Her Feb 27
My name is Erin
and i was raped
at the age of 7

it has taken me
14 years of my life
for those 13 words to escape
my hollow mouth

the only questions i come to now
is why
why lock me in that room
why take everything from me
my innocence
my purity
my childhood

in my own room
where my family trusted you
where i trusted you
the night terrors i have to this day
still haunt my mind

like a never ending
drive in movie that plays
only the moon in the night sky
isnt made to be found here
there is no light in these terrors

i cant sleep this time of year
because every time i do
its you
in that room
locking the door
shutting the windows
undressing me
yelling at me
every single night
i close my eyes

it has taken me 14 years
to accept the fact that i was taken by you
i have been numb ever since
left in the dust
rotting away at the core
thinking i was nothing
thinking i deserved nothing
because you took everything

but not anymore
i will recover from this
i am strong enough
i believe in myself
i believe in my own happiness
and i promsie
that when i have children one day
i will never ever let them rot at the core
i will find happiness
the darkness will not take over this time
Becky Littmann Oct 2014
Sometimes you want what you can't have & resisting the urge is a lost battle from the start...
The tempted are quickly torn apart,
time & time again the white flag is waved.
Another has given up & caved.
Temptation has won once more
adding to their undefeated score...
rules broken & adrenaline is to blame
...it's just the beginning of the curiosity game....
gg Mar 2014
I think I started writing you away before you were gone
I wanted to make sure I could let you go before I did
I wanted to feel numb when I pushed you away
so I wrote
I put you on pages,
typed chapter titles for every single time you looked at me
I wrote until you were a novel,
read you until you were no longer novel,
and put you on a shelf so I could start waiting to forget about you,
a memory trapped in unused synapses

and after I shut your final chapter
but before your pages had started to collect dust,
I realized what I had done
See, I had taken each word from within me,
harvested my heartstrings, plucking them and mixing them to make ink,
The pieces of you I kept in my heart
sat as words on a page, aging
while my heart, once strong, felt too empty
and cavernous to beat under the weight of the sigh pinning down my chest

In all of my preparing
I had forgotten that I am human

I forgot feelings aren't like a fountain
there's no faucet you can turn off to keep them from
running through your mind
no way to stop them from flowing
back through your mouth when you try to
swallow them, mixed with rum, in your best friend's basement,
days after you forgot that you can't turn off a rainstorm
you can try to catch the raindrops in a bucket
but the bucket you'll need is big enough to drown in
you can try to hold out an umbrella
but if the wind is hard enough
you're still going to end up cold and dripping,
tearstained and shivering
waiting until the sun comes out

I forgot that I can't control the weather,
or anything other than myself for that matter
The end of a storm doesn't equate to the appearance of a rainbow

I realized that just because my fingers twisted around yours until
they melted together doesn't mean you'll forgive me
and that you left tattoos on me that only time will fade
and we're both going to be mad
I found out that
every song that ever reminded me of you doesn't cease to exist
I have to re-watch movies because they're different now, somehow,
and just because my hair is probably still all over your clothes
and I talked to you every day
and you gave me months of memories
and thinking about you is gut-wrenching
doesn't mean that I won't spend days praying for patience
and hoping for healing because
*damn it, letting you go doesn't mean I don't miss you
I'm not entirely sure if this is done, but I'm happy with it for now.
M Clement Feb 2013
I just sent an email to my Mom.
Part of me feels it
Part of me wonders if I'm overdramatic

I feel like shit.
Like, I feel different than when I felt depressed
But this is still not a place I want to be

I never feel ok anymore.
I'm not even sure what ok feels like.

I keep wanting to drink for all the wrong reasons
I never get drunk
But I always want to reach that happy nirvana
That "tipsy enough to forget all your worries" place
There's something seriously wrong with me

I haven't actually talked to my family in AZ for over a month
I schedule skype dates with a woman I'll probably never see again
More than I do with my own father.
What type of shit is that?

I looked at porn, I fucked myself today.
I feel like the biggest piece of shit this planet has seen.

I also lack self forgiveness.

