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Paige Apr 2017
To be a girl it means that you are frail, right?
That can’t possibly understand a thing
To be a girl it means you stay up day and night
Trying to get that big, shiny ring

But that’s not true, for a majority that is
We have a secret passed down from mother to daughter
The secret is that we pretend to be his
But our hearts belong to one and another

At age 6 being a girl meant you liked pink and played with dolls
But that changed
At age 8 being a girl meant you liked skirts, dresses, bows
That changed too
At age 10 being a girl meant that you were expected to have a crush & kiss him
If you didn’t, you were an outcast
At age 12 your interest in education was to diminish
By age 14 you realized that when a boy slapped your ***, you enjoyed it
And if you didn’t you were a lesbian
Ages 12-18 we as girls are told to not show shoulders, knees or skin of any kind because it might distract the boys
I never heard the guys being told to dress a certain way. Have you?
No? I didn’t think so because it might ruin their ego…

Being a girl means that you are blessed with self hate
It’s automatic and hard to lose
There is always an imperfection…

Being a girl means that even when it’s hot, you wear jeans and a baggy tee
So that you don’t have to deal with wondering eyes
Being a girl means that you must look your best ALWAYS or else you’re trash
But not too good or else you’re a **** looking for a good time

Being a girl means that you grow to hate yourself so much that you can’t even look at yourself
Unless you are in public, then you have to act vain

Being a girl means that you have to listen to guys calling you fake because you hate a girl but you’re friends with her the next day
What those guys don’t know is that she saved you from a situation that could’ve made you lose what little dignity you have left

Being a girl means that when you see a grown man starring at a baby…
...you take that baby’s spot
If that means you have to be his princess, babygirl, WHATEVER, for the night
YOU DO IT.
And when you are called a *****, **** the next day, just remember that you helped that child

Being a girl means that when you’re a mother and your little girl asks you why the boys at the school rate the girls on a scale of 1-10 you have to look at her with the same look your mother gave you and tell her,
That being a girl means that you have to be smart, that you have to work 2-3 jobs just to make the same as a guy with 1 job
      It’s not fair, but that is how it is.  

You have to hug your baby girl when she comes home and tells you that her teacher yelled at her for wearing a tanktop or when a boy touches her even when she told him to stop
To be be a girl means that your are strong
To be a girl means that you are resilient

To be a girl means that you have a secret that is passed down from mother to daughter
And that secret is **Unity
I remember things like this happening to some of the strongest women I know...
I wish that I could also do it from a guy's p.o.v but I really can't relate to that
;3
Samantha Wesley Jan 2016
Caught in the Act
I leave him at my locker
My brand-new babe of a boyfriend
Clarissa walks toward him
She smiles at Charlie

I told him it would only take a second
To fill up my water bottle
I didn’t know she would show up looking for me
And find my current bae instead

I see her put her hand on his arm
His muscular arm, which should only belong upon my shoulder
Instead, it is running its hand through his hair
Anxious about Clarissa

She leans toward him in her lowcut tanktop
I sprint across the hall
With one arm reeling backward
A loud smack! fills the air

I see her put her hand on his arm
His muscular arm, which should only belong upon my shoulder
Instead, it is running its hand through his hair
Anxious about Clarissa

She leans toward him in her lowcut tanktop
I hurriedly make my way across the hall
And raise a fist, satisfied by the
Crunch! that follows

I see her put her hand on his arm
His muscular arm, which should only belong upon my shoulder
Instead, it is running its hand through his hair
Anxious about Clarissa

She leans toward him in her lowcut tanktop
I pace toward them both, and ask
What in the world is going on, then plant a kiss on my babe, smirking because Clarissa has been
Caught in the Act

Three different approaches, two violent and one vengeful
Personally, I’ve never been a fan of vengeance
lol obviously not a poem but also not about me
JR Rhine Jan 2017
**** Middle-Aged Dad at the Water Park,
this is an ode to you.

**** Middle-Aged Dad at the Water Park
ambles behind
the kids sprawling out of the entrance
like baby spiders spilling
out of the crushed mother’s abdomen.

**** Middle-Aged Dad at the Waterpark
flip-flops his way to the lazy river,
shies his black Harley Davidson tanktop
to reveal his sunburnt
abdomious belly
flopping over his camo swim trunks.

He shakes off his flip-flops
and awkwardly wades in,
his hulking mass shifting with
each foot and tree trunk
of a leg smashing into
the shallow water,
sending shockwaves towards
screaming toddlers
in his wake.

