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I have never won a poetry competition. Never gotten second, third, or an honorable mention for that matter.I have never been told I should become a poet, but that’s not why I write.
They say I'm a clever girl,
Tall and proud,
My shoulders are always pulled back.
I walk with confidence,
And talk with consciousness,
And I know far too many a fact.
Game day had fallen upon the land
The hiss, the boo, the cheers, the joy incoming
And with the audience in his hand
Was Hercules a football star upcoming
With a mighty golden lion as his mascot
Athena: Goddess of crafts, strategy, wisdom and war
Athena torn down like many girls before
How big her knowledge,
who cares they say, pretty being her only way to success
- yet they say she's a mess.
Enter Athena, a woman of might,
a popular Pinterest queen in her own right.
Her crafts were unrivaled and really quite clever,
and everyone thought her reign would be forever.
Athens high school was home to some of the best and most talented gods and goddesses in all of Greece. This high class school was home of Zeus, Poseidon, and Aphrodite.
My feet pitter pattered as I walked towards the stage.
My hands are starting to become clammy.
I wonder, should I walk back or engage?
I am terrified of heights.
Not sure how it started,
But whenever I reach
A certain threshold,
I see myself tumbling over the edge
The world rushes by me and the streets are empty
There is only me and the silence between my ears
The others have pushed forward, climbing the ladder
Yet I have remained behind, chained to the concrete
Like a dark cloud hovering over me,
Fear found its greedy way into my life.
It held me back with strong chains and great lies,
And convinced me to burrow into my shell.
The endless pages of my sketchbook are filled with ducks
Big ducks
Small ducks
White ducks
Purple ducks
And eerily incomplete ducks
Come ye, all young and old,
To hear the story that's never told!
In foregone Texas, a county dwelled-
It's name: Van Zandt; and it's men rebelled.
The South's creed had created their hate,
The letters across my back
shout the truth so urgently
so vividly that no one can deny.
The world so clearly seen from behind.
But in the front, a hollering silence
fills the void, even those of gifted ears
You were in and out of my life for as long as I can remember
In a place, you might as well call home
Three walls, behind bars, all alone
You made friends whose names were pen and paper
Dipping out from the cloud-covered sky,the Tree Swallow returns to nest, surrounded by a thousand of its kind,the sultry summer air brushes off its glossy, blue topaz back. Like an arrow from the quiver,it plunges down from its nest hole, almost
It has taught me expression,
but not through hate, anger, or ridicule.
It has taught me to show my feelings,
without foul language.
It has given me an outlet,
to express my hate towards society.
Poetry has taught me that words are evrything.
That they don't have to rhyme or make sense.
That what you say to the paper is between you, the pencil, the pen and the paper.
Why I Still Eat Ice Cream
Never has one enamored me more than you, the one that hurts me
You enter me and fill me with your cold, sweet touch but you leave me
With the runs,
dear silence,
you echoed
across vast canyons
in my mind
spanning time and
space and
history.
you were a blank
canvas
never to be painted on
a black hole
dear love,
you are a nightmare
dressed as a miracle.
you are misleading.
you are troublesome.
but somehow,
you always seem beautiful.
you always seem to pull me in
I love how your hand fits in mine, I love how your smile can light up a room, I love how your eyes shine in the sun light, I love when your Eyes meet mine. You are the Ronald to my Hermine.
They used to hold me softly when I started to break
Like a thing made of fragile glass to be treated
With the wariness and fear of the untouchable.
But not you.
You hold me in iron embrace,
Breaking through the confines of my mind, back to reality,
It is apparent that I am still sitting in the back of this
She had one job.
One simple job.
She must've went back for the basket.
... And her Fitbit.
Kids these days.
Steps don't count themselves,
You know.
If you don't get 10,000
Oh how I dream to be inanimate
To have chains that bind my soul
To disappear and become an object that amuses
The masses and crowds that adore me
How could one do this you may ask?
Tonight the dogs fought,
Sounding all at once
Like a thousand people screaming
And a flight of hundreds of crows taking off,
Their wings smacking the air
All at once in a horrendous cacophony of noise:
Why must it be, that lessons are only learned from classics?
Or that fairytales never seem to talk about real human aspects?
Maybe Cinderella and the Prince didn't have a happily forever after,
Feathers weighed down by the grey colors
Of melted snow in a New York gutter;
Beak stained black with an unknown curse-
To die, or live looking like this, which was worse?
