‘Shhh’, she whispers, ‘It won’t hurt one bit’
‘You can’t back out now, no, you just can’t quit!’
‘If you want to be like all of us,
you’re gonna have to do it ‘cause
we all had to do it too
back when we were new like you’
‘So follow us into the wood
Hurry up! You know you should
Or are you just a mommy’s girl
All about to twirl
right out of this’
‘You know you’ll be uncool
We’ll all laugh at you at school Read more »
I want to be some leaves.
I want to fall, to fly, to change a green, gold, brown as the happy children dive into the pool of wet, soggy, laughter;
or the love birds roll over their song.
If I can't be free, could I at least be the crescent to your moon, or the darkness to your shine?
I want to shadow you,
or shine you,
or even surround you like the twinkling stars creating a formation, bragging unity to loners all over the world.
Can I twinkle around you?
Or fall through you?
Or be the orbit that circles around forever, but never gets tired of surrounding your gleam?
Blind me through the corn maze at night, so we can search for what we've been waiting for.
If we can't go apple picking, will you carve me a pumpkin? Will you make me fall over laughing at something stupid, like how the insides of the pumpkins look like my school's cafeteria food? Or how the design you carved is irrelevant to everything but
Hold my hand tight, let my bones almost break while wandering through the Haunted House, a house of terror,
jumping from monsters played by our classmates, revealing who they truly are inside.
If I can't be the leaves, let them be me; as we fall off a hammock and into the pit of neither nostalgia or regret, but the warmth and comfort of simply knowing that we found each other,
and we're safe in these autumn bodies.
At first, she smashed it all together Read more »
At first, she smashed it all together Read more »
White puffs of relentless rain
Buried footprints leave a stain
Small smiles leave your face
Leaving Gaps, Empty Space
Tears create a water maze
Burning hearts are a-blaze
Summer's on it's death bed
It's gone agian
note: this is not a finished piece and the podcast is just a first draft
Are you that kid who over thinks the way you just crossed the street?
You wonder if the teenager in the car waiting at the red light knows your fierce and awkward gallop to cross the street while balancing all your bags.
If a boy likes your profile picture you already have your wedding planned out.
Are you that kid who gets lost in class, not because you weren’t trying to pay attention, but because the remark a student made ten minutes ago is still revolving around your head?
Do you come home from the day to stare at your wall, zoning through every detail, thought, movement, and glare?
I’m that girl
who either yells or whispers. Read more »
I crave the fall leaves; but nothing this time is going right.
It's depressing to see the beauty of the leaves dying away as I join them.
The beauty of the foliage is so surreal,
and the beauty of my life is a mess.
18 is my lucky number, showing up everywhere,
but I guess not being superstitious is what got me here.
There's nothing to be wrong, yet everything is not quite right.
Craving for the future
with high hopes, high,
and short, yet long, long nights.
Have I been used all this time? Am I just here to keep you alive? Make you look cool? You're right. I am too nice. I guess that's what you need to be by your side. Is it just an act? Me being used, to protect your mind? your sane- your look- Is it the time I spend talking, and the time you spend looking at your phone, that makes me question- why you have time to tweet, but wouldn't bother to get up on two feet, to hear what I have to say? You pretend to care. And I believe it, it's fair. All the times I let you off easy, please, don't you see, how I secretly shout inside? Standing up for myself, never aloud. I love and hate you, but being best friends somehow makes me feel proud. I guess I'm just scared or in denial. To be used, again.
I can't tell if you're just another friend taking advantage of my kind intentions, or if the truth is, you're just lonely beyond your own belief and need someone else to be loved by.
I decided to record this piece.
I wrote this piece instead of writing an essay on a solo experience that I had in the woods. I really liked writing this piece, so enjoy! A few pieces of info that you probably need to know about the people in this: Juan is my english teacher, my name is Roland, son of Glenn. I come from Hanover. Erika is one of my classmates.
On Poetry and Hidden Meanings
Sing, O goddess, the song of the forest, the whispering madness of Thoreau. Many a brave soul did it send wandering to Juan’s office, scratching their heads slightly.
Of those brave souls whose heads were scratched, one did not go to the office of Juan, and paid sorely for his mistake, for Thoreau’s words were Deep and Powerful in nature, and he did not see it.
And his dismay was great when class came, and others cried out words filled with insight and wisdom, and he sat there with a blank look cross his eyes. He knew much on woods and the art of wilderness, but knew little on matters of philosophy and discussion.
The brave soul, Roland, son of Glenn, valiantly fought his nature of quiet, and attempted to speak on that which he knew little of, spouting what helpful information he could glean from the pieces assigned to his reading.
My bike races down the hill
Hair streaming in the wind
Oh, how I love the thrill
Of biking fast, so I grinned Read more »
i should have expected nothing more
than an empty room
when i opened the door.
