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Kailey Brown Dec 2014
I was never supposed to be this girl.

I was supposed to be Dark.
I was supposed to be to Depressed.
I was supposed to be Angry.
I was supposed to be Rebellious.
I was supposed to be Alone

I was supposed to be the type to cry myself to sleep.
I was supposed to be the type to cut myself at night.
I was supposed to be the type to be misunderstood.
I was supposed to be the type to be judged.
I was supposed to be the type to hate and be hated.

I am not exactly who I was supposed to be.

I am still Angry.
I am still rebellious.
I am still misunderstood.


I am not alone.
I am loved those around me.

I do not hate,
And I am not hated.
Because I worked to tear down the walls I built.

I am not who I was supposed to be,
And that's okay with me.

Because who I am turned out to be better.
I turned out to be more than I thought I could be.

I realized something.

I realized that parts of me that were "supposed to be"
never were.
I realized that parts of who I am were always "supposed to be.

I realized that parts of me will always be the same.

I will always want to rebel.
I will always feel a little dark
Or depressed.
I will always be angry at the unfairness of the world.
"Who I Am" and "Who I Was Supposed To Be"
Will always be intermixed.


It is in that mixture that the True Me has formed.
I will never be somethings,
And always be others.


It is in those things that I will find
Who I Am To Become

And I guess I'll figure that out as I go.
Vivian Jun 2015
I'm not supposed to hate you.

I'm not supposed to think you're stupid.
I'm not supposed to want to run away.
I'm not supposed to think you're wrong.
I'm not supposed to talk back.
I'm not supposed to have an opinion.
I'm not supposed to be right.
I'm not supposed to want to hit you.
I'm not supposed to want to swear.
I'm not supposed to question your love.
I'm not supposed to think you're a bad person.
I'm not supposed to be scared of you.
I'm not supposed to want to scream.
I'm not supposed to want to hide.
I'm not supposed to want to break things.
I'm not supposed to hate you with every fiber in my body.

but I do...
Paige Jul 2019
I’m supposed to be happy right now
Fitting into dresses and stretch pants
And eating pickles
I’m supposed to be glowing
Watching my tummy grow
And picking out the perfect name
I would’ve known by now
Whether you’d be born a girl or boy
What color your room might be
I’m supposed to be emotional
But a different type than I am now
I’m supposed to cry over things
Like spilled milk
And unlikely animal friends
But I’m crying over emptiness instead
I’m not supposed to be sad right now
I’m supposed to be measuring my belly
And eating lots of fruit
Going to doctors
And listening to your tiny heartbeat
I’m supposed to be there
I’m supposed to be overjoyed
And excited
And worried
I’m supposed to be making plans
And decorating and redecorating
And driving your daddy crazy
I am supposed to be a mom
I should be looking at tiny clothes
And little shoes we’ll use once
Buying dehumidifiers and strollers
Reading pamphlets and dodging cravings
I should be complaining
About stretch marks and growing feet and sweaty palms
I should be loving every inch of you already
And struggling with stupid simple tasks
I should be moody
And impossible
And hungry
And eager to meet my tiny human
My sweet baby
My whole heart...
But I’m not.
I’m supposed to be pregnant
And I’m not
I’m supposed to be waiting for you
And I can’t
Because I lost you.
Because you’re already gone.
And all I have left of you is memories
Of cravings and emotions and ideas
A doctors visit and a photo of my first test
A faint pink line
I’m supposed to be halfway there...
And I’m not
I'm supposed to take a test on Tuesday
about some Bill of Rights, Constitution, founding fathers *******
I've been hearing about this **** for what seems like a never ending river of forever but I'm still failing that test.
I'm supposed to take a test on tuesday about everything I'm supposed to have absorbed from the beginning of September to now, in my political systems class in my senior year of high school
political systems, systems of politics
Can you teach me about our government TODAY
in two-thousand-and-thirteen so I can have
at least some delusional illusion that I know
at least a fraction of what the **** is going on

I should be memorizing each amendment on the Bill of Rights
which was written long enough ago
instead of morning coffee
there'd be lines of blow, legally
my mom, would be billing the hospital for the right to my captivity
if I tried to convince everyone that dancing is good for your ******* soul
after smoking a bowl and doing a line I'd sign on the dotted line
"no man is above or below shaking their ***** until the lights stop to glow"

Am I the only outraged kid in here?
Am I the only person who believes this country's worsened-and if we're learning about our country
put me back in US history because I barely passed my sophomore year
I barely passed the year before that one too
and not because of my report card

I'm supposed to take a test on Tuesday, on the Bill of Rights, and how it applies with the passing of time but if there's one Bill I know that's right, it's my boy Billy
when he gets real silly and stomps his feet to the beat like the street's ******* ground meat and he's the butcher

I'm supposed to take a test on Tuesday, I'm also supposed to go to work at 3
I'm supposed to stay in good shape and not turn in any schoolwork late
and Cotillion's soon so I gotta find a date

I'm supposed to go to college next year to get more knowledge but my mind is still lost somwhere between
I've seen too many scary pink ***** too young
I've felt too many scary pink licks too young
now I always think people are out to get me
so I walk around looking strung out on amphetamines
waiting for the earth to crumble beneath me
So when I was supposed to be taking notes on the Boston Tea Party
Please excuse me if I was a little busy
trying to hold the delicious wishes of dying at bay

So I'm kind of proud to say
I'm ******* alive today
and on Tuesday I'm supposed to take some test
but this, this moment is my very own test
I'm studying to be my very own best
version of a classmate, a student, a friend, a daughter
and someone I can listen to every waking moment
and someone I can stand up to when the right to my free will is challenged
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
I wasn’t supposed to fall so hard
I wasn’t supposed to call out for your arms in the night
And my lips weren’t supposed to search for yours
As if they would actually be there.
I wasn’t supposed to nuzzle into my pillow at night
pretending that your hands were nestled in my hair
I wasn’t supposed to make small talk
just so I could hypnotize myself with that something in your eyes
I wasn’t supposed to wake up cold in the gray morning
with the strong urge to be bruised and bitten
In fits of slow, languid passion.

