Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Caela Bayfield Jan 2015
you're beautiful but slowly rotting
as the years go by your face becomes prettier
but your hearts grows uglier.
it's those friends of yours,
it's that attitude of yours
its that doubt in your eyes
and the boredom in your voice
your words are shallow
and it breaks my heart.
Loser Apr 10
I spend most of my time staring at blank pages and listening to a snare on 2&4. I carve cuts into the tips of my fingers and bite nails off out of boredom. I also wonder how I should be living, because something feels wrong. Should I be this sad?

And every adult I have ever met talks of High school as the best years of their life, so what am I doing wrong? I have friends, I have time, I have people who care. So why do I pace up and down alone in an abandoned theater and feel grim under Friday night lights?

I wrote songs about change last year. I wrote songs about getting better. And every single ******* one of them still applies today. Now I just write to cope, and I'm trying to write better, but it's hard when I'm so jumbled. It’s hard when I get scared.

And Daniel told me to draft my work and avoid contentedness, and I trust him and I tried. I was never content. My time is flashing before me and I have the guts to wear a frown. I'm in the "good ol' days" right now, so why aren't they so good?
This sat in  my notes forever. I re-wrote it a bunch too. I hope you like it.
Wordfreak Feb 2017
June 1st, 1998.
A child born,
A boy,
With a mop of brown hair,
And complications.
Pulse weak,
Not getting enough oxygen...
But the complications?
They were handled.


June 1st, 2003.
Blowing out your candles,
Looking forward to things to come.
Like being the ring bearer in your parents' wedding.

June 1st, 2005.
Forfeiting your birthday wish,
Because your wish is coming true.
Your brother is born July 26th.

June 1st, 2012.
Looking back on middle school,
And ahead on the monster known as high school.

June 1st, 2013.
Looking back on freshman year,
And celebrating 6 months with the first girl you ever loved.
You're positive she's the one.

June 1st, 2014.
Looking back on sophomore year,
Relishing the thought of being an  upperclassman,
Yet still mourning the loss of your first love almost a year before, on June 26th.

June 1st, 2016.
Going to the meeting and signing the paperwork.
Feeling more pride than ever in your life.
You leave for basic training in August.
Little do you know, you will be medically discharged in November of the next year.

June 1st, 2018.
I will look back on all I have done.
My failures most of all.
Because they're all I have.
He Pa'amon Feb 2017
Dear boy who I threw my virginity at,

I never expected you to like me,
I purposefully picked you because I thought you were a **** boy.
We'd **** and forget.
I was some random chubby senior
and you were some random ****** sophomore.
But then you didn't let me leave,
even when I tried, you only held me closer.

I liked you because I thought you must honestly like me.
I liked you because I could not see how someone like you
could like someone like me.
You went for the skinny, blonde, dumb ones,
I was not skinny, nor blonde, nor dumb.

And I liked your dumbness, your childish innocence,
even though I was way more innocent than you.
I liked that you defied all my expectations
when you were sweet, and vulnerable, and there.

And I loved when you were ratchet,
when you'd slap my *** in public,
or try to force your hand down my pants while I was driving or on the phone.
I loved it when we'd go to parties and not actually show up because we'd just be ******* in my car.

But I was leaving to college and refused to ever call you my boyfriend but I liked you.
I liked you because nothing about us made sense,
but we did it anyways.

and then I ****** someone else, just to show you have much I didn't care about us, but I did.

Dear man who I played,

You came to me when I was at a low,
low point in my life.
I believed nothing I did was wrong and everything about me was perfect.
I was fine,
even if everyone around me told me I was not.
I was not fine.

And then you came to me,
and you were everything I was supposed to avoid.
You were way older than me, worked for my father and even dated one of his exes, and your life was going nowhere.
You were perfect.

And I didn't like you that way, you never gave me butterflies,
you never made me giggle every time you slapped my ***,
but you made me *** and our relationship made me walk on egg shells.

And I saw you fall for me, I saw you wrap yourself around my finger
saying the whole time you expected nothing of me.
And maybe that was true, but you wanted it all, you wanted all of me
and I craved that.

And now every time I see your name pop up on my phone I feel grimy.
I feel grimy because I can finally feel the weight of how wrong you were for me,
I feel grimy because of the overwhelming guilt I feel for feeling disgusted by you,
someone I never liked but almost made fall in love with me.
because of the overwhelming guilt I have for being such a ****
and the shame of allowing myself to be so cold.

so I stopped responding.

Dear boy with the beautiful eyes,

I liked you, I really liked you.
I thought we fit together so nicely,
and yes, at first you were another that I was not supposed to go for.
You could have been fired and constantly had a gun on you.
You were supposed to be protecting us
and that was ****.

