random poem of fate

Click the fate button to see another poem...


Nate Owens


I wish I could talk

Why is it so hard for me

Everybody else does it so easily

I try more and more everyday

But the words they come less and less

And it brings me all of this stress

I always have to talk

But i always find a way out

And when i do talk

They always tell me “speak up”

I feel the pressure like a weight on my chest

Like the walls are caving in on me

I feel the other person staring wondering why

All the sweat is just pouring

Down my face and into my eyes

The stomach starts churning

When all I'm doing is asking a simple question

I get done and wonder to myself why

Why was it so hard for me

This should all be so easy

And they all look and tell me


This poem is about: 



The poem is about my social anxiety and how it affects me.


Who is that still figure illustrating my mirrored image? Is not from the moment were born that ignites the art of curiosity, and the strive to achieve. Yet the ability to triumph over is in the grasp of every human willing to release and unlock the inner being within. Tell me not, if one is casts into the darkness of this hatred world and all bitterness has clouded the path to virtue. Has no one thrived, to whom who the world would be acknowledged by the inhabitants of misery; and at most no knowledge of inspiration? Do tell me is it not the illuminating figure staring back into the beholder’s eyes; is it not the utmost key that opens the blind man’s eyes to see his true passion of the inner being within?


Today's Love

A magnificent tale is about to be told

The truth of this generation’s love and romance is going to unfold

Twice upon a time there was a sweet handsome gettleman

who slipped and fell and scraped his knee for a young beautiful woman.

She quickly hurried to the floor

And swallowed the banana husk to the core.

Both were stucked in a room of mirror

It doesn't get any more clearer

That they were in love..

With themselves rather than white doves.

They gazed at each other,

No, wait, they were gazing at stores’ sale clutter

As they hurried themselves to the crowd

Their feelings still unplowed.

His hand and her hand touched

Created a connection that is pure clutch

Only to smiled and excused themselves

And their feelings put back on the shelves.


This poem is about: 
My community



Sat, 08/29/2015 - 02:41 -- lrb2510



can't say no


teachers should connect with their students more, they should talk about important issues in their students lives like bullying, and make the classroom a welcoming environment



Deep breath he says,

It won't hurt they say,

Snip & Tuck,

That's all it takes.

To be perfect, to fit in.


My color

Is my color a hateful a crime

Has are nation become blind by the years of killing s in time 

Violence is taking over no more guns lets us be free

I should not have to be put down because of my color 

Can we end this violence for the sake of our country 

Eliminate all weapons I declare justice 

My color has seen to be an attack to others 

To many deaths have occurred and still are until this day 

Families loosing love ones just because of my skin color 

Light , dark, brown, black, so many colors but all in one are black

Why do they see us as predators 

Are first step into changing our nation is we need to have trust in one another 

So let's make a mark and put a end to this chaos 

 Because all lives matter 







This poem is about: 
Our world


The Fall of Eve and Pandora and the Women of Forever

How much responsibility falls onto the first of creation to hold femininity in her hands,

To be the Eve of Christianity,

Or the Pandora of Greek mythology.

Presented as a gift from Heaven to a man, 

Weak to her enchantment.

There is no malice in her, 

And her tongue does not make a search for poison,

But within her there is a curious yearning that is restless until it rests in answers.

She wants to be full,

To look at her own face and see that she has reached to be the most perfect flower in the garden.

She was made of dust, in clay,

By hands that knew perfection with its eyes closed.

She has everything

Except that one sweetness, except all the mystery inside of a closed box.

So, she does what she knows best,

And she reaches out her hand to taste what is hidden away from her.

There is always something hidden from her,

But this time she does not stay on her pedestal. 

This time she does not submit.

This time she paints her nails in stubbornness and lets her hair go free from its knot.

There’s a crunch with the bite.

Red falls in drops onto the white of her chin.

There’s a creak with the opening.

Dark red fog escapes through the crack.

She looks around as roses become thorns and bodies become dead.

Evil has entered. 

Where do we go from here?

Will women forever be at fault?


This poem is about: 
Our world


Saturday Baby


Oh, my love, my

Saturday baby, the weekend

Brings an end to my weakness.

It’s never enough to see you

Beside me, but all things aside,

You’re here, my dear, my

Saturday baby.


It’s been too long, my

Saturday baby; I wish that

Today could last just a day longer.

Already I miss you as we speak,

Don’t speak--why haven’t I kissed you

Already, I’m not ready to leave, my

Saturday baby.


Good morning and goodnight, my

Saturday baby, seven times over at least,

To make up for a week of mere friendship.

Not walking hand in hand or tangled against

Lockers--if loving you is wrong, lock me up--

Let’s make up for every lonely moment, my

Saturday baby.



Truth hurts, lies kill.

I never enjoyed being lied to. Just something I never understood. If you wanted to hurt me, why wouldn't you juts tell me the truth? That would be less deceitful, that would save me some time to realize the colors spilling out your sides. I don't know who you are right now 'cause you're five other faces in a crowd.