Wonky-looking, ostracized,
Since when did Princess
mean damsel in distress?
Since when did beauty
become our strict standard?
Since when did worth
correlate to marriage?
I am intelligent
There once was a girl in a tower.
Her name was Rapunzel.
She dreamed of the day,
She dreamed of how,
Someone would take her away.
it never hits me
until it's too late
recess, playgrounds, field trips, museums,
textbooks, classrooms, no A/C, Speech comp
teachers who teach, and those who teach you to teach yourself,
America, the land of the free.
But are we? Are we free?
Blacks, Hispanics, Whites,
Those are our names, what we are known for.
We are known as nothing more.
A melting pot, but why is it boiling?
America was created for all
No matter what size even short or tall
Yet not everyone is treated the same
Throughout the years there has been little to no change
The demand for equality is great
America the great
but is it really?
Nowadays it seems all I hear is hate
The new talk is about wanting to escape
run away to a different country
Night
it's to be a time of rest and restart
yet all I know is how it tears apart
a family
a love
a being
it was night
that a young girl had her heart shattered
I, a timid adventurer,
Do promise,
To make this year my finest.
The prospect of future,
The anticipation of living.
I will no longer be frightened.
The feeling of sadness takes over one's own mind
With no invitation nor permission with just one ambition
To take over my kind... your kind
For it's a worldwide plague with no recognition
An invasion of the mind
There's this place I go to This cave My sacred space Once I pass the entrance I kick off the hard day's tiredness off my feet Unbuckle the rules that almost make me feel inhuman Tightening my waist I can hardly breathe I unzip society's expect
I was only fourteen when everyone around me started to grow up,
For they were passing themselves off as if they were twenty-one,
Spending their Friday nights drowning their veins in alcohol,
I am a poet.
As the words dash from my beautiful mind, I Know it !
Poetry is a way to find oneself, OURSELVES, and myself.
On the topic of
words that seem to
slip through my fingertips:
I have always been well-endowed as a
wordsmith of sorts, these frantic keyboard strokes
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In third grade,
They handed me a poetry book
And I found it terribly boring.
I was a child of prose, reading stories of adventures
And faraway lands.
My feet walk over this earth and I remain ignorant to so many things. From whom the mirror shows me To how to use my hands But my mother has told me about you She kissed the crown of my head when I still could not see nor talk And whispered "Than
Our fingers grip
halfway intertwined
and lip to lip
we hang between birds and moonshine
it's 3 am and we’re making out
on a park bench.
it's 3 am, we're making out on a park bench
I grew up in a world rife with uncertainty
Afraid to lift my head up high,
Afraid to contemplate a future where life was worth experiencing.
At every corner there was a struggle,
Your crystal clear eyes are the first eyes I've ever been able to keep contact with. Your soft touch entrances me, your arms are my home. Your warm body seems to fit with my cool soul. We find that happy medium, you are my safe haven.
Laying alone on the gritty, ecru sand
the grains dance about your eyelashes, teasing
knowing you're envious of their dance partner.
The dunes sigh as the wind sifts through and carries
If I could change something about myself,
It would be nothing because I consider myself top shelf,
I don't think I'm flawless or I'm perfect with no defects,
Long mellow strides carry him along the shiny tile floors, with the bright warming sun burning through the slits of the curtains. A new day is brought upon us.
I’m a perfectionist yet I’m so imperfect.
My dreams appear to be a huge mountain before me.
The only problem is that I’m not a rock climber,
I am only me…
Yet I am determined to reach the summit.
Less flawed than most
Imperfect-perfections
spotted scales
hairy knuckes
I am one of a kind
I am the kind of one
who has wrinkles streaming from their eyes
Smile lines
Do you remember the days on the swings?
When the wind rushed through golden curls
And you didn’t care about the boys or the girls
There ain’t nothing stronger than a broken back,
Except crooked teeth in a cracked smile.
The hardest fights are the ones simply lost,
Violently fought,
Which bring death for a while.
Taking subtle breaths,
I glance both ways
and take two steps ahead.
Away from the threads
that bind me, I push on
toward the verge.
Sleeves and wishes
The "wonderful" waterfall "spills" upon the "wet" rocks
"Her" heartbeat is like the "morning dew" in a "shower"
Soulful eyes "glistening" reminded me of the "sea" upon the "rocks"
I may not be able to play you a song on the piano or draw you a portrait;
but I will tell you everything I love about you.
