Apr 23


Mar 20

A smell

There's a smell the world gets
especially inside my house
when the temperatures rise and the snow melts
and the ground starts to breathe
and our windows get cracked open for the first time. 
It feels like the earth's rotation is starting again
after months of frozen stasis. 
It feels like the house breathes again
after months of clinical silence. 
It smells like a whole world exists beyond our windows. 
It feels like a weight lifted off my chest, 
the weight of not shivering, 
of instead breathing and finding the whole world before me, 
like putting on happy music because it fades back and brings me peace.
And I don't usually like happy music.
It smells like pain,
and every time I properly notice it, 
it frightens me.
It smells like darkness,
and the first time I smell it I try to remember
but it always slips away. 
It smells like something I can't control,
Mar 18

Rock Wall

Depression is like climbing a rock wall.
Just when you are almost at the top,
You lose your footing.
And you fall.
All the way back down to the bottom. 

But you dust yourself off 
And try again. 
Gripping the rocks,
And pulling yourself to the top.

To only be swept to the bottom again.

And sooner or later, 
You will get tired of being knocked down. 
You will be left exhausted,
Due to attempt after attempt. 

You will begin to ache all over. 
You will start to lose motivation.
You will start to think that this is all pointless. 
Putting in all that effort,
Only to be knocked down,
Again and again. 

You won't want to continue.
You will lay at the bottom of the wall,
Looking up at it.
Until someone comes along,
And offers to climb it with you. 
Mar 12


Feb 22

Winter Flowers

Feb 13

ink deity

they tell me to separate the artist
from the art
to better take criticism. 

get distance,
they tell me,
you are not your writing. 

but you don't understand
i tell them as i unzip
my skin,

i am. 

and i let them see
that the only thing flowing in my veins is ink
and garbled music. 

let them see my heart pumping too fast,
spitting words out to my arteries
and fueling the great typewriter of my mind.  

let them see my lungs compressed 
a printing press which has forgotten its job. 

let them see that all i am is words. 

let them look for some kind of a glimmer of a person hiding
underneath the words
let them look behind my eyes
but they find only a cinema where my retinas should be
translating the experiences my body passes through
into grainy oversimple
Feb 04

my face

i do not wear this face
because society wants me to. 
if anything, 
i persist in wearing the face i do
because society did not ask me to. 
i do not wear this face because i think it makes me more beautiful. 
i wear this face because it makes me striking, 
and slightly off-kilter. 
i wear this face because it affects how the world sees me
and i like the way they treat me
i wear this face because it brings me confidence. 
i wear this face because it is distinctive. 
i wear this face because it reflects me better,
i think, 
than any other face would. 
but i do not know if this face reflects who i am. 
i do not know if it should. 
i do not know if it is even possible to. 
i know that it reflects me better 
than layers and layers of eyeshadow almost the precise color of my skin
to make my eyes look bigger 
to change me into the model
Oct 31


You are one of the best things that has ever happened to me. 
You are the only one who's ever believed in me like this,
Stayed with me this long,
Whose ever loved me back. 

I've never felt this before.
This kind of connection,
This kind of love.
But I can tell you,
It's what wakes me up in the morning.
It's what keeps my heart beating.
It's what keeps my lungs sucking in oxygen.
It's what keeps my eyes blinking.
It's what keeps me coming back for more. 

When I'm with you,
Every worry and stress melts away,
Like how a raindrop rolls down a window. 
You make everything better. 

When you touch me it feels like electricity is shooting from your fingertips
And trailing its way down every inch of my body.  

When you play with my hair,
Everything freezes.
Every cold breeze and odd sound,
And I am filled with warmth
Oct 08


my internal landscape
changes every time the weather grows colder.
it's been true for years--
fall sets in, 
cold weather,
long pants, 
all those lovely jackets. 
changing leaves
mean groans about the inevitable onset of the leafpeepers. 
and emotionally, i...
my mind hones in on something--
my writing, 
someone else's story, 
anything to keep me interested. 
i called it a cycle of obsession
when i was younger and in its clutches
looking out and knowing how preposterous i was
but powerless to stop it. 
i love the cold. 
snow is beautiful, 
and i like sunrises, 
so waking up at a time when i'm able to witness them
should be a good sign. 
it comes upon me slowly, 
enough that i never notice
until winter is here
and everything is grey
and i 
am clinical and deep within obsession. 
i only notice
Sep 05


it's my first grade of the year.
solid 100 percent
and i feel a thrill as i look at it even though
i hate this system. 
and it's not even a thrill because it's a good grade
because god only knows 
that grade has a whole semester to go down.
it was only based off of a few things anyway. 
that thrill came from the simple reality of 
having a grade
that curse of last year. 
that reinstituted prison. 
i hate having grades. 
i hate the way having your learning evaluted
kills it. 
i hate how subjects i used to like
are converted into numbers on a page
and those numbers determine my future. 
i hate having to obsess over these,
and i gloried in having a whole summer free of it. 
and now the prison is back, 
and i welcome it with open arms. 
because i no longer know how to evaluate myself
without it. 
Jul 19

Abrie Howe Art

Jul 03

full speed ahead

i decided to do this
way back in december.
i guess when the future is far away enough,
you think you can do anything. 
now it's the day after tomorrow
and doing anything seems like a bit of a stretch. 
i travel well. 
i want to see the world,
and i want to choose a new corner of it to settle down in
but the future is always ahead of me. 
in the future, 
i am a badass, somewhat morbid, wise-beyond-her-years young woman
who can handle anything
because she's changed from now. 
the day after tomorrow, 
i am underslept, sweating, 
and unsocial. 
the day after tomorrow, 
i go flying off into only the semi-known
ideally to get to know it better
but it's frightening, 
to fly away alone--
or without anyone you know--
when you're staring it down
instead of admiring it from months away. 
Mar 28