Finding a vacant tube,
he turns his body around
and heaves himself
into the neon green donut
with considerable
and farcical
difficulty.

Mother at the pavilion
opens an eye from the lawn chair
and chuckles to herself,
applying another layer of sunscreen
over ruddy cancer-sensitive skin.

Sporting oblong racecar sunglasses
atop flushed puffy cheeks,
**** Middle-Aged Dad at the Waterpark
basks in the baking mid-summer sun
and the cool ****-ridden waters
he sinks his hands and feet into.

What is on his mind?
I imagine it is as close
to nothing
as he aims to get,

free from responsibility
like a wiry youth
he knew
from long ago.

The piercing screams of laughter
from ambulant children
splashing about him
are fruitless
in penetrating
his enclave.

He coasts about this way
for an eternity,
his red leather hide
burning in the hot sun
enwreathing his glasses.

Meanwhile,
mother reads
under the cool shade
of the pavilion,

the kids tumble down
slides and splash gleefully,
endlessly,

and life lingers on a moment
for a necessary
sojourn.

**** Middle-Aged Dad
awakens from his sun-cooked daze,
approaches the exit
and prepares himself
for his departure.

Waddling left and right,
he flops starboard
splashing magnificently
like a cannonball rolling off the deck
into the ocean.

His sunglasses leave him in the ruckus,
he gropes blindly
with chlorine-infested eyes,
til he grasps the visage
and stands up in the water.

His great body surges
from the waters,
fading tattoos gleam
along with a bald spot
in the sunlight.

He ambles through the waters—
water spilling out of rolls of fat
undulating in the motion—
and sensuously runs a baseball glove of a hand
through thinning hair.

His trunks bunch up around
firm, beefy buttocks
and a tired old *****,
thick tree trunk thighs,
ending its constriction just above
the wrinkled knot
of kneecaps.

Mother snapshots a photo
of the visage,
his fruits spilling about him
in perpetual glee,
his stolid look of authority,
wisdom, drive,
and endearment.

Years later,
the ambulant youths
on the cusp of adulthood

leaf through old photo albums
suddenly eyeing the Father piously
in a newfound awe,

aware of his gargantuan countenance
that shielded their efflorescence.

He was their sun,
he was their shade,
and their sky—

for he knew
when to plant,
and when to water,
and when to wait.

Running a thumb over
the diaphanous visage
exemplifying
an analog adolescence,

they jeer each other
over the Father,
secretly harboring
an amassing reverence
for the great figure,

the **** Middle-Aged Dad at the Water Park.
Michael W Noland May 2013
The dread set in upon opening my eyes, as i swing my legs to the right side of the bed and stand. Slightly stumbling i make my way to the bathroom while adjusting to a waking state. I flip on the light, wincing my eyes in a sharp electric freeze from the back of my head, and while recovering, i pull the shower curtain away from the showers pull ***. Pulling the *** out slowly twisting it to ninety degrees as the water turns on, i am reminded to feed my plants before leaving the condo for the day. I step into the shower dipping my head under the warm stream of steaming water while resting my hands against the wall, as images of all the women i had saw the night prior begin shuffling through my head and a partial ******* forms. I imagine their eyes filled with tears, as i shove them down to my ****, and finally the Rolodex of faces stops on a Starbucks girl with piercings all over her pouty face that i had encountered on a lunch break a few days ago, and i begin stroking my **** with my right hand whispering "you ***** ****" over and over, as her eyes look up at me innocently, Mascara running down her face, until suddenly i hear my phone vibrate atop a pile of pocket change in the bedroom which promptly kills the moment in my wonder of the importance of a 5:00 AM jingle, which slowly fades, while i proceed to apply Ax shower gel to my Ax body scrubber that i had received as a gift in a Holiday work raffle three months prior.  Vidal Sassoon extra volume shampoo plus conditioner, "All in one," proudly printed on the label, as i apply a handful to my shaved head in a smooth dripping lather, that i do not rinse until after applying a pink ****** scrub that's label has worn off, and i am unsure, and not concerned with its origin, as I squeeze a blob of Colgate paste onto my toothbrush from the rack overhead, and scrub in a slow circular motion, while i rinse off the shampoo, shower gel, and ****** scrub, and then reach for my Listerine mouth wash, and swish for 30 seconds before spitting the burning mixture into the drain, while putting the brush away. I tilt my head up, and open my mouth wide under the water, taking in a mouth full, which i gargle for 10 seconds then spit, and turn off the shower reaching for a tattered towel left over from a breakup four years prior.  I dry off while still standing in the shower, and gently lay the towel on the floor before stepping out onto it, and grabbing a stick of Degree antiperspirant from the counter.  I apply 3 long strokes to each armpit before capping it, and putting it down. Two sprays of coolwater cologne i apply from a 1 foot distance, misting my chest and lower neck, before i put it down beside the deodorant, and walk back into the bedroom, grabbing a pair of boxer shorts from a drawer not caring which pair i grab. I slip them on, and walk over to the mirrored closet where i flex a few times, point aggressively, and in an authoritative tone repeat "I don't give a ****.", three times before sliding the closet door open and grabbing a pair of Marc Echo blue jeans that i had purchased online two years prior with a gift card from a local pub that i may have frequented too much to have received.  Reaching for an Infliction black tee shirt with ghostly gray swirls cascading to its base, i become completely still, left arm clutching the shirt still on its hanger, i am paralyzed for two seconds before looking away, and saying  "I don't have any plants" inquisitively to myself, yanking the shirt from the closet, and walking over to my phone atop the dresser.

