working class heroes.

It all seem implausible in Modern Britain, this day and age, yet it's all true.

My silence prompted her, " I don't like it myself and you already know how I feel about them, but..... and she shrugged her slim
shoulders and the look of sadness and resignation in her eyes says
it all. I felt sorry for her, only God knows the leverage, inducement,
threats or dirt at play for her cooperation, given the nature of the ***** politicking that's been playing all these while
and the  results of former experiences. Poor thing, I mused,
knowing her private life was at stake now..

In Post truth terms, you are a rich arrogant privileged and greedy chauvinistic parasite who deserve all you're getting and more. 
Their propaganda machine is devious and slick. 

I couldn't help acknowledging the disingenuous politicking at
play here by our Red comrades, the nasty racial undertones of my
plight had been white-washed, the theft of my hard earned possessions is bye the bye, the bullying and intimidation by the
neighbouring criminals and their subsequent gangstalking covered up. now, what remains is hapless me, alone, unsupported and just the heinous distortions, the misinformation, exaggerations, slander and disinformation exists, and all these are falling into receptive ears by the bucketloads. The general public's moral compass has been twisted and befuddled if not totally obliterated.  

I sat in silence and for a short while, we both avoided eye contact,
finally we looked at each other. She knew I had got the picture and
for a second I saw sorrow in her eyes. Then it was gone, you could
almost glimpse this was a sentiment she wasn't allowed.

I had seen that look before from quite a number of others, nobody dares act against the wave, nobody wants to be considered a traitor
or a sympathiser.

I tried lifting the mood and changed the topic, we made chit-chat
and found laughter in some places, we finished our drinks and left.

On the street walking I once again felt sorry for her and made a
conscious decision not to see her again. I was a persona non gratia
now, and it's not healthy being my friend. Friends are compromised, debriefed and used as baits or informers. I have become a dangerous person to know and the truth has been murdered, cut into little pieces and then incinerated into ashes.

They had perhaps forgotten that TRUTH lives forever, the truth
is the TRUTH and remains the TRUTH, no matter what you do to it.

Your guess is as good as mine!

Goodbye dear friend, I watched her walk away, there was an unusual slowness in her steps and she looked back at me just as I was turning away, I did not turn to look back at her again,

I knew I will not be seeing her again................
Post-truth politics (also called post-factual politics and post-reality politics) is a political culture in which debate is framed largely by appeals to emotion disconnected from the details of policy, and by the repeated assertion of talking points to which factual rebuttals are ignored.
‎History · ‎Summary of the truth is contained in the poem - WHERE IS JUSTICE on this site..·
XyL0S Oct 2018

I can't feel you
the same as I am.

We don't talk,

But you don't
to me,

And I,
at all.

It isn't on purpose,
Recovery is still working
it's way into my hell.
I regret not knowing any better than I did when he still loved me.
I must have been inside of a wind tunnel- for months- not hearing anything.
I must have been deaf or something, I must have been too boring,
I must have been annoying.

I think I am annoying.

I regret not being as confident in myself as I was two months ago, for my
entire life.
I regret wasting away like smoked cigarettes on street corners.
I regret decaying like it is my job.

I regret that the things I have seen have not been good.
I regret that all signs in my life tell me it is falling apart.
I regret falling apart when I still had something to grab onto.

I regret not having anything to hold onto, now, and dying because of it.
I regret dying, but not because I don't like the idea of it.

I regret not living at night but rather during the day with everyone else.
I regret seeing everyone on a daily basis.
I regret my choice of boyfriends.

I regret what I used to think love is.
I regret not thinking of my parents as teenagers once.
I regret forgetting what my dad's old house looks like.

I regret coming back to the city and tying him to everything.
I regret seeing his face in red and blue and gold lights even though his is
I regret wanting to wrap my state in my hand and close it off to newcomers-
but if I did, I'd probably crush it.

I regret wanting to travel because I will never visit the places I talk about.
I regret being a better hopeless romantic than he is, which makes me worse.
I regret being a musician because I need pain in order to do it.

I regret feeling like the main character in each of my favorite movies.
I regret thinking I am special or interesting enough to have a movie made
about me.
I regret writing a book about my life as if it isn't a story that has been heard
a million times before.

I regret believing writing a book would change my life.

I regret changing the way I believe in things. I regret making God a force
that is connected to my pain even though I swear he has nothing to do with it.
I regret thinking He should have nothing to do with me, because I use him
in my writing and possibly risk my chances at Heaven.

I regret that I gamble my relationship with the Afterlife because I think nothing could
be worse than here.
I regret thinking life on Earth is Hell, because the Earth has nothing to do with the hell humans have made it- the hell that I, a human, have made it.
I regret that I have made life on Earth a living Hell for myself.

I regret that I am so good at manufacturing existential crises out of thin air.
I regret that this air feels too thin to breathe in for more than a day.