Our curiosity brings consequences,
but if curiouisity killed the cat,
what would we know?
They tell us to ask,
in denial to admit or answer.
I'm like a dancer-
who leaps over the bar,
and falls on her face.
I found love in a hopeless place.
The place for questions unanswered...
they could be
a gate bowing to a master.
I feel like I'm in a prison.
Ears are plastered on the walls,
locking me in the prison cell of myself.
Stacking up your ideas of maturity,
while my experience I thought you encouraged is all I want.
The advice you've given betrays the rules you've given me.
The moment I've been waiting for is finally here, just to be blocked by your spellful eyes and ears stuck to the air.
and there are knifes threatening,
of the rules.
Those dark soulless eyes.
and dark camo I've always dispised.
I spotted the camo through the doors. Oh no. I walked out, and he was there.
Then we made eye contact.
I couldn't even know the color to his soulles eyes.
The frozen, cold, undescribable, expressionless, spies.
We held eye contact, suttlely unsuttle.
Frowns, not glares.
Walked away, tear filled eyes,
reminds me of my hourless, silent, yet deadly cries.
That wasn't all. I ran by a new location. There he was. Again.
I couldn't remember what eyes.
Tears even more, filled my goodbyes.
Once again, he was nearby. In the bleachers, as I run down the track. Spying eyes overlooking me. Superiority? I think not. He made me want to run so fast.
He made me want to officially escape him.
Let me officially escape you.
Let me let go.
His soulless eyes. He has soulless eyes.
The moment couldn't escape my mind.
Everything was blank, the world could be blind.
I thought I was done. But minutes later, there he was.
You and your friend,
stare or glare.
I'm standing there, shrivled.
Who am I, young traveler?
Old and weary and weak.
Who am I, you ask,
like an equal, Read more »
They called me weak,
Told me I was never brave enough,
Never strong enough to win the war.
They called me weak Read more »
Your name sits on my
And every time
I try to swallow it away,
It crawls it's way back up
Behind my clenched teeth.
I've tied my arms to
And they've been dragging
Back and forth
Over the shattered
Of my vitreous heart.
To be a poet
is to make words
do your bidding.
It is to twist them,
to give them new meanings,
to create an illusion.
Poetry is metaphors
and staggering truth.
It is not rhyming
it is not syllables
and it is not
I am a pane
Of tinted glass.
Smudged with debri. Read more »
All the memories,
All the days gone by,
All the hours I spent with you,
Because everything that was right,
Everything that I knew to be true,
Was nothing more than a well spun lie,
By the spider that taunted me from its web,
Where it looked down upon me and smirked,
Because it knew. Read more »
I’m not sure at the moment,
if I can really hear you,
your lips and all your mouth is Read more »
Color filtering through Clouds And Trees
Happy And Awake
I hate texting more than you will ever know
It’s impersonal, time consuming, and disruptive
You don’t hear the other person
You don’t see the other person
All you get is a terrible end product filled with “LOLZ”
I hate it. I HATE it. I HATE IT.
I’m having a nice conversation their phone vibrates
A finger goes up “just give me a minute”
Flesh and blood before your eyes
And you’re talking to that improper idiot
Who seems capable of only one word replies
It’s crazy how people subject themselves to this,
These twisted rules that comprise of
When to use a smiley
How long to wait to respond
Lack of proper punctuation
Mandatory mutilation of the English language
A waste of time
Taking five minutes to try to word
Tweak, modify, re-word
Something that could have been said in 20 seconds
It actually confuses me
I will concede
Texting has a time and place
During class, in a restaurant, when parents are around
It’s perfectly acceptable when trying to be discrete
But when I’m with you
And we’ve both taken a seat
Please be considerate
brb just give me a minute
They want words
They want elequent words
They want twisted, heartwrenching words.
I give them words.
They want sentences
They want flowing, blending
Like snakes; twisted snakes
Writhing, snakelike sentences.
I give them sentences.
They want poetry
They want something to make the numbness disappear.
They want a replacement for that dark, void of a hole.
They want something to make them laugh.
They want something to make them cry.
I pretend that
I give them poetry.
I wish for elequent words
And writhing, snakelike sentences
Sentences that link together
And give us poetry.
I wish for an idea
To give me words
I wish for an idea
So that I can pretend
To give them poetry.
If I gave you photos,
would you throw them away,
like you did with me?
Would you laugh at my stupidity?
Thinking you'd enjoy something I've made,
what a fool I've become.
I don't know what there iS lefT
to say to you,
but I hope one day we wiLL get the chance
to sort this mess out.
LOng days pass, and i just wish that
eVErything turned out differentlY.
This Open ended sentence
is driving me crazy.
If I never Utter another word to you again,
I just want you to know:
Snow is a beautiful thing!
Nothing is as beautiful!
Oh! How beautiful! Read more »