Unreal how our bodies match and move together,
Uncanny how our minds meld and play in synch.
My youthful love for life,
Your chuckling maturity, still unsure what life is.

Now I play soft ballads full of aching, yearning,
I can wrap myself in a blanket on the floor
With a mug of tea, and think silently on you
And the shadows I wish I could conjure into existence…
They live inside, dancing to burst free from our guilty bodies
Too ethereal, too beautiful, to be abandoned
When we (artists) know we live for such wonders.

I wish I had any other option but forgetting,
or descending into madness.
(I’m currently choosing madness..?)

And it wasn’t supposed to be like this.
I wasn’t supposed to fall so hard.
I’m so sorry,
My summer love.

Written for N, and a cold morning in an empty house up Chumstick Highway.
storm siren Jul 2016
I'm not supposed
To want to stay.
I'm not supposed
To be looking for a home
To be looking for some kind of

I'm not supposed
To want roots
Solidified in the ground,
That was probably why
I was homeless off and on
Since I was small--
Well, smaller.

I'm not supposed to want to grow
In one place.
I'm not supposed to be the person
Who wants to stick around,
Even when they're not wanted.

I only stick around
When I'm wanted around,

I'm not supposed
To want to feel your hand in mine.

I'm not supposed to want to see
Glimmering blue eyes
Surrounded by sunset oranges and reds
Spiraling around seafoam blues and greens,
Smiling at me.

I'm not supposed to be honest.

I'm not supposed to be raw.

I'm supposed to be
Bare feet slamming down hard
Once they hit the gravel pavement.
The dirt road,
The sand path.

I'm supposed to be running and sprinting
As quickly and swiftly as I can
Until my lungs burn
And the rise and fall of my chest is too much.

I'm supposed to be

Bangles and jewelry
Clacking and clanging
And jingling like a bell
As I walk on air across the room
In a long flowing skirt
And puffy sleeves,
To read your mind
Or see your future.

I'm supposed to be
Crystal *****
And tarot cards.
Tea leaves
And the lines on your palms.


I am craving to belong,
I am breathing cold fall air,
I am sentimental pieces of paper
Meaning a whole hell of a lot more to me
Than golden coins and jewels.

I am the owner of a stuffed lion,
Not a real one,
That means the world to me
Because he was an imaginary friend for too long,
Until we bought him a body.

And I am squeezing your hand too hard when I remember
What happened to all the people I love
That intended on staying,
Not the flighty insects who flew away.

I am a hopeless romantic,
I am a believer of red strings
And a circle of life and things that are meant to happen that happen.

I am sitting here believing in
Meant to be
Story book endings
Higher powers that don't like getting involved
Angels that do
Tears stains that are worth it
Standing back up even when it hurts,
And a lucky scarf.

I am full of not supposed to be's
And meant to be's
And self-doubt
And ire
And fear
And Getting back up's
And Saying **** it's
And Doing the scary thing anyway's.

I am sarcasm
And rage
And tears that burn my eyes and choke my vocal chords.

But I've got running away running through my veins
But I want nothing more
Than to stay.
Sometimes I remember things.
Jay Jul 2013
If the train is supposed to come it will
If I happpen to be walking on the tracks then, oh well
If someone was supposed to stop me they would
Hell, push me out of the way if they could

If it's supposed to be real then it is
But I guess I'm not being realistic
But if it's all a fantasized reality
Then no one understands but me

If she's supposed to be a mom then she might
Instead of coming home in the middle of the night
Instead of controlling your life she'd be in it
And she'd stop taking whatever makes you happy away from it

If he's supposed to be my dad he'll be there
Less awkward phone calls, no more stupid fears
Because daddy never protected me from what was under my bed
So they grew up with me and moved into my head

If someone was supposed to stop him, it would've happened
But no one did, I tried, I demanded
Cried for him to please, please stop
But he still ended up on top

My mother and him would never've gotten married
Another child to take my place she would never've carried
If I wasn't supposed to be left out
A family is something I grew up without

If I'm supposed to be sad, fate's doing it's job
All I see is this heavy fog
Clouding my judgement, self-worth, my very being
Controlling how I feel about me

If the train doesn't come then I'm supposed to live another day
But if it does come, I didn't plan on stepping out of the way
So if the train decides to come and hit me
That's the way it's supposed to be
There was a shooting in Redstone
Only one man dead, none hurt
He was found dead in the morning
With just one hole right through his shirt

He was lying in the main street
Face down, right there in the dirt
He was found dead in the morning
With just one hole right through his shirt


The crowd had formed around him
Lying there, all hard and cold
No witnessess to the shooting
At least not one so bold

They knew him from his weapon
The sixteen notches on the grip
He came in on the Flyer
He won't be on the return trip


He was staying at The Belfry
He only brought one bag to town
No one knew why he had come here
Except to shoot somebody down

The papers ran the story
The next morning in THE SUN
They ran a picture and a story
Of the "Man With The Pearl Gun"


The story was quite lengthy
Considering no one saw him shot
But, as usual there was someone
Who had a story to be bought

He'd been shot from an end window
Above the Local Mercantile Store
One bullet from a rifle
And the gunman was no more


Turns out the gunman's killer
Was the one he'd come to find
The shooter was the killer's child
The only son, he'd left behind

They never met before this
He'd never ever met his Dad
But, The Gunman came to find him
And in the end, it's kind of sad