Picking up the phone almost eagerly, i click the screen on in a light squeeze, and swipe my finger from left to right across the display to unlock the device, to a missed call from an unknown number, a voicemail, and 3 missed text messages. I tap the voice mail icon, and enter my pass code upon the automated prompt, "1234." The voice mail immediately clicks a few times before hanging up which assures me of its automation, and i assume its the power companies robots attempting to collect the monthly charge again. I tap on the missed text message icon, disconnecting from voice mail, and see that all three are from a girl named Haedies i met through a roommate long ago that i have recently found over facebook. A "How are you!", "I MISS YOU!!!", and a picture message of her with a wax figure of a trollish cartoon character i cannot quite place, both looking very serious, and i look at her **** pressing out from her white tanktop, ******* clearly hard, and her neck, long and attractive, its definition, thins my blood, and her dark black medium length hair loosely dangles just above her shoulder, causing me to partially smile, as i close the message paying it no further thoughts, and slip on my tee shirt, as i head for the kitchen. I open the refrigerator and grab a plastic bottle of 5 Hour Energy, and twist it open, tip my head back, and take the whole drink down in one swallow, throwing the empty plastic shell back into the fridge, and swing the door shut with my bare left foot, before i head back to the room to put my socks and boots on. Once my black combat boots are fully laced up, i put my wallet, change, and keys into the appropriate jean pockets, and head for my jacket hung on a hook beside the door. A black leather windbreaker. My mini trench that allows for a high level of concealment, and pocket space made possible by Wilson Leather. I run my hand over my face satisfied with my slight stubble from not shaving today, and reach into my left inner pocket of my jacket and pull out Sony earbuds, and plug them into my phone. I select a Pandora station based on the black metal band "Burzum", and walk out the door, locking only the dead bolt behind me.  5:25AM
Shyanna Aubin Aug 2018
There was a time were there was a girl who wanted things but couldn't explain why. She was confused and depressed all the time and her body kept changing. Her parents never excepted who she has decided to become, so when she grew up it was hard to tell others who she now is. I am that girl. I wanted everything.
As I continue to grow up I learn new things. I have gone through so many different changes that sometimes I get very confused. I have been in many different relationships and most have not been healthy. There were a few different relationships that were good but I messed up by leaving. But there is only one person I can actually say I would get back with. He was the first person I can actually say was the first ZI ever loved and I know if he ever asked me back out I would leave the person I was with for him.
I'm in a program because apparently im too much to handle for my parents. Sometimes I feel neglected but i know i'm not. There are alot of people that are there for me even if it's not my parents. I am a very bubbly person. It hurts me ever more than a normal person will hurt when I get upset because depression makes everything worse than a normal person might feel. I say might because who really know what or how others feel. Somedays I wish I wasn't alive but then I think there would be no way anyone can see the world without them in it because what if the world didn't exist.
My relationships are always complicated because I get bored because I ****** up the onr relationship with someone that wasn't that bad. I listen to what other people were telling me instead of following what my heart wants. I think to myself what if I didn't break up with that person. Would my life be different if he was in it but as my boyfriend. Would I stay home with my mom and got my **** together sooner than I did. I just wonder if he still thought of me. I know he was a big part of my life when i was with him. I miss it. I miss being able to hug and hold him. I miss him in general.
But who cares about me anymore, not many. I'm usually on my own looking far into my future trying to piece the past together. Removing small parts of my past I want to forget but can't because I have been through so much there isn't much I can just forget. My past formed me into the person I am today and for that I can't forget my past. I like who I am today even if others don't. At Least I can see how much I have changed and made myself into a better person.