I got an email back from a priest today.
I told him I'd be interested in joining the priesthood
I realized I might have been lying,
But honestly,
I don't even know!
I feel like I'm sitting on my thumb,
Trying to figure out the world as it
Races by me,
Unwilling to stop and allow me to catch my breath
Or read the signs or understand a damn shred of anything

This is what I'm talking about
Part of me feels this,
And the other part just scoffs, and says I'm melodramatic
Pick yourself up
Dust yourself off and figure out
what the hell you're doing

I feel so alone anymore.
Like, if there's not someone by my side
I somehow lack basic humanity.
Like I need someone to be there
If they aren't, I'm obviously not worth much

I closed the blinds four different times today.
I didn't want the neighbors to see my actions.
After a certain point, I closed them to watch a movie
And I haven't opened them back up,
even though
it would probably cheer me up a great deal

This is probably one of the longest "poems"
I've ever written.
It's not poetry, it's freestyle
Not like it matters,
It's like an art major defining the different strokes that an artist used in a painting
Like I give a damn
It's still a painting

Lent is one of the hardest times of the year.
I feel it with every fiber of my being.
Nothing about this situation makes me feel ok.
I feel out of body, out of mind, out of soul.
I'm pretty sure, at this point, St. Peter wouldn't let me in.
In my heart of hearts I want it desperately, but
The rest of me still says no.

I'm so messed up it's ridiculous.
And I sent an email to my mom chronicling her son's failures
Her son's issues,
And why,
Her son
Needs to go back to a counselor
Because I'll be damned if he's not "fixed" yet.
This is me being completely honest. I'm in a pretty bad place right now. This was therapeutic to write, and while I don't know if anyone can "enjoy" it, know that I hope it reaches you in a way that helps you.
Madhurima Jun 2016
It started with a goodbye.
It started with me wrapping up my past
in bubblewrap, as if it was fragile.
It was really so that its sharp edges would be
unable to hurt me anymore.
I decided it was better to leave it inside
my bedside table, next to the pictures and the letters.
Not to pack it in a suitcase
and bring it with me on my many travels.
But it refused to leave my side,
it followed me, like a paper plane
guided by my insecurities.
Like I was a holding up a neon sign that read
Perhaps it was a sign that I was to carry it with me
to all the places I hadn't been but longed to see.
People asked me about the big monster
that hunkered down beside me.
But how could I tell them that
I was caught up in something
I'd promised to leave behind?
How it has consumed my mind
my body, my very soul.
How it threatened to rip a hole
in the very future I was trying to protect.
Maybe I'm exaggerating
Maybe the time I spent hating every part of me
wasn't very long at all.
But it felt like an eternity
the summer, winter and fall.
Finally, spring arrived
With hopeful eyes and a big bright smile.
I shook myself awake from what was
starting to feel like a neverending nightmare,
A rabbit hole that wasn't taking me to Wonderland
I started to understand that I couldn't go on like this.
I took a hit or miss dive into the future,
And like a magician, unlocked the weights at my ankles.
Once at the shore, I looked at my past as it drowned
unwanted and forgotten,
And I realised I was no more a crinkled mess.
With wrinkled fingertips at the end of my hand,
I held up a mirror to my freshly washed face.
I smiled, digging my toes into the sand.
It ended with a hello.
it's more of a ramble, really. I hope you enjoy. Depression is tough, but you are tougher. xx
Alan W Jankowski Nov 2011
We started out as a couple of friends,
Who saw each other now and then,
Two people hurt many times before,
And afraid of getting hurt once more.

Slowly we began to share long walks,
And share our thoughts in quiet talks,
And of each other we soon grew fond,
Realizing we shared a special bond.

Hearts that harbored so much pain,
They never thought they'd love again,
Secretly wishing that they would find,
Someone to give them peace of mind.

Hearts that searched so far and wide,
For the love that went missing inside,
Souls that roamed long and far,
Wishing upon most every star.

Then one day my wish came true,
I found love again and it was you,
There was a piece missing from my soul,
You were the one who made me whole.