Fa Be O Nov 2015
Women are supposed to understand.
We are supposed to agree.
Supposed to care.
Supposed to be sensitive.
Women are supposed to give you
Those warm hugs that make
the world feel alright again.
They're supposed to wait on you,
Kiss you,
Open their hearts
And legs,
And bring you joy
and present you with
We are supposed to understand,
And stay calm,
And see it from your point of view.
We are supposed to be sensitive,
But strong,
Both just enough to comfort you,
Not too much to disturb.
Women are supposed to heal you,
Even as they cut themselves removing
Sharp, spiny thorns from you.
We are supposed to let ourselves be touched,
If we love you,
When you want;
Even, when we long for a different kind of touch.
We are supposed to be open and vulnerable,
Telling you our stories
Our dreams and hopes and fears,
Ecen though you would keep us
Half-guessing your thoughts,
Perhaps until we prove ourselves.
Should women guard their secrets instead?
Women are supposed to be quiet,
Wait to be called,
Don't cry,
Don't hurt,
Don't fight.
Just understand
And listen and care.
Just give and give,
And give and give.
Leon Hart Mar 2013
This is for the soul searchers
This is for the song writer who feels like who he is doesn’t fill the space

of who he was meant to be. This is for the depressed cigarette smoking chain smokers.
This is for the poet who writes a thousand lines and keeps them all to
herself, because nobody else deserves to hear them.
This is to fight the starless sky of every midnight wanderer who looks up
wondering, cause if there were more like you the night time streets wouldn’t be so empty.
This is for the traveler who never got a chance and lies below a rock with
his name.
I don’t even know if I’m old enough to say it, but it’s for the generations
of baby boomers of old women and men whose ideas and values are shushed by an obnoxious generation.
This is for the wedding planners whose weddings never seem to come.
This is for the beautiful girls that somebody told otherwise.
This is for the 15 year old gang member who can’t leave.
This is for the second place finishers and the C students.
This is for the guitar strings never threaded and the scripts never
written and the thrill voices that never cried hallelujah because they didn’t believe they could.
This is for the incapable,
Because you and me both are incapable.
This is so you can look at me differently like I was an amputee.
And what I’ve had cut away was my expectations.
I was supposed to be huge—
I was supposed to be the first rose ever planted in the desert—
I was supposed to be the first paint on the ceiling in the Sistine chapel—
I was supposed to be either Axel Rose or Frodo Baggins, and whether
you’re cool or not you understand that line.
I was supposed to be the first pope with a full body tattoo—
I was supposed to be Neil Armstrong—
I was supposed to be the first life on another planet—
I was supposed to be bleeding iron and nails—
If you saw me as I was supposed to be the contrast between me and the
rest of the world would be unbearable, but I’m incapable.
‘Cause nobody ever pushed me,
Nobody ever pushed me,
Nobody ever pushed me and said:
Be something bigger,
Be something bigger,
Be something!

Nobody ever told me I had the power to leave a hole when I withdraw
my hand from water or move a crowd with mere words or play notes on a piano like bullets to your eardrums.
And in all of this, I wonder if the big things know how important they
are, because I’m a mustard seed and nobody expects me to move a mountain,
Or even cover its slopes in yellow.
But I still feel vastly important, so what then?
So this is my push, my push that you may never get from another person, ever. So, listen carefully:


Don’t be discouraged when you can’t cross one line, ‘cause you’ll pass a
hundred others learning you can’t go over one.
This is a dare: go to your fridge and get out all your eggs and put them in
one basket and tell me if you’re still incapable.
And if you are, go back to your fridge and get all your egg based
products, ‘cause you missed them, you missed them and you need them and the neighbors not lending any ingredients.
And when you get there, wherever it is that I pushed you to, don’t worry
about telling me—
Cause I
Will notice
And most of all remember that if you’ve been pushed, if you’ve really
been pushed, you’ll be dearly missed when you’re gone.

                                                         -Marty Schoenleber III
You were supposed to be my constant,
The one that I could always trust to be kind.
Now you are always missing in action,
And you dance off always with the same promise,
"We need to talk sometime, okay?"
Well, I'm ready when you are.

Were supposed to be my caretaker,
To love me always and to teach me that I
Was amazing.
Now I see you rarely, and you always see me with regret.

Were supposed to be my mentor, to lead me
Through the dark stages.
Instead you rummage through my haven
And leave a disgusting mess in your wake.

Were supposed to be my amazement,
To show me that any person can change.
Now I'm scared that you are slipping back to the person you once were.

Were supposed to be my sponsor,
The one who encouraged me and be proud of me.
Now I disgust you?

And you
You were supposed to be my protector,
You promised to be my protector.
You shielded me and lifted me,
You mocked me and beat me down.
Were supposed to be my protector,
And now you are the one I fear most.
Go **** yourself.

And I
I was supposed to be
I was supposed to blow the world away.
I was supposed to be so much more.
I was supposed to go off in millions of sparks
I was supposed to be
Not this.
Sarah Flynn Oct 2020
good girls
are not supposed to
get angry
or raise their voices
when they argue
or argue at all
in the first place.

good girls
are not supposed to
wear ripped jeans
or tight shirts
or say the word “****.”
good girls
are not supposed to
even think about *******.

and here I am,
having already used
the word “****”
three times in this poem.

good girls
are not supposed to
get plastered
on school nights
or tipsy before classes
or listen to music
with the volume
cranked all the way up.

good girls
are not supposed to
know which windows
make the least noise
when they’re sneaking out
or know where they can
buy cheap alcohol underage
or know who they can kiss
and where to kiss them
to get what they want.

good girls
are supposed to
smile silently and be pure
and go to church
or wherever they pray
to cleanse their filthy souls.

good girls
are supposed
to believe in
and put their trust in
and have faith in a god.

good girls
are supposed to
expect this god to
keep them away from harm,
and to never learn how to
keep themselves safe
if this god fails to.

good girls
are not supposed to
act anything like me.

the only thing
I have ever truly
believed in is poetry.

I outgrew religion by
the time I turned seventeen,
long before then
if I’m being honest.

I never turned to prayer for
advice on how to live my life.

I never turned to anyone
but myself.