When I think of my past, i think off everything I have suffered and it hurts. But I have to do things the way I do or ill panic. Im very weird I bite. When some asks to fight me I growl at them and show my teeth. I'm not normal. Im literally like an animal. I do weird things. But I also am a very creative person when it comes to things. I have a good heart. Even tho I might do some strange crap here and there. I have done bad things but made up for them in the end.
I know i'm not the best but I do try my hardest. I just struggle knowing I have been in and out of programs since I was twelve. It's hard mainly growing up in places away from your family and that's where the depression and the bad behavior started. I have recognized that I started to act up and get all depressed when my dad and mom split up. I have struggled accepting the fact that they “will never ever ever get back together” yes I just quoted the taylor swift song lyrics. It upsets me but hey its life and you can't change the past but you can move toward the future.
When my parents split up my mom got with this guy that I hated with all my heart. And yes hate is a strong word but I hated him. He tried to replace my father and I didnt like that very much. My dad meant everything to me when I was younger and he still does to this day. After I started getting close to moms new boyfriend he did the unexpected. He went to take me out for ice cream down the street when it was dark out.
There was this shortcut in the woods and when we were halfway down the hill in the woods he pushed me down took off my pants and started touching me in places I didn't want touched. I started crying but he didnt stop. Then he put his head between my legs and started to eat me out and I was only 9 years old I didn't want that. I just was scared and I was too small to push him off. When I got home I was to scared to tell my because he told me not to and if you didn't listen to what you were told you'd get punished and after what he already did I was scared of what he would do again. Every day for a week he would go in my room late at night and touch me. But I was glad it was me and not my little sister so I put up with it.
Not long after he started to hit me and my little brother. One day he kicked my little brother in the back and slammed his head on the floor that was the day I took a chance grabbed a broom and whipped my moms boyfriend in the head. But it was just enough for my brother to get away but I was the next target. But that's not all that's just thes start. He put bruises all over my body but at least he stopped sexually touching me. That's all I cared about was keeping my siblings safe.
But even through those times my mom didn't do anything she let him hit us but she was scared too. One day he even pulled my little sister through a window because she punched my little brother I was so scared I ran upstairs to my neighbors house and told them and my neighbors boyfriend came to the rescue. A few months after he knelt on my chest I couldn't breathe but that was the one time my mom told him to get the ******* me. But once he got off me i ran outside in shorts and a tanktop and I ran to school with just socks on my feet and it was the middle of winter. That was the day my school called my dad and said that if he didnt come pick me up then with my siblings we were going to get taken away so my dad came and got us.
Few months after my 11th birthday my dad had a friend watch me when I was home sick. Everyone trusted him but then he molested me. I was sick but I took my blanket and ran to the bathroom and locked the door and waited for my dad to come home and I told my dad what happened and my dad freaked out. But christmas eve I told my mom and after that my mom took me home with her new boyfriend and never let me back to dads after that but I snook to see my dad after that because I didn't want to live with mom at all I didn't trust it after he last boyfriend. But can you blame me.
Waverly Nov 2011
It's a cool place to meet.
25 cent wings.
Nice, tiny booths
Lit by tiny electric lamps
In the guise of candles,
That give everything a nice, golden glow.
It's a Corona light,
And Corona-colored light always makes me feel
at ease.