Yes, number 14 of the 67Goat poems is my most popular poem...my 9-11 poem may have been used in ceremonies around the world, and published in newspapers and church bulletins across the country, but nobody ever writes me about it...this one also has the dubious distinction of being my most plagiarized, btw...:)
Lizzy Jan 2014
You waved the tool in my face
Causing a switch to go off in my brain
My thoughts distorted
My body springing to action
Trying to make you stop
What you had already done

The new raised lines on your upper arm
Caused by simple office supplies
Wouldn't have happened
If I hadn't left you for just a second
For the moment my back was turned
You were half past gone and a mile away from better

Both of are breathless
The shiny twisted piece of metal
Somewhere on the floor

Sitting across from each other
Your shoulders shook against mine
My tears burned into your shirt
And were mopped up with your brown hair

I spoke through choked sobs
As hurt memories flashed through my brain
Like the trailers of movies
Showing only a quick remembrance
Of my past
That leaked into your present

But you feel as though your present is not a gift
For you're falling down the rabbit hole
Not to Wonderland
But to the land of pills and hospital beds
Where it is not wonderful in any shape or form

Your scars can still heal
If you stopped retracing the red lines you've made
And realized
You are something
I care about you
And so do others
So if you won't try for yourself
Try for them
Try for *me
I'll try for you.
Leks Jan 2014
alas my long lost friend

(Deep breath)

I have not forgotten our conversations that streched in the darkness of our room and grabbed dreams as hot as the sun and as bright as the nebula of dying stars

I have not forgotten your comfort/advice within my addiction
I spent 365 days with you and gained insight every single second spent in your Presence

(Chuckles subtely)

Your parlance was weak but mine wasn't so we balanced out perfectly
Your profanity was like honey to my ears and mine, well, mine was incrypted silently within my laughters with you

I remember the day we spoke freely about our ambitions and hopes in life it was so beautiful that today my friend those words vaguely linger on my tongue as we were also young so our minds were like young hungry wolves out for their first hunt.
I loved it

We spoke until our sleep was in sync it intertwined so well that we sleept at the exact same time I was grateful that we were both silent/light sleepers as every sound through the window you valiantly probed me to open was of nature and the moon illuminated our room like our own star we rarely left our curtains open but when we did -- it was beautiful
I sometimes stayed awake to see the clock hit mid night just to soak it -- as my mind roamed free after mid night

Oh my friend..

How I miss our immature scenerios of how the world would end and the lustful rants about the girls/women we wish to devour on this god forsaken planet we call earth
The way we spoke about music as if we were there in the studios of the vast array of artists that we spoke about
Frank ocean
The Script
Flying Lotus
Red Hot Chili Peppers
And many others...
We talked and talked and talked and talked until the duty prefects grew slim of our horiddly loud rants you would take the blame, that way we both knew we wouldn't be punished as you were considered a fragment of gold for the school and I merely silver and silver is not nearly better then gold

(Chuckles wholely)

Our laughs coexisted like a melody only mozart could compose our inside jokes made people sick of our ability to laugh in complete silence by merely communicating through eye contact it was delightful/enlightening

Oh and your mind
You underestimated it to be honest. You were top twenty in the grade but your mind did not reflect this. For some reason I was the only one who could unlock the intellectual matter out of your vanity case (brain)
It made me feel special as at the time I was a minority and your companionship had me placed on a golden pedestal
I probed you about the effects of marijuana that you seemed so eager to explore but in my mind a dark shadow over my words grew as I knew the effect of marijuana on the first timer I knew I had to be in the prescence and high enough to not be consumed by it as marijuana was embedded in my vescular codes
There were times when I was high for a whole week and you didn't notice.
My eyes were blood shot but I'd usually use the excuse of being tired and you'd accept it quite humbly
Your friends became my friends
My friends became your friends
I feel like we started a revolution
You and I
As our peers did not coexist the way we made them to at the time
I did not tell you this as you would've probably thought I was high again

Oh my friend

You left nothing but nostalgia in my mind and lingering words/phrases you fervenly adored/abused, some even of my own
I embraced them.
I remember the hate I had for the smell of chlorine you brought into the room
I surpased that by remembering how bad you were at arguing as you walked in with a subtle smile and complete exhaustion in your eyes

I cowered into my books during study afraid to ask you for help as your focus could have intimidated einstein. I kept my doses of silence, lucky for me I had the privledge of listening to music so therefore my sanity was restored each 45 minute spent being confused

After study you became an animal probing me to join your adventures of havoc in the house I sometimes questioned how you were in the top 20 for academics but this was answered by remembering the greatest Philosophers that weren't sane at all not even in the little.