And then you whispered sweet things in my ear in your broken english,
and we spent a whole night only kissing, and I loved every minute,
yearning but not needing more.  
I could have kissed you forever.

then came the staring, you'd look at me and say nothing, and I was mesmerized.
and you'd trace my ****** features and I never felt more special, more wanted, more loved.
and I never wanted you to stop staring at me because I never wanted to stop staring at you.

and then I was at your house,
with your lovely, hippie family.
and you made me breakfast and tea, and we read together on the couch,
each in our own language.

and every time we ******, you'd look into me and I felt like maybe this is what people meant when they said making love.

You'd wrap me in your arms, and I never wanted to leave,
but ever comforted by the fact that in a few weeks I would be leaving
to a different country, to a different life, to somewhere where
I would not have to face my growing feelings for you.

and now I sit with a heavy heart, half way across the world, missing you and your beautiful eyes.

Dear boy who gives me bruises,

I think I like you, and it scares me because you do not live half way across the world.
You live down the hall.

It scares me because you are smart, weird, fun, and someone I could actually date.
And I don't date, I ****.

It scares me because I still have nightmares that your ex/my ex-bestfriend will still ****** me if she ever knew we were *******,
but thats another story.

I like the way you are unapologetically odd,
a slob and sometimes completely antisocial.
I'm always sad when you don't sleep over after ***
but I enjoy how awkwardly you say good night and leave.

But I love how ***** and rough our *** is.
it's not the best *** I've had,
but its *** with you that I always want to have
and its the same *** I fantasized about in high school while watching ****.

it's so twisted
and I twirl in the mirror, admiring the countless bruises covering my *** and spattering my collar bone.

We've boxed ourselves in this drunken corner
of such ****** up *** that I think were scared to do it sober.

I love our drunken after-*** rambles about philosophy and life
but as soon as the ***** runs out and the sun rises,
it's all the same awkward laugh and shifty gazes at the floor.

and I wonder what the **** I'm trying to do with you, this boy who loves memes and rough *** and has such a brilliant mind,
and the answer is I have no ******* idea.

And when I'm honest with myself, I think I like you because you don't like me so all this fear is for nothing.

but I wait for the ***** to flow again and the sun to set, and for us to do it all over again.
No high school sophomore ever grew up without
A naked lady plastic ballpoint pen -
Those furtive giggles in geometry class
Are not about theorems all risqué

After the FFA trip to the rodeo
Or the band trip to sunny Galveston
A pretty lady with a 1940s do
Loses her swimsuit over and over again

Upend the pen, and she's nekkid in the sun -
Whoever thought writing could be such fun!
(They all  end up in ol' Miz Grunch's desk drawer.)
Kat Dec 2018
Dear mom and dad
I'm sorry I think I was born broken
You might think otherwise
And
I know it is true
I know I was not born broken

How else could you explain
Why
When I was 15
I beat the eating disorder that could have killed me
Proved it was not the only way
To live
Why
Three years later
I found a reason to live again
Found myself a full-time job
Traveled to foreign countries
Applied to college
Learned a new language
Learned to be happy again
When I thought happiness
Was just a dream
Why
Sophomore year of college
The world threw me a curveball
And I couldn't dodge it
But I tried so ******* hard
To heal the wounds it left
Reached out to friends
For the first time
Found a counsellor and a psychiatrist
Learned to ask for help
And learned
That help is there
When I need it the most
Why
Now
I take pills three times a day
In the hope
That they will make me happy
Because I'm trying my best to become
The happy person
The successful person
The calm person
I know I can be
Know I have been

How else could you explain
Why
Every day
My memories are tinted with
With the knowledge of all I have survived
The knowledge of all I have accomplished
The knowledge that it can get better
I care so much
That you care
And when I feel like I hurt you
I remind myself
That I am not the burden
I think I am

I'm sorry I think I was born broken
But I'm not sorry I am me
On my way to becoming
The person I want to be
Know I can become
This poem is a response to my poem "Born Broken." When dealing with mental illness makes me feel broken, I try to remember what I've accomplished and how I've survived and learned from difficult experiences.
Still
Not
Sure
What
To
Say
Here
...
John
Mulaney
...
Is funny?
He's sticky?
He likes children?
...
That came out
Completely
Wrong

He doesn't like children...
He's just making a show
About children

And *** and stuff
Oooo
That
Doesn't sound
Good
That
Way
Either
Does
It


Ok so let's start fresh
John Mulaney
And Nick
Kroll
Are educators
On ****** education

Wait...
Wait
I said
He doesn't
like children...
Which is totally
Factually correct
In a ******
Context

But out of context
That sounds like
He doesn't like
Kids

Which I think is
Maybe accurate
Now that
I think
About it


But I don't want
To slander anyone
So strike that one

John
Ham
Wait...
Madmen
No

John
Snow
White
Wait no
Dwarves
No sleepy
Grumpy
Bashful?