I regret giving in when I probably shouldn't have, or thinking giving in was
the problem when in reality it is just me being too weak to deal with average,
everyday problems.
I regret that everything feels like the end of the world.
I regret seeing myself as one of the few people who will never experience
marriage because we think we'll lose parts of ourselves if we do, and we have
already sacrificed too much that if we give one more piece away, we'll de-exist.

I regret seeing myself as one or all of the few people because even when I think I am not alone in something, I swear I am truly alone.
I regret feeling alone around him.

I regret merely going through the motions again, instead of living.
I regret not feeling like I'm living, and not living because I'm not feeling like it.

I regret wanting something to change when nothing will.
I regret not knowing if I need to change or not.
I regret disappearing the more I loved.

I regret loving more to try and feel less like I have disappeared.
I regret relying on him loving me to not feel invisible.
I regret having my confidence knocked out in the first few rounds from a
punch that wasn't even all that bad.

I regret feeling in extremes, because he thinks his sister should be like me.
I regret having reasons for why she shouldn't be.

I regret not being myself in light because otherwise people will see too much
of what they don't want to see.
I regret relating to an abuser's music because it is sad enough, but if it wasn't
this sad then I probably wouldn't listen to it.

I regret needing sadness because now that I have it, I won't let it go like I
was let go- like I am let go every single time, and that is probably one of the
reasons I am like this.

I regret being like this.
I regret pretending I am not like this to preserve their innocence, or something
like that.
I regret not even knowing why I do half the things I do.

I regret regretting all of these things that mean nothing to everyone else.
I regret this poem.
A Aug 2018
I'm sick of seeing quotes,
That tell me how I should be,
Relating to you and I,
Well they don't relate to me.

My life is my experience,
And no one can feel the same,
No one feels like me,
No one feels MY pain.

I don't mean to sound selfish,
But I hate when people say,
Life could be a lot worse,
So I shouldn't feel this way.

Well you can feel whatever,
If your mad embrace that rage,
And if you're moving on,
Go ahead and turn that page.

Happy? then you should show it,
Sad, go ahead and cry,
Without feeling guilty,
Without explaining why.

We all have these emotions,
That we often try to hide,
Wash our face with water,
Disguise the tears we've cried.

So don't ever feel ashamed,
Because I have been there too,
Don't ever feel guilty,
For the emotions that make you, you.
Em MacKenzie Dec 2018
Dear Mrs. Frouin,
(atleast I think that was your name.)

For as long as I can remember I’ve always wanted to be a writer. Actually, I don’t believe I wanted to be anything, especially when I was younger,
but writing chose me.

For you see,
I conditioned myself unable to verbally express my emotions, or my thoughts, since I was old enough to have them.
I know the words I want to say when I want to say them,
but I never felt anyone wanted to hear them.
I believed my constant analyzing and emotional dissection to be a burden.
I knew most people wouldn’t understand, if they even bothered to listen at all.
And so I taught myself to alter the disease of emotions, and the curse of memories into dressed up words.
I turned my pain into similes, allegories and metaphors,
whether hidden and veiled or transparently exposed.
My pen became my bestfriend
and paper evolved into a therapist.

It didn’t always do the trick, I admit.
Especially when I was fifteen, the year you taught me,
the year I tried my first pill
and found an alternate reality I could escape to where everything felt good, all the ******* time.
And that’s where you caught me.

It seems petty, immature and egotistical to still remember this fourteen years later,
but when someone attempts to crush the only aspiration you have,
the only thing you really have felt good at,
it tends to stick with you.
Especially considering I remember everything.

As per usual, I had shown up to your class ******,
there wasn’t many classes I showed up to sober.
There wasn’t many classes I showed up to in general.
I had zoned out during your lesson, probably doodling, talking,
sleeping, listening to music, writing or staring at some pretty girl.
Everyone had left and you asked me to stay behind, and as much as I was a professional **** up back then, that wasn’t common.
You sat across from me and asked me what I wanted to do with my life,
immediately I answered “I want to be a writer.”
We talked about fiction, journalism, poetry, song writing,
the things I “excelled” in according to you,
but with softness in your voice you stated,
“I believe you have the talent, but to be brutally honest, I think you lack the motivation to do it.”
I hear that sentence every two weeks or so.
It haunts me.

I can understand your reasoning,
as I said above, I was a professional **** up.
But you didn’t bother to talk to my media and film teacher,
who personally tracked me down one day when I was cutting class in the woods getting high with friends,
pulling me aside to beg me to start showing up to any class more often,
that I had missed 84 classes in one year, and that he personally,
intercepted to principal to discuss me and stuck his neck out for me,
“You are far too unique to not make your mark here.” he said.
You didn’t bother to check that even then, when I wasn’t attending 90% of my classes,
I was still on the honour roll for English, History and Math.
And that even after your words,
and even after more partying
and attempting to **** my brain cells
I came back that next year and stayed on the honour roll,
adding 16th Century History to the list as well.