She pulls up in a silver acura.

Gets out of the car and I can
see her ***
from the front of her
as she syrups over.

She’s got on a Black tanktop;
black bra straps showing
against white-pink
puerto rican skin
all while holding up those veritable C's.

Her hips burst against
a
long, beige
d
r
e
s
s,                                                                                
and I'm wanting to slide my hands all the way up her shirt to that black bra, and snap it off.

We have conversations about feeling older than
eighteen
and twenty-one
respectively.

Our lips are saucy
and oily. Tiny chicken scraps
can be felt in our teeth.

"I just started reading Starship Troopers."

"Yea, I love that movie."

I've never seen the movie,
but it endears her to me

that she loves it.

"Do you have any plans?"

"Plans?"

"After college?"

I plan on finishing my wings
before you, then I'm hoping
you'll let me hold your ****.

"Not yet."

"You know I've read some of your poetry."

"What do you think?"

"I like it," She smirks,
uncomfortably.

She ladles a wing in a slick of sauce.

"Truthfully, it was too much for me,
you really shouldn't talk about things like that."

She brings the wing
to her lips
and smacks it down
with a loud ******* noise
of a working, pink tongue.

I’ve wanted to hold her **** ever since I met her.
Now I’m lost.
Because she’s got black eyes
and I’m not even thinking about her **** or her bra.


I start thinking about how white her teeth are,
and how much two people can never know about each other.
Quinn Jun 2013
ashy shins sit above worn nikes
pedaling slowly, back and forth,
back and forth, as she calls out,
"hola," again and again to the
little boy who lives next door

she's waiting, and sitting still
isn't what she's about, so she
pedals, back and forth, back
and forth, back and forth

wide grins reveal missing teeth,
worn out tanktop bares prison
tattoos scratched into sagging
skin, i bet she was beautiful once,
but all that's left is a carcass now

she stops to light a menthol,
and adjust her head scarf, then
she's at it again, back and forth,
back and forth, back and forth

hummer pulls up with the rims
spinning, blasting biggie like
they just got free, front door opens
an inch, rolex hand reaches out
to give our girl the goods

nothing to go back and forth
for now, crack in hand, lips
wet from licking, she rides away
almost as high as she'll be
once she hits that rock
brooke Aug 2013
My first love was not a first love
because the first thing he was interested in
was being around me with his shirt off so
I could admire how toned he was for a
freshman.

He chose my best friend over me first
and I let him in anyway, he called me a
**** fiend and I took that as a compliment
even though i had no idea what I was doing.

He told me, Brooke, when people love each other
they have ***, and I knew that part of that was true
that I wanted to equate love with making love because
why else would it be called that? But he wasn't my first love
and the first thing he was interested in was eating me out.

Fifteen year olds are too dumb to make any rational decisions
when they have overbearing honey-tongued devils in their lives.
I was so scared but I did want to, so he planned it out and he had
me on bare mattress in his room in broad daylight, no sheets, no blankets
and my socks were still on, I wasn't even sweaty and my hair stayed perfect.
He wasn't my first love because the first thing he thought of was grabbing my
breast under the elementary school awning.

We had no ****, no privacy, no rules. And I gave it to him willingly even though
I was paralyzed right down to my toenails, a cold highway of veins in my jar of
jelly muscle, the mornings were hot and every time he laid on me I felt like a
shower was the only cure to feeling this *****, should I FEEL this d i r t y?

My morals were rupturing like aneurisms, and everyone thought it was
so ridiculous that I was breaking down under their sunlight, burning up
under their words? It shouldn't matter, this much, brooke. It SHOULD NOT
matter this much. His dad, drove me to the jiu jitsu tournament and told me
he didn't understand why my dad thought it was so necessary to keep me
safe why he shouldn't be buying his son condoms because this is
what
teenagers
do.

My incessant nagging drove him away and I have thought this to be my
fault. This was not my fault.  

My second love may have been my first love.
because the first thing he was interested in was waiting
till our friendship bloomed and then I could come over to his house.

He didn't write off his feelings for me when I said I needed time. And maybe
he did go back to his ex, but I needed time and he gave me time. I wasn't sure
if I loved him but I kissed him and the first time he touched me he told me
to ask him to, to make sure it was okay.

I remember what I was wearing, acid wash shorts and a tanktop
that apparently saved darfur.  His breath was warm and the evening was dim
but his desk-light shone over our legs and his worn skinny jeans.

He told me, Brooke, all I want to do is make you breakfast. And I read
that in his diary. And my second love was my first love because the first
thing he wanted to do was draw me while I slept. He did.

Seventeen year olds are swept away easily and refuse to work
on old feelings. They are damaged because of their first loves who
weren't first loves and are afraid to let go because there will never
be anyone better than this.  My second love was my first
love because he never held *** over my head like a trophy
and we rolled over each other in the sheets and my parents
were never worried.