I only consulted the bible
when I needed inspiration
for some tragic poem.

good girls
are not supposed to
write poetry
the way that I
write poetry.

good girls
never speak of or write about
*** and drugs and violent minds
and suicide and more ***
and broken hearts.

good girls
don’t sing along to
the lyrics of sad songs
in front of open windows
just for the ******* sake of it.

but good girls
don’t realize that life is short
until it’s too late.

good girls don’t ever
get to feel alive.

a girl like me
who gets into trouble
and refuses to stay quiet
and causes a scene
everywhere she goes
is not a good girl.

a girl like me
might be too reckless
and die too young.

but a girl like me
will die with no regrets
and plenty of memories
and so many *******
stories to tell.

a girl like me
will live the life that
good girls dream of,
but never get to talk about.
Terrin Leigh Apr 2015
You were supposed to take it all away.
You were supposed to make me forget
You were supposed to provide me a release
You were supposed to signal help
You were supposed to control the chaos
You were supposed to be there for me
You were supposed to distract me
You were supposed to help
You were supposed to make me feel alive
You were supposed to match my outside to my inside
You were supposed to make me feel better
You were supposed to

but all you are is an anesthetic turned to poison.
Ariadna Parrales Oct 2013
You were supposed to care.
You were supposed to be there,
to hold my hand along the way,
to stay, make me feel safe.

You were supposed to dance with me at prom.
Hadn't we been waiting for so long?
You had to be there when I went to college that very first day,
reminding me constantly everything would be ok.

You were supposed to meet my first boyfriend and try to drive him out of town,
but I never expected it to be the other way around.
You needed to be there in my darkest times,
telling me grades are just numbers, I'd be just fine.

You were supposed to teach me how to drive.
Clutch, gear, brake! Don't worry, you'll survive!
You had to be there when physics started being senseless,
"yes it is! It's God's way to show us his Greatness!"

You were supposed to be there when I was performing on a stage,
feeling proud I was finally making a change.
You needed to be there to help me make desicions,
support me while I was transforming my life's vision.

You are still supposed to be here.
You are still supposed to care.
I'm not supposed to feel fear
every time I remember your face.

And I just know it all too well...

You won't be there on graduation
to hug me and show appreciation.
You won't be there when I get my first job,
cheer me up saying "you rock!"

You won't be there to walk me down the aisle
with tears in your eyes and in complete denial.
You won't see how your grandchildren look,
you'll never know if they resemble you.

You won't be there when I achieve my goals,
you won't be there to celebrate them as yours.

So I won't be there when you need me the most.
I won't be there to catch  you when you fall.
'Cause you were supposed to care,
to be there and hold my hand.
To act like a real dad,
to the daughter you once had...
I did what I was supposed to do
Yet it is turning out the same
I'm still running out of green pills
The ones that keep me sane

I did what I was supposed to do
Yet I still feel the same
I'm taking more orange pills
For I fear I'm going insane

I did what I was supposed to do
I counted to ten
But then I kept counting
Hoping I'd see my self around the bend

I did what I was supposed to do
It didn't really change a thing
I made a dreaded phone call
At least the voices were nowhere to sing

I did what I was supposed to do
It doesn't help the present problem
I made an appointment
At least I called them

I did what I was supposed to do
I left the house how I should
I kept my responsibilities
At least I could

I did what I was supposed to do
But I still feel the same
All of these **** things
And I still feel insane
mworkie Sep 2019

i thought

dad is supposed to cheer me up,

dad is supposed to bring joy in my life,

dad is supposed to come home from
and give me a kiss on my cheeks,

dad is supposed to cuddle and make me feel warm on a cold day,

dad is supposed to make me feel happy,

dad is supposed to listen to my problem and help me,

dad is supposed to fix my flaw and teach me,

dad is supposed to sacrifice himself for me,

dad is supposed to be my hero,

dad is supposed to
love me.

that was what i thought
dads are supposed to be.

i guess i don't have one.
acacia May 2018
i still feel like my purpose is higher
than what i’m living now.

i’m supposed to be swinging in the breeze,
reflecting time,
changing perspectives as a bird,
living in anemones.

how is that i have turned into a secondary color?

i’m more of a roadblock to human life,
my cycle is to serve, support, and help move on. be a learning experience, to help one grow.

i think my soul was put into the wrong vessel,
maybe i was supposed to be a tree (as my name suggests)
or a bird or fish.
or maybe something much more discreet like branches on a tree, or myelin from a mushroom (to help connect).

that’s me: in time, in reality, in relativity. in the womb, out the womb. i’m supposed to be woven into nature and out of sight, not supposed to be heard, behind the scene, hushed stage crew.

but then you try and take me and make me the star of your scene.

maybe that’s where i’m supposed to be, in space, in a star, or maybe a star. to burn out after years, and bloom again (like a flower, since stars and flowers and us are very alike.)

yeah that’s all i am, shades of colors and soft dust. star dust. distant yet so close.

if you love me and hold me, i’ll be okay if you leave me. for i am not supposed to be here.

I’m supposed to limpid, colorful, and skyey;

die in winter, born in spring.

That is supposed to be me (for eternity).
idk what to do by myself more than retail jobs, and office squares.
larger than 100 dollar bills, and greener than your new car.
Sora Oct 2013
We were supposed to let go of each other,
supposed to walk different ways
like the beginning of awhile

We were supposed to split,
supposed to fall out
of a first love
keep the emotions
inside the chambers of a heart

We were supposed to,
But why does it still hurt
Raw, tender, stinging
Nearly 12 months

We were supposed to,
So why can't I wash out my feelings for you
Love, admiration, security
Into my heart
And I don't want to rip the remaining ones out

Were we supposed to
Bleed out?
Sour Patched Kid Mar 2015
I'm sorry we didn't meet like love is supposed to.

I was sitting in my stale kitchen in a t-shirt that was two sizes too small,
and you were covered in horse manure in a stable in the cold - or so I imagine.

I'm sorry we didn't meet like love is supposed to.

I gave you my best pick up line,
and you read it.
A twitch in my leg told me you had come up with a verdict.

I'm sorry we didn't meet like love is supposed to.

I searched for the right words
because I had plenty of time.
I was just one of the nerds,
and well, you were a "dime".

I'm sorry we didn't meet like love is supposed to.

Three dimensions told the whole story.
I couldn't look away from your beauty.
You looked at me with the same red fervor.
And I knew you could see right through me.

I'm sorry we didn't meet like love is supposed to.

We were two out of thousands,
the city was ours.
But my lips were going nowhere.
And neither were yours.