But I do see your original point,
maybe I do lack the motivation to “do it.”
Whatever that might mean,
because like all things in life,
it’s all about perception
and personal expectation
and interpretation.

You see, I can confidently say that
my writing has evolved,
and dare I say, at the risk of sounding pretentious and cocky,
it has gotten better.
And while I may not be getting paid a dime for any of it,
I have people reading my work,
for some reason,
and most importantly, I have people relating to my work,
experiencing it, and above all,
feeling it.
That’s all I’ve ever wanted to accomplish from writing;
it may have started as free, comfortable, liberating therapy, expression and self reflection,
but all I have ever wanted is to know I made someone, anyone,
feel something.
That’s all everyone should aspire to accomplish,
an act that touches a person,
makes them feel less alone.
There’s nothing more noble in this world than helping another person,
no matter how you do it.

Whenever someone has tried to show positivity or support for my writing,
they make comparisons of being the next (insert famous female writer here)
and all I ever think is that I would rather be the first me.
Almost every artist wants to “famous,”
but I have always thought that I would rather be respected than famous.
Maybe one day I will be,
but maybe I won’t,
that really isn’t the point.

You believed that I lacked the motivation to become a writer,
but I always have been one.
My motivation is used everyday to get out of my warm bed,
where dreams are the only plane of existence where I feel peace and bliss.
My motivation is used to create something from everything negative,
instead of letting it beat me down
and turn me into the kind of person who would look at a
troubled teen with a glimpse of aspiration,
and tell them they couldn’t do it.
My motivation is used to support others and if I’m lucky enough,
guide them even half a step closer to the path they want to take.

Mrs. Frouin, if you read this,
and I doubt you will
because you probably don’t remember someone who you thought you read so well to make assumptions on their potential,
please laugh at the irony at the
fact that you failed me in your “creative writing” class
and I’m still a writer.
And maybe, if you’ve read this all the way through,
the student “lacking motivation”
just became your teacher.
Yes this happened, and it’s weird it still bothers me, but hopefully I got the mic drop here.
doa Oct 2018
in many ways i find myself relating to the sky.
when there's a thunderstorm for example, just because the rain and thunder have stopped doesn't mean that the sky isn't upset and mad and confused anymore,
she's just too tired to express it.
or when it's a sunny day with grey clouds. she tries to act okay, but you can see right through her mask of fake smiles and forced laughs.
or how she could be shining in the morning with radiance, but once night falls, no stars are bright enough to lighten up her darkness.
the way she tries to please everyone until eventually in the winter she breaks.
the sky and i are more similar than i thought.
who would've thought that one could relate to nature so much.
Lash Dec 2018
i believe in a creator,
the most diligent artist itself.
not man\woman,
not human at all;
a force greater than the most complex of understanding.
i don't believe in a saviour
returning to save the world,
i believe in a divine plan
so perfectly timed
that the world will save itself.
an enforcer of love,
not the word
but the feeling.
undeniably a feeling relating to a higher source of energy.
a higher being
possessing a certain healing.
i believe in energy,
vibrations high & low.
vibes everywhere you go.
Anna Sophia Dec 2018
Pain in my chest,
I wish I could feel nothing.
I know it sounds bad,
But you’d get it if you could feel what I’m feeling.
Pain in my mind,
Because everything seems wrong.
I just want to be myself again,
Because then I’d be happy.
I’d smile everyday, like I used to,
But now I just imagine the worst and need to hide.
Hide away in my room,
in my own sad, little, imaginary world, where everything is perfect, especially me,
Pretending to be someone I’m not.
The worst part of that though,
That’s when I’m happiest,
When I imagine being someone else.
But it helps, hiding in my own little world. Listening to that kind of depressing music,
Relating to the pain of others.
It helps, ya know?
Knowing that you’re not alone,
I guess that’s why I’m writing this.
I hope you know you’re aren’t alone.

I want help, I need help,
But I don’t know how to get it.
I tell my parents,
I ask to see someone,
They say yes,
And then I wimp out.
I say I’m fine,
I hide, and I lie.
Maybe cause I’m afraid, or maybe because I’m just lazy.

Everyone just thinks I’m emotional.
And yeah maybe I am,
But I’m also struggling.
I cry so much because I feel so much.
Some things make me snap,
It’s like I lose control of my body.
I want control back,
I want it so bad.
I want to be happy.
God can I be happy?
What’s the point of all this?
What is life for I don’t get it?
Why do we have emotions?
What is happening?
Why do I dream of my own funerals?
Why do I dream of other family members funerals?
Do I want attention?
Do I want sympathy?
Or maybe I just want to know that somebody cares.
Do you ever feel like no one cares about you?
You give and give,
and they just take and take.
I have that feeling at least everyday.
At the end of the day though,
I have nothing left to give.

Pain in my chest
I wish I could feel nothing
I know that sounds bad
But you’d get it if you could feel what I’m feeling.
It gets better

— The End —