We had no ****, we had privacy, we had rules. I was not scared
after I realized there were no threats. I thawed and was sweet like
a ripe strawberry. He said he loved me and I felt clean, sweaty but
there was no need for a shower, my hair was always frizzy and he
laughed about it.

my morals were tall mortar walls. And I told him there were rules
for wanting to be with me, and my walls loomed over him. He tried and promised
but we were both fools.  I made mistakes twice over and took advantage of his love.

my incessant nagging, indecision, and rudeness drove him away. This was my fault.
This was all of our faults.
(c) Brooke Otto

This is so cliche it hurts.   I've been increasingly inspired by slam poetry. I actually don't like long poems, but the idea of reading it out loud is why I wanted to give it a try.  Sorry if there are any typos.
Nik Bland Jan 2013
Seeing passing cars that replace stars outside my window that shoot by on streets like lights in the sky
Shedding a single silver tear and never admitting to the fact I'm afraid they just might pass me by
Trying to find the floor as my feet hang from my bedside, but I've been asleep for way too long
Dream worlds are just as they say they are and someday I'll accept that, but as for now I fear I'm not that strong
Strung out like the song that keeps playing on the radio and aggravates the tenants in my head
Stubbed toes and headaches greet me as I shift through this humble room as if to remind me I'm not dead
It is far too early and I've been up far too late to greet the day with the vigor it deserves
Heating a simple cup of coffee to get a jump start on God knows what and trying to remember the purpose it serves
Seeing every moment through my eye and taping it in my mind, knowing the director will probably edit out this scene
Thinking of you randomly as I cut myself shaving and wondering if you have to deal with this monotony
Then realizing if you were here with me, Mary, if you were here with me we could share in this not so special day
And I would have a reason to get up in the morning but even more so for my mind to stay awake
Brushing my teeth as I take a shower and looking down at my feet at the drain and visualizing me sinking down
A mixture of toothpaste and water trail through my porcelain tub and disappear from my view into the ground
Jumping out of the shower and drying my hair as I look at the digital clock to see I've got fifteen minutes to truly wake up
To get dressed and proper, put on my hat, jump in my car,and be at that one place at that time for that other stuff
Looking at my unmade bed and knowing that if you were lying there in your tanktop and boyshorts I'd be right there with you
Knowing that if Mary was the one lying on my mattress with me then my day would consist of her in view
Waking up from my daydream to see that my safe fifteen has wound down to just an unsettling five
Throwing on my pants and shirt while balancing on one leg as my sneakers are slipped on and tied
Vigorously searching for my hat only to remember that I left it in my car yesterday
Running down the steps only to run back up when remembering I had forgotten my keys in my disarray
My positive minutes turn to waining seconds that yell at me and I bolt for my car door
Looking at my cell and muttering under my breath, wishing that my time was a bit more
Finding my half way marker in the seat of my car as my engine turns after the second or third time
Wishing you were in the passenger seat and not only just a wish in my mind
mk Mar 2018
i thought you were the first; not the only. i thought being in love with you was how dating was supposed to work. i thought you felt this way about everyone you went on a date with. saying i love you a month into knowing each other, for me, was "normal". i thought love came and went with everyone with whom time was spent.

this wasn't the case.

i'm walking down the street with this new boy next to me and internally i'm groaning. he's rich as heck and sure he's not the best looking but he seems ok. he isn't boring but i'm so bored. he isn't annoying but i'm so annoyed. i don't want to be here, in a tesla in sunny california. i feel nothing for him and i don't want his lips on mine. his perfume smells good but i don't want him on my skin. i don't want him.

i don't want him.

he calls me in the middle of the night and asks if i want to go on an adventure. i love adventures. i love late nights under the stars when nothing is holding you back. i love being alive and feeling like life isn't over just yet. i tell him i'm tired. i go to bed. i sleep. i don't want to have an adventure with him because it feels forced and unnatural. i don't want to dance in the rain or smoke under the falling leaves. i don't want to hold his hand or talk to him about philosophy.

i don't love him.

i thought i'd fall in love with him or the other him or the one after him but heck, i'm not falling in love at all. these are just bodies with beautiful souls that do not connect to mine. perhaps i haven't given them the space to touch my heart, spirit, and mind. or perhaps me and you were a one-off. maybe you were the one for me. the one that got away. i could see myself marrying you. i always knew i could raise daughters, but with you, i could see myself raising a son.

where do i go from here?