I'm sorry we didn't meet like love is supposed to.

I sent the right letters,
and you sent the right digits.
Now I would write letters,
if only you would lend pigeons.

I'm sorry we didn't meet like love is supposed to.
Haylin Jan 2020

I thought

dad is supposed to cheer me up,

dad is supposed to bring joy in my life,

dad is supposed to come home from
and give me a kiss on my cheeks,

dad is supposed to cuddle and make me feel warm on a cold day,

dad is supposed to make me feel happy,

dad is supposed to listen to my problem and help me,

dad is supposed to fix my flaw and teach me,

dad is supposed to sacrifice himself for me,

dad is supposed to be my hero,

dad is supposed to
love me.

that was what I thought
dads are supposed to be.

I guess I don't have one.
Jade Massey Dec 2014
The spaces between my fingers are supposed to be where my Soul Mate could fit their fingers - perfectly. My lips are shaped to fit against theirs so that our kisses would leave us breathless.  My body is designed to curve into theirs without any space between us.
        When our skin touches, there's supposed to be sparks flying everywhere. I'm supposed to crave this one person and only this one. I'm supposed to know when they're near. I'm supposed to ache with yearning for them.
        Upon first eye contact, I'm supposed to know that this one person is The One and we're automatically in love. They're supposed to be on my mind constantly. This person is supposed to be my everything; they're supposed to be the air I breathe, my world, my stars, my rock, my universe, my reason to live... My life.
        But why is this person so hard for me to find? What if I don't find them? Why do I have to suffer in my search for "The One"? If this person is my reason for living, why haven't I died yet, without them?
        They can't teach me how to love, I taught myself. They can't teach me to hate, the world already did.
        So, Soul Mate of mine, you better hurry and show up. Hurry, teach me the wonders of the world, life, space, and time. Hurry, and teach me the one thing I haven't learned: a love that's worth living for. A love that'll last more than a lifetime. A forever love.
        Because, if you don't hurry... Well, I'm afraid I'm running out of time.
Laokos Jun 2019
here I go,
blundering through another day

trying to show up for my end of
the bargain.

I sit here,
with this pen and this notebook,
and the stuff is
supposed to barrel through me.

it's supposed to shake the debris free.

it's supposed to melt the lock.

it's supposed to blast my cemented mind apart.

it's supposed to summon shadows and make them dance.

it's supposed to swim on the surface of the sun.

it's supposed to show me all the rainbows in the darkness.

it's supposed to shine the silver on all my shredded scraps.

it's supposed to reach through all my ******* and show me:

     emeralds and pearls\teeth and knives\
     blood and glass.

it's supposed to twist the blade and spit in the ****.

but this morning,
it's the big bupkis

just the weight
of its silence...

that *******
has the
day off
Samantha Mar 2015
What are you supposed to do when everyone who is supposed to be bringing you up is dragging you six feet under

What are you supposed to do when you start believing everything they say about you?

What are you supposed to do when they're right?

What are you supposed to do when they're burying me with the dirt of my mistakes and flaws and I don't move to stop them?

What are you supposed to do when  suddenly you can't breath anymore and the light from above is getting dimmer and dimmer by the second?

What are you supposed to do when there is now a grave in the cemetery with a gravestone that has been carved with lies


*She will always be loved
Jaz Dec 2013
You were supposed to be normal.
You were supposed to be okay.
You were supposed to be fine.

You weren't supposed to have
All this ****.

They say Life always balances it off:
You take something somewhere,
You give it to another.

I was supposed to be the only
******* crazy one.

You weren't supposed to be hurt.
You weren't supposed to be anxious.
You weren't supposed to be suffering.

You were supposed to be
I didn't think there would be so much unhappiness in this world.
I thought if I took it all, maybe you'd be freed from it.
egghead May 2019
It is 1973, the U.S. Supreme court ruled in favor
of a woman's right to choose.

It is 2000 and my mother chooses me.
I am born with ten fingers and ten toes
and though I remember nothing,
she remembers it all.

It is 2001 and terrorism reeks havoc and death
on the United States
and Americans are reinvigorated
with a new kind of hatred for foreigners and immigrants.

It is 2009 and my parents divorce
and I meet a man
that makes me afraid to live in my own home.
Because he lives there as well.
And though, he never touches me
he talks to me
like I am nothing
and he is the sun
and there a hiccups of time
when I believe him.

Things I was not supposed to worry about.

It is 2014 and I read about Roe v. Wade for the first time
in my 9th grade history textbook,
I thought that my generation
would not have to worry about these things.
That some other brave women had paved the way
toward my right to choose what happened to my body.
how some of my other peers never had to come to that revelation.
how we learn in silence.

It is 2015.
I work in a bar, behind the scenes
flipping burgers and cleaning toilets
but everyone still knows my name
and some people still throw their arms around me
and hold on too tight
and touch me in sly inappropriate glimpses

It is 2015,
and I have learned to grin and bear it
and never say a word.
Because there are things a woman puts up with
for the sake of a job.

It is 2015 and in my personal finance class
a teacher projects a chart of a wage gap,
chalks up the hundreds of thousands of dollars
in differential pay
to maternal leave.
And I wonder if he ever smiled through a man
more than three times his age,
with a hand on his ***
without saying a thing.

these are things we were not supposed to worry about

It is 2018 and my mother asks me how I sleep at night
knowing I litter my facebook timeline with
pro-choice propaganda.
How I could think that I might know anything about my own body
and life and needs
because I haven't had children.
Because my thoughts, desires, obligations, and dreams,
my validity as a **** human being
and as a woman
means nothing without bearing a child.

It is 2018 and I have been using a birth control pill
for three months
I put on ten pounds
I am emotional
I hate myself
and I cry constantly
Sometimes my stomach cramps until I throw-up,
but I know that I need to get used to birth control
that one day, and probably soon
I'll need it.

