A semicolon is used by an author when he could've ended a sentence, but chose not to

But what if I'm that author
and the sentence is my life
and when I could've ended it,
I chose not to

Then the semicolon
that helped me
save myself
is you

The world has not ended.

But, to her, it seems like it has.

She's beaten and wounded;

She wanted it to stop.

A semicolon-

Her story is far from done.

But, before it reaches the end,

She has already had enough.

You saw my bracelet
Asked what it said
I felt a bit embarrassed
I think my face turned red.

"My story isn't over yet"
I sheepishly replied
"There's a semicolon too"
A piece inside of me died.

Mental health awareness,
I tried to explain
Yet I be you wondered
If I was truly sane

It might turn you away
I don't know what you'd say
If you knew the real me
What I struggle with each day

It will forever be a factor
When I meet someone new
I'm prepared for the worst,
Most don't know what to do.

Will he understand?
Most probably not.
He'll probably think I'm crazy
I get that a lot

I'll see where this goes
Won't let my hopes rise too high
I may have scared him off,
Always prepared for good bye

Reader,

                                        stay alive
                                   stay alive stay a
                                live stay alive stay a
                                 live stay alive stay
                                    alive stay alive
                                        stay alive

                                        stay alive
                                   stay alive stay a
                                live stay alive stay a
                                  live stay alive stay
                                      alive stay alive
                                              stay alive
                                                stay ali
                                                ve sta
                                               y al
                                              ive
            ­                                 |-/

A flow, a pen, an ink stained palm.
A life, a story, all gone wrong.
A spark of hope in the night, maybe?
No, your hope is grammatically incorrect.

"This is where your sentence could have ended
but it didn't," see?
Nonetheless, it wants so desperately to end.
An incomplete thought, a fragment -
A fragmented existence with an expired due date.

Can you pick up the forlorn pieces?
Use your calloused fingers to avoid getting cut.
You continued the sentence,
But you used the semicolon wrong.

A mark that an author uses to end their story but chooses not to,
A reference for someone who wants to end their life but chooses not to,
A person who reminds the someone to just keep going.
If you have no other reason to stay on earth let me give you a reason,
Don’t end your story, write it and keep writing it. Write what you would want to read,
Write what you would want your parents, children, and siblings to read.
There is something or someone being your semicolon because you’re still here, so stay and keep writing your story.
Be someone’s reason to live. Remind them their life on earth matters and to keep going. Reminders are free and lives are priceless. 💙

it doesn’t take a genius to understand grammar
“i before e, except after c”
to know the difference between
a comma
and a semicolon
but words in parentheses should not count.

books
letters
poems
songs
parentheses parentheses

used to explain something
an after thought
an “i didn’t think of this before
but i have now.”
and words in parentheses really should not count.

it does take a genius to understand people
or more specifically you
and why you did it.
(i love you)
(i’m doing this for you)
(i’m cleaning up)
(i’m better now)
words in parentheses just should not count.

my first
a lion inside a boy
a full moon (i thought you gave off light; you only reflected mine)
a breathless english winter, pale and icy
an explorer of collar bones and thighs and shoulder blades
my love, my life
the loveliest flower, or perhaps an entire garden
a time traveller (you showed me the world at 5.30am)
a stupid teenage boy
july 28th to november 4th
a semicolon - a story to be continued;

Everyday we go through
Heaven and Hell.
It's a constant battle:
Good versus Evil.

We go through so much
Pain and Heartbreak,
Joy and Excitement
But we're overwhelmed.

For every positive feeling,
There's a negative feeling.
For some of us, that
Negative becomes too powerful.

We become flooded by all
The could've, should've, would've,
The maybes and what ifs.
We forget the little things.

We lose our friends, but
Depression and Anxiety.
We feel dark and cold inside
And we isolate ourselves.

Don't get too close to us
Because we're contagious!
Every second we fade
Deeper into our minds.

We want the world to
Stop so we can relax
And clear our minds
But it just spins faster.

We become so overwhelmed
By negativity that we push
Those close to us further
Because we don't want to hurt them.

Our minds become a whirlpool,
A black hole, pulling us
Down faster and further
And there is no escape.

The only way to stop this,
In our heads, is to say
"The end"
Maybe then it will end.

But it doesn't have to end.
As writers of our lives,
We can end it
Or we can pause.

We can end it with
An "!", "?", or "."
But instead let's pause with
A semicolon.

A semicolon let us
Breathe and gather our thoughts.
It tells everyone that
It's not over yet; just paused.

As writers of our lives,
Pause and rethink our decision
Because our stories are not over yet;
There's so much more left.

Regret nothing from our past.
Rethink no decisions made
Or decisions that we didn't make.
Live in the now and for the future.

We owe it to our friends,
To our families, and
Most importantly to ourselves
To not end but pause.

We all crash and burn, and
That could be the end but
We can be the Phoenix and rise
From the ashes stronger and better.

There are times when I
Felt like giving up and saying
The end, but I remember
My friends and family and the good times.