when i think of home i think of you standing by the bed with your pajama pants on. i think of my curly hair and bare legs. i think of your oversized shirts and my pink tanktop. i think of the mundane things that felt like heaven. home is your new haircut. home is your old shoes. home is laying in your lap. home is you.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jPT4AxI9ohE&index=13&list=RDuhx8NjSsdY0
I was sick
I was so sick
I called you late,
'cause I was burning
And I thought
I might die
And I frightened myself to let you in

Your knock hurt my ears,
But so quiet you thought to knock again
Before you could,
I answered
Because there was fire in me

And you drank the sight of me
Bared to just a tanktop and my underwear
Dark rings under my eyes
Milky skin glowing phosphorescent in the dark
And for a second
I was afraid

That you would think badly of me
And refuse to come in
And say I can't help you

But then you hugged
(like you always do)
With your arms wrapped like a straitjacket
But pulled back in surprise
Because I was giving off so much heat

Then your eyes grew tight and worried
And you picked me up
bridal style

Suddenly my eyes ran
Rivering over my blazing cheeks
I swear the tears evaporated! I swear!
(I don't know what the tears were for
the wanting of you? - for so long you'd forgotten
or the relief? - that I would not die alone
or the pain? - for things I might never see)

And you set me down
Surrendered me to a long, soft floor
Pressed your cool hands to my forehead
And then to my back,

(I fancied they left blue shards of ice
Unmeltable in my white-hot skin
I almost lost my mind with pain)

And then you made the doctor come
(I don't remember this)
But my monsters had already arrived
Creeping through the darkness

I cried out, my voice
Startling you from your methodical
smoothing of my hair

I don't know if I'll make it

Maybe I won't get through this
Maybe this will be the last time
Maybe you'll be my last love
Maybe I'll have my last breath
For Dylan
gabby dial Oct 2014
behind the trees smoke empties from our lungs
on the swing you come close to me
you were in a tanktop
I was in a sweater
It was 40 degrees
oh god do i love this weather
pack the bowl
ill just take this moment in
Polaroid memories
I love when you talk to me
your voice could put me to sleep
but now its my turn to puff then pass
ive been put in a daze
locked in your gaze
we are secluded from the world
sitting on a swing
listening to each other breathe
Leonardo Wilde Apr 2017
There I sit, in the middle of two very different beings, in my huge white tanktop and a pair of a gym shorts.
There sits Leonardo Wilde, his huge mane grows wild, he growls when angered and continually is pondering and writing and talking with me about ideas, his full suit is smooth and well kept after, and his Gryffindor tie has the best Windsor knot the world has ever seen, no shoes cover his paws.
There sits Ash Lee, an unformed, vague shape of a humanoid, his mouth is unformed, his thoughts are primordial, and he wonders what he will become. I do not know how he hears, but when I give him an idea, he shakes his head everytime at it. Perhaps I even wonder what he will become.
There we sit, trading ideas and opinions of ideas all day long. We all pass out at the same time of night, and all rise promptly at 6:15 AM each morning, and immediately begin our conversing again. We dream the same dreams, think the same thoughts, live the same life, but we are still not the same.
And that makes us great.
:;,
silvervi Mar 2017
She sat there
Morning, 10 o'clock
A gray tanktop
A pair white socks
Dark yoga pants
And sun kissed skin
A few blond stripes
Brown, straight hair in between
The smell of her perfume
That heavy and sweet
Makes you wanna stay
Wanna bite on your lip
A pony tail hanging
And dancing around
Her head which is slowly
Turning around
Those eyes, for a moment
I don't recognize
I only feel my heart
Fall down and arise
The lips, full of glory
Adding to the face
A shameless expression
Makes me wonder what taste...
She sets up a question
With no single sound
She's waiting for action
My heartbeat is loud
She gets up -
Her eyes even closer to mine
And all I can do is
Watching them shine
She finally moves slowly her mouth
And makes her lovely voice come out
"What's wrong with you, baby?"
She's stroking my cheek
As soft her hand as gentle streak
I wish I could have said something
But now she seemed so sad and weak
I didn't want to upset her
I must have done something wrong
That made her feel bad
And this made me mad
I hated myself for an instant...