It's 2018, and I've been active for months,
I never miss a pill
I do everything right
my routine is a well-oiled machine
I use other methods as back-up even though it isn't cheap
I've been using a period tracking app for months
and it is never wrong.
But soon I'm five days late for my period
and awake till 3 am believing that my life is over
I'm supposed to go to college in a month,
I'm supposed to be responsible
How could I be so stupid?
How could I be so irresponsible?
My period is seven days late, but it comes while I'm working
and I bleed through my clothes.
I'm a bartender now, so I tie a sweatshirt around my waist
until my mother brings me what I need.
I want to cry out in relief
and I wonder why I suffered in silence,
and might have been punished alone
even though my crimes were aided and abetted.

It is 2019 and 19 states are pushing new
intrusive abortion restrictions and "heartbeat bills"
and women protest in blood red robes and white bonnets
that hide their faces and their person-hoods
that are being degraded
in favor of the person-hood of a pea.

It is 2019, and though it is not the first time,
I feel scared to be a woman.

These are the things we were not supposed to worry about.
pluto Aug 2015
I used to think of my parents as divorced.

Legally, they were not. They lived in the same house, had the same last names, and on every legal document it stated that they were married.

Though it did not feel like that.

They lived in the same house, but they did not share the same bed. They had the same last names, but their morals were so different they seemed like strangers. They were technically married, but it felt as if they have been divorced for years.

As a child this brooding question had been lingering in my mind that has yet to be answered.

Why do people stay when they are supposed to leave?
Or why do people leave when they are supposed to stay?

I asked my mother why she did not leave my father yet, and she said it was because of my siblings and I. Though, the way she said it seemed as if it was an excuse for something bigger. Every time I would push her to answer my question, she would scold me for being too curious and repeat the same saying , “Curiosity killed the cat,”.
But I was not a cat. I was a confused child who has been through too many years of her parents fighting for no reason or too many reasons.

I grew older, my parents were still together, and the question still never left my mind. Before I knew it, relationships were sprouting all around me. All my friends changed their relationship statues to Taken, my sister started talking about boys more often, and every question out of everyone’s mouth was who was single and who was on the market. It sounded as if everyone became merchants waiting eagerly until a new, rare, product was in stock.

Of course, people fell out of relationships, and I realized it was the same way of falling out of love. It’s just as easy as falling in it, and thats what people are afraid of. I started asking around my question again.

Why do people stay when they are supposed to leave?
Why do people leave when they are supposed to stay?

And the answer remained in the format of excuses. It was always because of someone else leaving first, or the usual “thats just how things are,”response. It was so frustrating.

Out of bitter frustration, I decided to figure it out myself. I allowed myself to become very close with once a mutual friend. We shared secrets and told each other embarrassing stories we never told anyone before. We went out of our way just to see each other and even called each other Soul Mates. I found myself forgetting that this was all an experiment, and started to believe that we were, in fact, Soul Mates. We started to talk about getting into the same colleges, and moving in with each other while in college and after. We started planning road trips that would take two months and even introduced ourselves to each others parents.

Then that person left. Just as easily as they came.

It took me by sudden surprise, and I became immobilized for a while due to shock. I realized that it hurt, giving all of yourself to someone and letting them walk away with all you gave them as if you’re just a nostalgic memory, or a forgotten trinket. My question surfaced again, with much more rage and hurt this time.

Why do people stay when they are supposed to leave?
Why do people leave when they are supposed to stay?
Why do people leave?
Why do people always leave?

In my final conclusion of my hypothesis, I have realized that people leave because they were not supposed to stay in the first place. Everyone and Everything is temporary. I do not think the point of life is to find your soul mate. I do not think its to find someone to spend your whole life with. I think its to try and change every persons life you encounter with. It does not have to be nuclear, it could be really subtle. But change it in some way, for the better hopefully.

I think my parents are staying together for the better. I hope so, at least.
Aeerdna Dec 2015
Dear friend,
I wish you could tell me
how am I supposed to speak when I know
my words will never reach your ears again,
how am I supposed to breathe when I know
that I no longer share the air with you,
how am I supposed to listen to anything
when I know my ears will never hear your voice again?

Dear fried, tell me
how am I supposed to wake up every morning
and see the daylight
when I know my eyes will never meet yours again?

How am I supposed to touch anything when I know
that my hands will never again touch your skin?
and tell me,
how am I supposed to feel warm
when your arms will never again be around my body?

Dear friend, please tell me
how am I supposed to let other lips kiss my forehead?

How am I supposed to smell the tulips again
Without remembering how you used to say that
I am like a tulip —beautiful in my simplicity?

Dear friend, please tell me
How could you go
When you promised you would never ever
Leave me?
Lynn For Now May 2013
It was supposed to be fun
It was meant to be enjoyable
We were supposed to like this

Messing around is supposed to be fun

It wasn't supposed to hurt
It shouldn't make my hips hurt so much
I shouldn't be writhing in pain
I shouldn't shove you off of me because I am in so much pain

And when I tell you I can't feel my knees,
Can't feel my legs
Can't feel my hips
You are supposed to hold me
To say sorry
To care.

Not retreat back to your computer
Waiting for me to compose myself .
Waiting for my body to recover
Underneath cold, lonely sheets
I can feel each layer of skin clinging to my body

This all was supposed to be fun.
Why is this only fun for you?
Why can't it be fun for me, too?
bcg poetry Jan 2015
Home is supposed to be safe
Home isn't supposed to desert you
Home is supposed to love you unconditionally
Home isn't supposed to make you want to pull out the blade
Hope is supposed to be comfortable
Home isn't supposed to require little white pills
Home is supposed to be you
Home isn't supposed to be killing me
Xienab Dec 2013
What is simple in the midst of the night,
Is never easy by sunrise.

Doesn’t that question your heart to know;
Whether the sun is capable of bleaching you clear of all passion?

This was supposed to be a poem;
But I don’t feel so good anymore.

This was supposed to be a “Dear Diary” entry;
But there is nothing dear about this entry

This was supposed to be a rationale about love;
But there is nothing rational about love.

This was supposed to be a motivational speech;
But the audience of my surroundings portray an ambiance of apathy.

This was supposed to be a farewell letter;
But my blood-pumping ***** cannot orchestrate a declaration of adieu.