I could've ended my story
Making it into a tragedy
But instead of ending every sentence,
I paused and carried on.

My story isn't over yet
Because there are no much
That I want to do in life:
Medical school, marriage, kids.

My story is not complete
And I don't want to
Leave a cliffhanger for
My friends, family, everyone.

Out stories are not over yet.
We have so much to live for.
We have so many goals:
Graduation, Job, Love.

Insp;re each other and
Everyone going through the same thing.
Be the warr;ors we are determined to be
And f;ght hard like your life depends on it.

Insp;re!
Be a warr;or!
F;ght on!
Our stories are not over yet.

Robert Frost said,
"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood."
We have two choices.
Pick carefully; it'll make all the difference.

Pick left and end your story
With an "!", "?", or "."
Or pick right and pause
Your story with a semicolon.

**Insp;re!
Be a warr;or!
F;ght on!
Our stories are not over yet;

Opening sentence comma
semicolon full stop.
Next few lines lost to editing.
Sentence fragmented dot dot dot
exclamation mark.
Vague obscure reference
to personal experience.
Quotation marks hyphen
colon question mark.

New paragraph.
Assonance with dissident dissonance.
More lines lost.
Closing line
end of poem.

Distance has a particular way of hurting:
It begins slowly, and is self-contained.
Because our mothers would often speak about Love,
and how everything falls helpless in Love,
Distance becomes a housebroken dog.
It is powerless, and whilst I love, I am powerful.
On Sunday, our fathers would teach us to put our faith in things unseen,
and so we grow confident and complacent.
Just when you think you’ve understood it,
It sinks its teeth in hard and deep.

An idealist tries to make it out light and easy
They will often write poems about finding
ideal love in the real world.
But I will write about knowing
real love misplaced in an ideal world.
It’s a world where comfort could come in binary files
filled with digital empathy and memories.
Where typed words and numbers that form
black and white promises could replace
the real and organic voice of reassurance.
Where wires between my webcams and your headsets
could entangle themselves in ways our fingers
used to be intertwined.
Where waiting for an email meant as much as
waiting for you to return home to me.
Where the strategic positioning of your punctuation marks
could transform these passive symbols
into active symbols of love and concern:

A comma, like a shared pause for when our eyes meet
Exclamation marks for when we wave to each other from across the street,
or as a passionate gesture from underneath these sheets.
A question mark for when you’re sick and I am by your bed
Worried, because you wouldn’t eat.
A semicolon for when we argue,
and a full stop for when we finally give in.
A parenthesis for containing moments of vulnerability
that only seem to leak out late at night.

You won’t know it but,
I dream mostly of an online conversation,
filled with time stamps that affirm your presence.
If I’m lucky, I will find an ellipsis
Small creatures of continuity with
heads heavy with hesitation.
…
And - if I’m really lucky,
I’d undo those black buttons of suspense
and see you once more.

I personally
Love food comas;
And cookie periods,
And gumbo
Exclamation marks!
The're the best!
And semicolon pies,
Oh man...
And peach cobbler
Parenthesis,
They're perfect
With scoops
Of delicious vanilla
Question marks
With a drizzle
Of caramel
Quotation marks,
Oh no!
I'm going
Into an
Anaphylactic shock
From the forward slash
And back slash
Layered lasagna,  
I'm going comatose!
Quick! make me some alphabet soup!
© okpoet

What an honor                                                                                  
It would be                                                                                          
To inspire someone                                                                            
Lost and suffering                                                                              

Trapped in their own mind
Of relentless criticism
Who would have guessed the semicolon
Would hold such symbolism

This desire I have
To change just one life
May not affect the world
But it would ease their strife

Because I know what it’s like to be exhausted
At the end of every day
With no other reason than the constant war
Of keeping my demons at bay

How incredible it would be
To stop measuring my self worth
By judgments and comparisons
With everyone else on earth

To stop unearthing past mistakes
Then uprooting the pleasant memories
And throwing them aside
As a gardener does with vexatious weeds

Constantly tortured by little things
Until it's miserable to survive
Sweetheart don't you realize
It's a privilege to be alive

Why is it we search for happiness
Like its something waiting to be found
When it is only from the inside
That we can turn our thoughts around

My dear, please don't give in
You don't have to feel this way
The demons may be frightening
But you have the final say

No matter what they say to you
It's you who has control
Don't let them turn your soft, kind heart
Into a numb black hole

The numb black hole
I know it well
Then waves of pain
Like an ocean swell

Just as tides come and go
Your darkness will too
As long as you keep fighting
The whole way through

Keep your thoughts positive
It is your mind you must transform
For there are always blue skies
After every storm

Your sorrows may not be gone for good
But you have a bright future ahead
Inspire others to change their thoughts
And dry the tears they’ve shed

dead bodies while alive poor Porphyria
strangled by her own hair
which could be no Fairy tale ,
jabberwocky, listens
as does that famous semicolon concise;
By Ezra Pound.
  creepy
innocence or infamous
we all get to sooner.
On to Popeye
"Farm Implements......"
title and poem supplied by Ashbury,
hang  an albatross but don't shoot it
Mr. Coleridge,
it will hang around your neck.