A Thankful Night

The sun has gone to rest under the horizon,
The Moon got up to play with the tousands of stars,
The city grows vibrant with light in the steets below,
People walk the path to return to their beloveds,
This night was a special night,
This night was chrismas night,
For above the heights of the towering buildings, 
Were sparkles that gave people joy,
The shimmering light was not the ordinary,
They were angels who came from above,
For it was this night and this night only,
That an angel could begin to fly,
If you heard the bell as sweet as a childs voice,
Then an angel be thankful to thy,
'Cause you have done a deed,
A deed that has someone thanking you for what you have done,
So on this night and this night only,
Everyone tries their hardest to let the angels fly.
Mar 12
poem 0 comments challenge: General
eleryrose's picture


I sit alone upon a shelf
and stare out to the sky
across from me a window is
my escape to the outside

and everybody looks at me
studies me carefully
that is what I tell myself

I am in a prestigious gallery
humans come from miles away
to admire me
Never are they intimate
a rope and sign keep them from coming

I am great
I say I say
The others laugh
As their paint chips, sides start to fray
you are but an ape
they say they say
I am great
I repeat
I say
I say

I am beautiful
the people say I live and breath
talking amongst themselves
to others they give
“constructive” criticism or maybe just plain hell
but I am perfect in this framed cell

I am vanity
wonderful they all say
and as I stare out the window
I wish I could fall
and they all
would look away

Feb 13

bothers me a little

in middle school
i was told my grades didn't really matter
that seventh and eighth grade 
were more a test of your ability to survive highly unpleasant social conditions
than anything like academic prowess. 
that was all right, 
i didn't feel really compelled to fail--
school was easy, anyways. 
i tried to fail one class and scraped by with a 90. 
in high school 
suddenly i feel as if
grades are everything. 
not because anyone's told me specifically, 
but because of the underlying sentiment. 
think of your gpa!
colleges look at those. 
everything counts

it's meant to be motivating, 
i'm supposed to be encouraged
that all of my work today is going to the purpose of sending me to college,
even the mandatory, somewhat pointless health and diversity. 
it's just more pressure. 
i am fourteen years old. 
not even fifteen. 
Jan 19


Love can be that
Mushy, sweet stuff.
Or it can be the thing that gets you 
Through the day.
It makes you feel
Love is when you can tell someone
Anything and they 
Love you 
Jan 12


I get high on poetry;
and drunk on creating.
It's my drug of choice,
Because the high it gives me is like nothing I've ever experienced before.
My hands get shaky,
My mind clears.
I feel nothing,
But also, everything.
My heart pounds in my chest with passion,
My bloodstream clogged with adrenaline.
My mind works a million miles a minute,
But my body works in slow motion.
My pencil is a syringe,
The graphite, the needle.
The paper, my arm,
and the words the drug.
I roll meaning in paper,
and light it with emotion.
I inhale the concoction,
Letting it settle in my lungs before I exhale my creation.
I grind metaphors and similes into a fine powder before I snort them.
Letting them mingle and match with the words drifting through my conscience.
I ingest detail,
Letting it seep through my being.
Poetry is dangerous,
Once you're hooked on it.
Dec 12

The Theory of Second Place

As an individual, I strive for first place. I live for the competition, the satisfaction of victory, and the look on my competitors’ faces when I inevitably win. As an American, I strive for first place. I thrive on improvement, power, and titles. I live for the competition, I can’t exist without it, and yet it’s tearing me apart.

    My whole life I have been taught that winning is everything, that if I’m not first, I’m last, and second is the first to lose. But, what’s wrong with second place? What’s wrong with imperfection? I am tired of constantly being disappointed with second place, but I can’t stop striving for first place because it is who I am. In middle school, I was so competitive, that anytime I lost in gym class, I became angry. Irrationally angry, but it was just a game.
Nov 17


My life is a canvas,
The paints of my palette are the experiences and lessons that I have learned,
And my pictures are the events that come with living.
I am the artist.
I'm the only one who can paint my story.

So why do other people feel the need to paint my life for me?
And why do I let them?

This is my masterpiece, why am I letting these amateurs deface it?

Their bold, sharp, jagged brush strokes stand out harshly against my own smooth flowing ones.

I paint with emotion and meaning.
With veiled images and detail.

I learned to paint with a sharp eye to detail at a young age.
A skill that is only achieved through living in the exposure to the cold, dark world.
I've been through to much for a child.

But their brush strokes,
They're stiff and cold.
Void of meaning.
Lacking in detail.
They haven't been exposed to the world like I have just yet.
Oct 17

math (with audio)

i get home from school 3:45 at the earliest, 
leave around 8:30. 
that's 16 hours and 45 minutes away from school. 
assuming that i sleep from 11:30 to 7--
then subtract an hour for insomnia--
that's only 10 hours and 15 minutes awake and at home
and 7 in school. 
still more time away from school
than in it; 
but three hours and fifteen minutes, 
that's not a big difference, 
and that's not even counting extracurriculars. 
add those on, 
and i'll bet the two would be about equal. 
it's not like that's really a very big deal, 
i might not like school, 
but i do like learning, 
and i'm not about to complain. 
but it makes me wonder, 
when i consider that 
when you're asked to picture a teenager, 
you either thing 
drugs and scandal and stuff
or else you think 
and i'm anything but a raucous party girl, 
but i wonder--
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