¡Mulaney!
Im back
Muchachos

So Jonny plays the ham
In the new spiderman


No....

The old spiderman?
No that was the third one...

Not the
Far From Home
Jake Gyllenhaal
**** mysterious
Movie one

The black sunflower
Post Malone is OK
Now movie

That One

The Black One
Too black for Zach
Unfortunately

But back to
Zach
In a moment

Because at least we
All agree on hating Trump
So it doesn't matter

If you are
White or black
Or Black and White
Spiderman
Noir?
I guess...
Or woman webbers!
Or robots spiders!!
Or little
Kids!!!

But again
John is not
A *******

I just want to be
Kid Perfectly
Clear
Crystal
Clear
As mud I'm
A pig so porky
Thickkk
That
Spike
Lee
Gonna
Django
Chain
Wait

I think
Spiderman
Spider
Ham

Is supposed
To web
Us all
Into
One
Great big
Multiverse

Comedy
Is an
Essential

Part of
the
Spiderverse

Like...
Secretariat
No bojack that's
Will Bluth Buster
Mother
Lover

Oops
I did it again
Bananas

Split

Horror
Flipped
Comedy

There we are
John Mulaney
Brings the comedy
Toby and the young
Kid don't
Have

Even the fat Asian is
Just meh
If we are all being

Completely honest
Honestly
Billy
GOAT
EGOT
Joel
Piano man
Completely honest

Andrew
Garfield was kind of
Funny

#weexist
Arcade Fire
#Future

And Miles
Is sweet

But he
Not
Funny

Fun Fact:
I saw that
Movie in December

I had my
First Vision
I wept

Next to Zachary
Robinson my
Actuary
Brother
I worked with
Him at Sears Tower

No
The Willis
Tower

Wait
No

The Willis Towers Watson Tower

Sears
《《《Is RIP》》》
Sears

The catalogue
We Used
Before the

Sports Illustrated
Swimsuit Edition

To
Come
On
Now

I keep losing
My train
Burger
King
Queen
Dairy
Keen home
Of the train wreck

My first job
In Heber Utah
Wasatch Wave

My first time
In a newspaper
Was in there

And at Wasatch
I took 3rd place my
Sophomore year

As a
WASP
In

Original
Oratory

In State
Debate

Yes, yes I was a nerd
I know,
I know
So thanks ahead of time

In Utah
On and I
Quote

"WE SHOULD HAVE
THE RIGHT TO
DIE"

How did I not
Get sent to
Therapy?!?

It wasn't even on
Euthanasia for
The sick
And
Afflicted
#yeledersofisreal

My first example
Was a *** kid
That gets kicked

Out of his
House and becomes
Homeless

Gets addicted to
Drugs
And then
Wants an
Out

That was literally
My cousin

And me
Trans
Or
Nonbinary
Or something

I just wanted to have some
Sense of control
Over My Hell

And so I debated
And I didn't take first in state
Or second in state

But I did
Take 3rd
In Utah

On suicide

And look at me now!
I am doing amazing!!
So many friend requests!!!

I mean, I'm disabled
Lonely most of the time
And I have multiple
Personality
Disorder

Oh wait

Dissociative
Identity
Disorder

DID
Casey Sep 5
Tragic heroes have tragic flaws.
At least, that's what the sophomore language arts teacher had taught.

Juliet and Romeo,
ignorant obsession.
Macbeth,
unchecked ambition.
Achilleus and Agamemnon,
self-righteous ego.
Tragic heroes slew by the pen for a lesson.

What about the ones that succeed?
How could they possibly have flaws?
We hold them on a pedestal for all to see.
Maybe they truly were perfect--at first.

It's easy to fake a smile.
Nothing has changed, we are the same.
Not every flaw can be seen at surface level,
and they're not necessarily vices.