What is the point in
Poignancy?

Fragment,
you tell me.
Another one in paragraph three.

What do words matter?

I have spelled love with Lilacs instead of an “L”
I have drawn the curve of my “O” with the chill of a
Sweeping breeze.
A “V” can only appear as the violet of a
sparkling sky, or I will be unable to read it,
and every “E” will amount to nothing more than
emptiness if the voice it has been given
does not epitomize song.

Comma-splice,
Replace it with a semicolon.

I am trying live freely.
I want to breathe in color,
to inhale an orange Savannah sky
And exhale green which
shows through the translucent dew
of grass.

Unnecessary use of description.
Limit it, Lidiah. Limit it.

My fingers itch with the ferocity of
A vengeful army.
They are waiting to trample pages with
The lead of my pencil, the bayonet
of a Revolutionary-War-era rifle.

The word limit sounds like tragedy.
A single word that can somehow act as
a precursor,
To the death of passion.

Your words have put you in a box.

People always say
“Actions speak louder than words.”
In a way that is true.
But I also know it to be
a tremendous piece of fiction.

Lidiah,
Please watch your run-ons.

Why can our words and our actions
not be the same thing?
Isn’t the act of speaking,
the act of raising your voice,
the act of being heard,
isn’t that an action?

Lidiah,
how many times do I have to remind you?
Clarification throughout.

Why have we decided that our words
Mean nothing more than
stepping stones on the road to action?

When did we decide that our voices
which rise like clarion calls,
forever instilling our promises,
are to be left on silent?

Precious jewels set into rings.

Poison in a water tank.

Lidiah,
what you say is irrelevant
if your MLA bibliography isn’t in
alphabetical order.

Our words are our actions.
They mean the same.
Words are the distinctions of our beliefs
Illustrations of our personas
They are not mosquitos to be slapped away
and forgotten.

Lidiah,
paragraph five is too long.
Stop rambling.
Be concise.

Please tell me,
what is the point of being concise?

Lidiah,
stop rambling.

Why do we let justification
equate to useless rambling?

Lidiah,
you have to detach yourself from the narrative.

Feelings mean more
than a couple of sentences.

More than a good or a bad.

A mad or a sad.

Comma-splice

What about ferocity?

Never end with a preposition.

What about passion?

Replace this with a conjunctive adverb.

What about the discernable strife
that follows even indifference?

What about that?

Lidiah,
what is the point of
Poignancy?

What are we without it?
What does the human soul matter
if we have forsaken the parts of ourselves that
remind us of what a soul is for?

Lidiah,
you will never be heard
if you do not learn to follow the rules.

They link together,
number and days,
strings of value
punctuated with semicolon winks;
(and consonant curved smiles.)
A grand unifying theory
hanging Baubles, Bangles
and bright shiny Beads.
The impulse Force of changing
momentous Month bending
light years in frequency of days,
mega-Hertz too compressed
up longitudinal mornings
and down transverse evenings
of negative pressure silence.

>intercorrelate.sync.JPC.+.FB

We were both divers on the high board
Creeping toward the edge of adventure
Cautious; taking deep breaths of bravery
Very unsure;
Plunging into the unknown of love

Trigger Warning: Self Harm*

The stencil is made, a bold, yet simple
mark with two meanings. For writers,
the mark is used to continue a sentence;
for others, the mark is used to continue a life.

The Golden Dragon Tattoo Parlor smells faintly of bleach.
Pictures of art and family cover the walls, a shelf full of trophies
shining under the fluorescent lights. Drawers with individually
wrapped needles and ink pots line the back wall.

The buzzing of tattoo guns overpowers grunge music,
voices of other customers overpowering the buzzing.
It only hurts a little bit, my artist tries reassuring me,
but his stories of drugs and arrests only worry me more.

Holding my breath I climb up on the black leather chair.
My shaking nerves show through my splotchy, tear stained face.
I clench my fists, embedding my nails into my palms.
The cluster of needles are hovering over my arm,
preparing to mark a permanent goodbye to the past;

Goodbye to the 10 PM moments, shooting up from bed
sweating, crying, my hand on my chest, feeling my heart
beating ba dump ba dump ba dump ba dump.
Sliding down to the floor to let the linoleum cool me.

Goodbye to the 12 AM moments, curled up on cold tiles.
Razor in my hand marking a tally for every flaw,
every mistake every bad thought I point out.
Short, fat, clingy, shy.

Goodbye to the 2 AM moments, plastering my thigh and
wrist with bandaids, later choosing to trade T-shirts
and shorts with long sleeves and jeans.
80 degrees won't stop me from covering everything.

The tears are there, not from pain
but from the familiar rush of adrenaline.
The sensation of feeling something other
than worthlessness and self-doubt.

A semicolon has two meanings;
continuing a sentence,
or continuing a life.