This was supposed to be a livid rant;
But I cannot pinpoint the suitable syllables that have the strength to impale you such as a bullet.

This was supposed to be a love letter;
But I am not capable of fabricating words to exhilarate your mortalness.

This was supposed to be a poem;
But instead, it is a 3:48am compilation of my most vulnerable thoughts.

And I question;
At what age did I lose my compassion?
When did my smile become so brittle?
When did I become so bitter…?
So brash?
Scarlett Willow Dec 2015
Love was supposed to be beautiful

It was supposed to be gentle

It was supposed to be kind

I never expected it to be this...
Not this
Never this

Not this sorrow

Not this pain

Not this ache

You we're supposed to stay
You we're supposed to be here
You we're supposed to be with me forever

Like you promised...

But that's life I suppose...

It's gone in an instant and there's nothing I can do
But miss you
milo Jan 2017
you hold him,
black hair against cold skin you hold him
even though youre still in blue spring
and he's somewhere else. somewhere over hills youve only seen pictures of, flowers and tall grass tying around your ankles.
like an ocean, when the wind runs through it right

he laughs on top of the hill you were supposed to walk up,
when its sunset by the lake
(the place no one would find, not for miles of blue water)
you were supposed to. you were supposed to sit under the little tree and sleep over rocks
supposed to cry little words into his shoulder,
supposed to hold him. supposed to hold him and stay there until flowers grew from your ribcage,
little twisting vines blooming gerber daisies

so you do. you reach your arms across oceans, scan skylines
walk across realities until you get to the picture of the hills,
the one with the oil paints your mother saw once, in a town with no name
and when hes not there you wait until they find you first. (it takes till summer)
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
i couldn't never write a book, sorry, a novel, i'd hate to become a puppeteer, someone who attempts to play chess, a fiddling and bothersome shadow-baron (schattenbaron)... imaginary "friends" is not my thing, plus... i don't have an exact elastic approach to heidegger's compliments concerning poets: i only like heidegger because he likes poets, **** me, he elevates poets to the stature of philosophers when language "things" are made necessary... i.e. (and verbatim) - language - only if speech has acquired the highest univocity of the word does it become strong for the hidden play of its essential multivocity (as withdrawn from all "logic"), of which poets and thinkers alone are capable... welcome! welcome! to plato's republic! Brennus & Alaric welcome you, quiet fondly depicted by Joseph-Noël Sylvestre... and when the Huns pushed the leaders Fritigern and Alavivus into the eastern empire to settle... and emperor Valens... that's history for you: a cascade of: and and and and and and... sometimes a p.s., but mostly the and and and of causality... facts come barging in, you forage... but thanks to heidegger: the poets have earned their graces... and can return to the republic... as wordsmiths... i mean, was i ever to think of myself as a french dada dandy? frivolous and superfulous raconteur / racketeer? poet or philosopher, that's beside the point, the point being: i'm not a novelist... i don't like dealing with language that chokes that i rely on mostly and that mostly being: i like the idea of a raw vocabulary... i'm more of a butcher than an artist... i like the rawness of an inverted crossword puzzle... in my "trade"... there are no clues, whether synonymous or antonymous, in this spaghetti of: ex nihil factum sermo (out of nothing came the word)... poetry, of all places, allows this form of unadulterated nibbling at raw vocabulary... bypassing the standard g.c.s.e.: overt-scrutiny of poetics... i never like that... a 5/ 7/ 5 syllable haiku poem should never be preserved for its essay-worthiness to extend into 2000 words in a school exam... poetry strapped to pedagogy is... less heavily censored, more... over-scrutinized... you're not supposed to think in terms of poetry: you're supposed to, feel... and since when has feeling become so overrated, so despsised? oh... when people "learned" to feel, prior to learning to think... you really have to learn to think, prior to learning how to feel... if you ask someone from the orient, they'd counter the western perception of placing thinking / "reason" on the top of the pyramid with horus' eye as emblem... to learn to feel: is to learn to how to not think, while to think? it's to learn how to not feel... pretty simple, no? not really... neither approaches should be underrated, they should be understood better... who the hell needs, or wants, to be an apathetic brain-in-a-pickle-jar zombie: constantly engaging with a dialectic? then again... who wants to be a heart in an electric chair constantly bamboozled into pointless reactions? so i'm more of a butcher than a "poet", i simply appreciate the raw realism of cutting pieces of the tongue that extends into the brain's fathomability - and that overrated visual ******* of dreaming most people associate themselves with... but that's beside the point... i really appreciate days akin to this one, humid as in the concrete basin of Beijing while europe is frying in the African plume... no thanks, no, me go to Greenland or the Faroes Islands... do i look like a ******* ******* / camel jockey? why do i have limited respect for islam? i once watched a video of a saudi with an european bride... sitting on oil was both a blessing... and a curse... muhammad would whip some of these saudi brats silly... but of all days... when i get to work my magic in the kitchen, and make the most superior food in the whole wide world? blue indian cuisine: i call them blue indians and not red soxs because: come on... the raj... and that polytheism that doesn't want to disappear... h'americans can boast all they want: the steak, the hamburger, the hot dog, the pizza... n'ah... n'ah mate... it's either curry or you're chewing chicken bones, ******* out the marrow... indian cuisine is superior... i love the days when i cook up two curries... it feels like being back in edinburgh, walking into the joseph black building, the perfumes of sulphur and wood, the 12 hour experiments it would take us to conjure up an ester... esters? bases for the perfume industry... that' the grand thing about cooking a curry... you start to feel like a chemist once more... the two curries? a tikka masala: sure, an easy adventure... marinating the chicken what not... the real fun came with the malvani... blitzing the masala up: a bay leaf, half a nutmeg, 4 / 5 cloves, 7 dried chillies, 10 peppercorns, a cinnamon stick, cumin seeds, coriander seeds, chilly powder, turmeric powder... and that's just the malvani masala... the cocunut masala... ****... only two green chillies... how to get the right colour? ah... blitz up some coriander stalks... garlic and ginger... milk to get the whizz-kid on the job... it's superior cuisine, indian cuisine... it reminds me of a being in a chemistry lab at edinburgh... doing organic experiments... mind you: it's more fun, the environment is less sterile... even my mother said: you're stinking up the place, you're worse than the sikhs two doors down... so... why would i visit an indian restaurant, or indulge myself in an indian take-away, if i can mimic? i see no point... there is no other cuisine on the planet as good as what could come from either Goa or New Delhi... the colours, the perfume of the spices... by now a hamburger, pizza or hot-dog are staples or both humble beginnings and even more humbled ends... i've found my 1st to none passion... and with a afghani naan bread... and with rice infused with turmeric... tiresome ponce schemes of duck a l'orange... spaghetti this that and the other... one bias... though... scandinavian treatment of raw herrings... in cream sauce... i'm a sucker for those herrings like i'm a sucker for pop music... the added zing of the herrings' rawness out-competes the bland sushi manifesto... eating one of these herrings in a cream sauce... has the complimentary sensation, very much akin to performing oral *** on a woman... oysters are beyond the marker of metaphor / literal association... well: hello today!