For instance, loyalty.
Now that'll get you killed.
Put that into perspective,
and we're all just tragic heroes with tragic flaws.
I know this doesn't make much sense. It's content though.  Yes, I'm back!
Sidney Chelle Nov 2018
do you ever look at that freshman year photo of yourself,
(maybe hair fuzzed, maybe eyes wide, maybe teeth wider still,)
and think,
“ugh!!!”
you think, “that’s not me.”
and you’re right.
it’s not old.
it’s not tired.
it hasn’t slept through first period yet - and survived.
(so you had to fight off two cats to do your homework, ended up being pretty rushed and of course you know teacher wants your best work…)
it hasn’t crashed a car into the garage yet.
(*******, you were going so slow! how did that even happen??)
it hasn’t had sweaty-palmed movies, a quick rub on the pants before going in for the hold.
(she smells so good!)
your mom makes you broccoli, extra mushy because that’s how you like it, and you get a little teary.
you think “i haven’t cried over broccoli since i was five.”
you wear the same coat that you did in seventh grade.
the arms are stained.
you can almost still see grass from hills long ago.
when you put it on, your stomach still rolls down those hills a little bit.
you feel the cold snaps inside its very lining,
an excited screech, a simple pleasure.
you still know how to do that special little breath before the big one when you step outside.
(means your lungs don’t turn into icicles. maybe you won’t need it where you’re going.)
i bought that coat about one foot two ago.
(i’ll still need it where i’m going.)
i confessed my first about three hundred sins ago.
(i’ll still need it where i’m going.)
you went from giving gum to people you’ve never thought about,
(trust me, it’s nothing!)
to trademark glares, meant to keep the thoughts out.
(don’ttalktomedon’ttalktomedon’ttalktome.)
it feels like there’s a watermark over everything you write.
it feels like your sense of sight
is far off.
(maybe it’s in california,)
it got pulled out.
(maybe it’s in pennsylvania,)
it rooted again elsewhere.
(maybe it’s in boston. maybe it’s always been boston. your whole life, it was boston. you never even knew.)
glassy-eyed stare,
(over water.)
now that’s some trademark glare!
(over ice. over easy. over and out. so over it.)
maybe in sophomore year you called a teacher by their first name,
and ran away when you got that trademark glare.
now it’s “hey douglas, guess who didn’t do their homework uh-gain?”
it’s a joke that y’all share.
you know you won’t remember so much.
you won’t remember the shoe squeaks, every last-minute print job.
you won’t remember the chicken nuggets, how much gum bubbles ****** you off during MCAS,
but you remember a glow.
i remember a warmth, so much.
i remember every time that i grew a little more “i can do it and i don’t know what it will be,”
even if i don’t have the words.
will you remember too?
i wrote on my arm once,
“it all feels so dissolved.
eyes are tired.
eyes are hopeful.
the growing up gets closer each day,
and we are moving on.”
all of this isn’t knowing you can fly.
it’s knowing you know how to try.
Madison Mar 7
In 6th grade I declared that I hated hugs.
My sister would hug me and she would lean and be mean
Hug me and press all of her weight.
Hug me and let all the words escape.
And my dad,
Oh my dad.
If I didn’t give him a hug I was ungrateful
If I didn’t give him a hug I was rude
My mom,
She got the message
Wouldn’t get to close
We never talked like we were close.
I always wanted to hug my mom.
Tell her I loved her and how I was doing.
But I learned you can’t be different for different people.
And I remember the first day of high school
I said it was good and I said I already had homework so I had an excuse to leave.
I said that for four years.
I would disappear to do homework.
In that four years
I realized I miss the feeling of closeness
Cuddled in arms or conversation.
I realized I missed out on six years.
When you push and push and push people away
They get the message
When you push and push and push people away
You grow so distant you can’t see anymore
I’d grown to like the sun.
So bright it’s blinding
So bright it stings
So bright my eyes try to close ;
I can finally see
But my eyes
How they have gotten so use to me begging them shut,
That now they can’t stop trying to.
I had shut you out so much that when
I came to you crying sophomore year
You didn’t know what to
Hadn’t seen me crying since grade two
I handed you a piece of paper from the school counselor
I remember him telling me it’s only going to get worse
I remember him asking me what I’m going to do
And I got up and said sorry.
I had just come in for extra credit in science
I got up and said sorry.
I didn’t mean to waste your time.
You handed me a piece of paper and begged me to give it to my mom.
It took three weeks but i did.
It took three weeks but I did.
It took three weeks and mom, you said,
It’s red dye number two.
You said it’s in all that processed food.
You said I’ll be fine give it a week.
You said I’ll be fine watch what you speak

I stood there.
I stood there and it was like the day I got my period.
How I decided to bleed through my pants instead of telling you.
How 12 year old me decided I wanted to do my own laundry.
How you still saw my bright blue gym shorts with red stains.
How I stood in front of you exposed
How I stood in front of you with literal blood pouring from me.

It was that moment again.
But this time blood is a metaphor
But this time the blood stain couldn’t come out
But this time you didn’t give me any tools that I needed
But this time you said everything is perfect why can’t you see it.
But this time I asked for a hug.
You said you don’t like those anymore.
please give me feedback I need validation

— The End —