It was today that she told me...
And I had no idea.
She made me a cup of black tea
And told me - I had amnesia
A careful approach to an important and sensible topic, worth the attention, influencing many lives. In this poem the focus lies on the perspective of the person with amnesia.
It is not meant to upset anyone but only to thematize this issue and make people remember about its existence.
Lydia Oct 2015
I am shockingly aware
Of what time it is
Of the muscles I didn't stretch well enough
Of the grammatical mistake I made in that text message six hours ago
Of the fact that I didn't tell you I love you today
Of my hair ******* too high
Of my shorts being too small and my tanktop too large
Of the brightness on my cellphone not having a setting low enough to accomodate my headache
Of which direction my boyfriend is from here
(I don't think he like my teddy bear)
Of the motorcycle that just drove by
Of my fan that doesn't have an in-between setting
Of the bruises and bug bites on my legs
Of the burn on my hand from chemistry
Of that fact that you are asleep already
Of the fact that I just so happen to be the last person awake in my family
Of every time my dog breathes in and out
Of how tired I am but if I tried to sleep, my brain would laugh at me
Of how alone I must be right now because no one else I know forgot to pick up a prescription and thus must lay here, awake all night
Of how beautiful it feels to close my eyes
Of how limited and scarce sleep is
How gentle and warm.
Please comment :)
Julia Jul 2023
ponytail
ball cap
clipboard
bra strap
sports water
handyman
tanktop
farmers tan
work smart AND hard
Courtlyn Quay Jan 2016
I have a **** magazine to my left.
The pictures, they don't do anything.
The games on my computer.
Analyzed and stripped of any recreational value.
I don't have the want for people
So I make no effort to call them
I'm wearing 4 layers
tanktop, tshirt, sweater, jacket.
I'm still cold, very cold.
I've trained myself to be patient.
"time will pass."
So I sit here on my bed.
Cold, and numb.
Waiting.
xenaphobic Jun 2016
The rain seeps to my bones
Cold
Icy
Where are my shoes
Where is my home
My house
It never was a home
Why am I wearing a tanktop
And shorts
When did it start raining to begin with
It’s really cold
Really really cold
I’m shivering
Shuddering
When did my knees hit the concrete
Where am I
I’m cold
Cold isn’t a place
Here’s a question
When and why did I leave
I’ve lost myself again
Any thoughts, tips, opinions, and/or criticisms appreciated.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2016
last year i used onion fashion
to drink a few beers walking:
tanktop, t-shirt, shirt, a zipped-up
hoodie, a winter jacket...
this year i'm walking with just
a t-shirt, an unzipped hoodie
and a thin army jacket...
in the winter where spring blossoms
(white and pink) were blossoming
throughout the season, and the daffodils
sprouted in january.

2nd topic... the noun schizophrenia isn't
even medical these days...
it's solely political... most schizophrenics
are very creative, most dementia sufferers aren't...
schizophrenia belongs in the political realm
to shut someone up, it's easier that way...
it's when someone's ***** get cut off
and they don't realise it, because they're living
a very comfortable life and despair at a chance loss...
schizophrenia is a political word comrade stalin
used quiet a lot... it doesn't belong to doctors...
it belongs to politicians and the enemies of journalists...
when you get diagnosed as one
you get ridiculed: your intelligence is questioned
(even by the closest of friends you once had),
and along with everything else...
they find it hard to define insanity... i guess
you'd have to be insane to define it yourself...
come to think of it.. infamy and fame are quiet alike...
blurred lines... you never know what's more entertaining;
you never go mad on your own, other people
drive you to madness... it's not an automated system
of belief like catholicism passed down like a germ
from father to son... because there's no ritual practice...
and without a ritual of intoxication of Dionysian madness
everyone practicing a sober ritual will suddenly loose
the plot... given their deity is intoxicated and everyone
else is only giving a sip of wine, and a crumb
from the table that fed the five thousand:
take your anorexic joint out of here, smoke that ****
yours self... let me get drunk, say hello to your papa.
but here comes batman wearing a tiara... please excuse me.
Anique Prinse May 2018
something inside takes me over
in the blink of an eye
smuthering my clear thought with anxiety i cant not be freed from
my mind takes me to places where i think i did you wrong

did i?
do you not have any regrets at all?
not even a single one?
about me?

i feel alone and misunderstood
i feel as if i did or said something wrong
''Express it to me'' - you say
but expressing these terrifying thought to you
is worse then admitting that i am scared to lose you

so i cry and hope you reach out to me
after all, you said you would.
you said you missed me too but what if i read between your lines and therefore i misunderstood?

insecure as a tanktop on a 'big girl'
i feel big
I do not feel pretty nor can i understand how you could be in love with me?

the best time is when i am with you, because then my thoughts do not wonder. i feel safe and loved.
so why am i thinking this way?

— The End —