i'm starting to suspect, that one of the...
"supposed" stars...
   is actually a planet - due to its colour -
      it's unlike all the other -
todkompf, metallic white
      it's hued in a more orange
spectacle - more fire...
less distance...
                and on the canvas
of the night?
   sits lower than all the other stars,
which are more up -
   rather than on a horizon
to speak off...
   question is... is that *mars
or is that venus?

**** it: 'ere i go...
'n' buy me a *******
telescope to investigate further...


did the ancient romans really
distinguish the arithmetic
quantity of I - or IX -
   or XII or...
                with a dot?
       not unless it was inscribed
in stone -
   where even upsilon had
to vacate the more easily chiseled
in:              YOVR POINT?
just wondering
   how only two diacritical marks
were applied to the encryption -
and both... not for orthographic
reasons, but for aesthetics -
    what's the actual difference
when the guillotine digestion
machine (like me) comes in and
     ȷokιng around...
        what with the iPod...
   why shouldn't ι,
                    come ιn -
   and give a ȷester's ιnquιsιtιon?
out of... mere... curιosιty?
ιt's not lιke those two-heads
even make a dιfference...
come on! ιt's ιneffectιve,
there are no orthographιc reasons
for ιt!
        why, even, bother?
    and no fancy name eιther,
ιn the dιacrιtιcal famιly...
  dot... when compared to?
cιrcumflex, caron, macron,
      cedιlla,  ͅ (ιota subscrιpt)
you name ιt!
can someone, please,
ȷust gιve me, an approprιate reason?


it's not like i can confuse,
i with I - since i have 1, and 2 instead
of II, and 3 instead of III,
and 4, instead of IV,
       and 6 instead of VI...
ah... L(l) -
              and the exodus of handwriting
in the digital age...
any schmuck can write
now... but... i'd love to see
them write with a pen, on paper...

personally - i couldn't write an intact
word with a pen...
   calligraphy: a bit like monkish
Gregorian chants... coming near
to extinction...
          i could sometimes write
out a intra-connectivity of syllables -
but... entire words?
    no chance... the digit system
came in... and i had to learn how
to position my arms before
the keyboard, to write, and not look
   unlike my old G.P.,
who, bless him... nearing his retirement,
pecked, like a crow,
on the keyboard...
   looking down on it...

the ENTER key? right arm pinky finger...
SPACE BAR key? primarily
left hand thumb...
   unlike a piano, you don't actually
use all the fingers on both arms...
e.g.? ring ringer on the left hand?
rarely used... unless doing some
mental hand gymnastics...
stream of "consciousness" - no words,
just observations -

(0,0,) LH ******* A
    RH index finger N -
     that's - ah! ring finger of
the right arm is used, quiet a lot,
  notably?  SHIFT + (?/) key -
   but for the apostrophe?
    the (@ ') key...
  which, on my machine translates
as the (" ') key...


     - interlude -
--- -- - - - -  - - - logic  -- - - -  -- - bomb -- - - --  -
- - -- computers -- -- - - & - -- microprocessors -
- - - --- -- - --- -- -(parasense ----- - - remix) -- -- -


it is chiromancy in reverse,
only that i'm reading my hands...
facing down,
rather than staring on the reverse
side of the... where the girdle of venus
is situated,
   or the index finger skin folds
of the chokhmah, chesed,
- respectively -
akin to reading mandarin:
   from the the head - to the base
               of a knuckle.
i read my hands - looking at a screen,
how else can you write anything,
distracted by looking down
onto the keyboard -
  no aware of the spacing?
        question: how fast is your typing?
don't know:
what sort of ******* am i to note
down, and how many amendment
will i have to make to the text,
as we plow along to your diatribe

why would anyone sit up all night,
     ****** question, esp. given
yesterday's 5 / 6 am carnival of rain...
out of nowhere,
there i was, ready to call it a night
well spent (not working in a Stratford
casino) - dreading the heat of
the sunrise...
   thunder, lightning...
    the air turned white from
the ferocity of the rain...
                the ground was wriggling
with a meteor shower -
excited gnat fly like puddles
appearing and disappearing -
soon becoming lakes
  within the confines of a supposed
**** of worm parasites...
      probably your typical day
      on the Faroe Islands...
you know... on such occasions...
you really can't help, but stick
your head out of the window,
far enough to drench your head
and hair in regenwasser...
            i should have walked
into the garden and
cleansed my whole body...
guess all ι needed, was the head...
  there's nothing more **** than
listening to horror movie soundtracks
while it pours a mini-monsoon
outside your window,
  and there's thunder, and there's
   and you're just about to fall asleep...
like a baby might...


oh god... the one time i don't take
a beer for a walk, coming back
from the supermarket...
and i pick up... this genius:
genius... tortilla wrap...
    falafel + hummus + a hint
of mango chutney (with a tease
of arugula leaves)?
            **** me... who needs
beer... if not a bottle of mineral
water... to accompany
taking a walk?

— The End —