From your sun-kissed cheeks,
to the way your fingers wrap around your sleeves.
My mouth goes dry and my throat closes up
People wonder if I am mute
But the truth is I have nothing to say
Live in the present not in the past, don't be concerned with the things that you never had.
The Pen moves,
The Paper takes the ink.
Silence,
But the scratching makes me think.
The air is thick with the smell of nervous thoughts,
Rushed paragraphs,
Crossed out and redone.
Have you ever envisioned Karmaas an object or a thing?Is Karma a force?Is Karma a centrifugal ring?Or perhaps Karma is a person;a woman or a man.Unfortunately, I cannot tell;No one can.
Fingers fluttering across the keyboard
Pen in hand
Paper crisp
Inspiration flowing
As the sun sets in the west
On a foreign coastline
A scarred hand meets mine
With a callused grin
If I could change one thing
What would it be?
I’d have to change everything
I knew that was the key
Superficial,
Artificial,
Fake in every way,
All you do is act like a pompous; British; queen,
Like an evil monster woken from a spell,
Or even Grendel with his mighty hell,
If I could change one thing
I would have to start with me.
My past, present and future
As a human being.
I would start with my past,
Standing up for myself.
When all else seemed lost,
No contest!
No seriously, this is not a contest.
I am entering a random drawing
by adding my thoughts and words in exchange for money.
Legs are supposed to be for carrying you across vast seas of gray pavement and sharp green grass
I am a head, strong in mind.
With a soul before my time.
I am becoming more in line,
With myself.
For so long I have been angry.
Trying to find a way out.
12 years wasted.Living in hell. A cell. Because an education could pay my bail, that never stopped me.I wish I had the means back then to leave, but school or not, I'm exactly where I'd be.
There exists a never ending void
So dark, dense and utterly devoid.
No sound or light escapes this place.
It has born you and will erase.
It will start early and will start young
White women are as fragile as a beautiful butterfly.
She cannot handle what other women can!
That is why her skin is green,
for her struggles are taken and cared for by a white man.
At what point is someone deemed approachable?I do not smile at your passI do not engage in conversationI simply do not care about you at all.Why did you follow me to my car?Did I capture your eye?
O Creative Writing, you have treated me well!Now I hope that I do not forget how to spell.We have learned that poetry has meaning and grace,And that it can benefit the whole human race.
The sea shimmers like sunlight on chrome
Loud crashing waves and soft silky sand are my living room
The beach is the place I call home
My home is unlike the old empire of Rome
This is for the child, So young, Who thinks his parents don't care. Who sits up all night wondering, And hoping he'll do them well. This is for the girl, So scared, beaten and abused.
A what a strange world we live in.
How one joke is a muse, but flipped is abuse.
How the light at the end is glory from war, but is also the big gold gates to The Lord.
One step forward
The soft sand cushions my foot with its tenderness and warmth
Seeping between the secret crevices of my toes
The sun drenched grains heat my feet
Almost burning
But not enough to hurt
This thing we call love
Not the one sent from above
The love that we think is right
The love we wait for all of our lives
The love that keeps us up at night
The love that's wrong but feels so right
I write for the troubled young boys and girls
With shattered dreams
And broken homes
Those who depend on the streets to raise them
Guns to train them
And Friends to tame them
To search for love upon the page;
the knowledge for which my soul would rage.
To find new peace born deep within,
as love abounds to cleanse from sin.
Weakness in youth washed with wisdom divine,
Discovering takes time
choices are always with you
Yet, the road is incomplete
and one must choose again.
One path can lead to the end,
but one can lead to another and another
Silent, still, dead, and gone
Tangled and twisted are limbs of bronze
Charred by flames of orange and yellow
A forest dying, dying, dead by ‘morrow
The way it read, “Poetry Slam”, made it sound so violent
I liked to think the artistic community was more refined
than the MMA fighters slamming each other with folding chairs
Lonely Child
A cast-off Loner,
A battle-weary Child
—whose cries become quieter and quieter
After realizing no one hears.
A father, a mother
It didnt mean anything
But the thing is
They yelled, and fought
Leave him alone, hey
Pretty sharp in his crumby way
But what does it mean?
He must've been drunker