I was proud to call you my friend. Your pronounication of my nickname was incredible -- part of the reason to how it was infected into everyones vocabulary

Oh my friend whos name I shall not mention

I miss our vague chants of songs we merely heard in movies. Chants that made people feel vulnerible as your voice was completely horrid and mine exceptionaly melodic, the blend created a fine dose of old whisky
It was beautiful

(Sighs heavily)

But now my friend you are merely a fragment of nostalgia, a poem, a memory -- a lost memory
We are 365 days distant now and your reclusive persona makes me fear that our paths might not intertwine again.

Alas my old friend
Alas my lost friend


This is a poem to the universe
From a lost friend
B Mar 2013
the whole team is here now
fuck it
we started from the bottom
now we are here
what is the bottom
but the bottom
of an anus
a vagina
a fucking uterus
pouring out a baby
that's the bottom
is grown
like a seed
to a flower
from the seed
to the flower
that's all he's talking aobut
upper class
middle class
no class
you don't get it
human achievement
trumps it
like a full house over three pair
there's a gap
no matter where u come from
is talent
and u get
to the top
from the bottom
even if it was already at the top
Tyler Loeslein Mar 2013
It started as an accident,
an out of hand drunk night
that turned into the morning after
of cleaning up the blood I'd spilled
on bathroom floors and bed frames,
and guiltily staring at the unbound wound
feeling both pride and nauseating regret.

More apologies added themselves
to the ones that had already spilled from my lips,
and Victoria accompanied as I embarked
on a scavenger hunt for better bandaging.

The emergency first aid kit that I kept in my car
was unburied from the mess of old papers
and empty food wrappers that had piled up,
providing me with packages of square gauze pads
four rolls of tape, and enough antibiotics
to care for my cut until it healed,
but I was still dreading the aftermath,
the ragged pink line that would surely be left behind.
Raj Arumugam Aug 2013
I posted a poem
at hello poetry -
and what happened?
Somebody started following me

I received a "notification"
(I can’t say “much to my gratification”)
that someone started following me
I think it went something like:
“Naked Blueberry started following you”

Oh what did I do?
What did I dodo?
All I did was to post a poem
and not a word from you -
O cruel menacing follower -
not a comment
not an expression of your displeasure
but you started following me
What did I do?
What did I dodo?

I may tell bad jokes
and write verse
that daily gets worse
Yeah, I may look ugly like I stole
a look from my fav Mad magazine
and once in a while I say something
about organisations -
but does that warrant you
following me
and transforming me into
a near-nervous wreck?

O Naked Blueberry
what did I do?
What did I dodo -
why do you follow me, you naked stalker?
I lie in bed now afraid
and my wife worries that
I cry out often in sleep:
“Hence, You Naked Succubus -
Follow me not!”
And I dare not approach my car
but after looking under bonnet
and boot and below the carriage
I dare not write a word now
but fear that you and your agents
will follow and stalk me
with ne’er a word, ne’er a warning

At least tell me, please O follower
O Naked Blueberry, O Protean Terminator
O Nude Redberry  
and all the others in various guises
(I know you guys are all one person,
namely Lily Raw and Ready)
- tell me why you follow,
show me cause of your anger
O what did I do?
What did I dodo?
What should I do?
What should I dodo?
This is one of those poems where I take a 'risk'...
1) ...just a good-natured dig on the contemporary practice of following but without a comment or clue... 2) I will be away for some time...back possibly early Oct... 3) I'm following this bull that's run into the bush...  4) You guys and gals all have a great time till then...
Ary Jan 2014
How things started to be unfair
This isn't a complaint,grievance nor grumble
This is the voices of people whose hearts
are crumbled.

How things started to be unfair,
where looks are preferred while hearts are ignored.
Money took over when capability was before.

How things started to be unfair,
where society started to judge
with grudge
without thinking how those hearts feel.

How things started to be unfair,
when the unlawful lawful
the lawful is banned.

How things started to be unfair

The Flipped Word Mar 2014
I've Started reading my old works
My own literary corpses
From other places, other times
And lives I used to don

I've started meeting my old words
Like those friends forgotten
The ones, that even though have left
Still linger in the niches of my heart

I've started thinking of my past feats
Instead of my present failures
I gaze longingly at this visage of time
To make up for my lost delights

I've started questioning myself
My beliefs, my dreams and me
If I shed this cloak of apathy
What will I really be?

I've started something,  I'm not sure
But it's something unimportant
As it's just for me, my own tryst
But I've started finally.
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