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A place where I'm putting my poetry
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11-01-15 10:44 PM
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Poems I've Written
11-01-15 10:44 PM
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I guess you could call this place a blog or something, but since I found out there's a writing forum, I've decided I'm gonna put my poetry here. Kinda like a blog thing and |
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11-01-15 10:45 PM
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Freedom
A child cries in the middle of the filthy room Begging to be held and caressed and cooed. Meanwhile a woman lurking within the pitch Of a backroom, whose hair strands turned gray Long before their expiration became overdue Combs through them effortlessly to manage The tangles and webs of matted hair. Her pale face portrays the troubles she’s been through. She hears the infants cries but pays no attention To the slobbering mouth of the toddler child, And simply gussies herself up, hiding the wrinkles That have formed upon her once young face. A glorious visage this face once was two years ago But all changed once the child came into her care. On the unmade, unkempt tangled sheets, her luggage Lays packed and she walks wistfully to it, clutching The brown leather handle within her hand and lifts It effortlessly into the air before allowing it to rest At her side. She continues to the door, but the toddler Latches a large hand onto her pants in an effort to Keep her in a stagnant place. Don’t leave me, He begs, swallowing the slimy bile left from the tears He shed. You can’t leave me. I am but a child. You are not a child, the woman sharply replies, Jerking her pants’ leg away from his grubby hands You’re a man. And I am not your caregiver. She storms away into the brisk feeling of freedom, Leaving the grown man to wither and die alone In his own seething piss and feces crumbled on the floor In a broken heap of self-pity and victimization. A child cries in the middle of the filthy room Begging to be held and caressed and cooed. Meanwhile a woman lurking within the pitch Of a backroom, whose hair strands turned gray Long before their expiration became overdue Combs through them effortlessly to manage The tangles and webs of matted hair. Her pale face portrays the troubles she’s been through. She hears the infants cries but pays no attention To the slobbering mouth of the toddler child, And simply gussies herself up, hiding the wrinkles That have formed upon her once young face. A glorious visage this face once was two years ago But all changed once the child came into her care. On the unmade, unkempt tangled sheets, her luggage Lays packed and she walks wistfully to it, clutching The brown leather handle within her hand and lifts It effortlessly into the air before allowing it to rest At her side. She continues to the door, but the toddler Latches a large hand onto her pants in an effort to Keep her in a stagnant place. Don’t leave me, He begs, swallowing the slimy bile left from the tears He shed. You can’t leave me. I am but a child. You are not a child, the woman sharply replies, Jerking her pants’ leg away from his grubby hands You’re a man. And I am not your caregiver. She storms away into the brisk feeling of freedom, Leaving the grown man to wither and die alone In his own seething piss and feces crumbled on the floor In a broken heap of self-pity and victimization. |
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11-01-15 10:46 PM
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Cold It’s cold inside—chilly, damp, and dank. It’s December in here, with no fire to ward off the chilling of the howling winds of sorrow and doubt. Pale snowflakes from the depressed skies above drift down softly against my heart— they push against it, and I feel their weight. I’m drowning. My mouth opens and I scream… but no one can hear me over the deadening silence. I scream again at the people around me, tucked into their comfort blankets and toasting their fingers next to happy, smug fires, but alas, useless. Tears escape my eyes but freeze before they can roll down my cheeks as I watch everyone around me merrily and happily sing and laugh. Occasionally, someone passes a glance behind them to see me—the corners of their stretched lips loosening into chagrin. Once in a blue moon, someone approaches from the fires and tells me to try harder to not be cold— that by me being stuck fireless and without a blanket in this storm, I have made them cold. Someone the other day told me I had to right to be freezing when I’m surrounded by people who possess fires. I can’t speak because this tundra froze my mouth completely shut. They grow annoyed by my inability to move to say anything and throw their hands in the air, letting out a panting sigh of exasperation proclaiming they did what they could before leaving for the fire. And I am left alone once again, cold and freezing. It’s August, and I’m so cold. It’s cold inside—chilly, damp, and dank. It’s December in here, with no fire to ward off the chilling of the howling winds of sorrow and doubt. Pale snowflakes from the depressed skies above drift down softly against my heart— they push against it, and I feel their weight. I’m drowning. My mouth opens and I scream… but no one can hear me over the deadening silence. I scream again at the people around me, tucked into their comfort blankets and toasting their fingers next to happy, smug fires, but alas, useless. Tears escape my eyes but freeze before they can roll down my cheeks as I watch everyone around me merrily and happily sing and laugh. Occasionally, someone passes a glance behind them to see me—the corners of their stretched lips loosening into chagrin. Once in a blue moon, someone approaches from the fires and tells me to try harder to not be cold— that by me being stuck fireless and without a blanket in this storm, I have made them cold. Someone the other day told me I had to right to be freezing when I’m surrounded by people who possess fires. I can’t speak because this tundra froze my mouth completely shut. They grow annoyed by my inability to move to say anything and throw their hands in the air, letting out a panting sigh of exasperation proclaiming they did what they could before leaving for the fire. And I am left alone once again, cold and freezing. It’s August, and I’m so cold. |
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11-01-15 10:47 PM
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I'll only post two for now because there's so many, and I'd like to keep them all in one thread because I've written so much but don't wanna post like a million things aaa. ;u; If anyone likes them, lemme know. I like hearing feedback. It helps me and stuff. Plus, I know I don't really have a rhyming scheme with my poetry because most of the time, I just pour it out from my heart. And I'm horrible at making things rhyme haha ;-;. |
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11-02-15 01:59 PM
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Just wow :O Cold is amazing since I understand what you mean, but Freedom is good too. In fact, Freedom seemed more like a short story than a poem to me. In my opinion, there's a common deep aspect in both of these poems - the feeling of abandonment. Please do continue to write poems, they're a great way to bring out feelings you probably normally wouldn't. Maybe you can even learn something about yourself from them Final note, don't worry about the rhymes, I think poems are more than just rhymes. But, if you want you can start by trying to include a rhyme or two in your next poem. Please do continue to write poems, they're a great way to bring out feelings you probably normally wouldn't. Maybe you can even learn something about yourself from them Final note, don't worry about the rhymes, I think poems are more than just rhymes. But, if you want you can start by trying to include a rhyme or two in your next poem. |
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11-02-15 11:22 PM
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MangaGirl8 : Thank you! v u v I'm really glad you liked my poetry. c: It makes me happy. A lot of the poems I write come from how I feel during the time, so a lot of them aren't edited and I like keeping them that way. Raw emotion. Plus, when I read over them, I reflect on how I feel now compared to how I felt then--am I better or worse? So far, better. ^-^ I have a few more pre-written ones I wrote ages ago, but in the future I'll challenge myself to write one with a rhyme scheme just to see if I can do it. It'll probably be Dr. Seus like but oh well. :p Thank you! v u v I'm really glad you liked my poetry. c: It makes me happy. A lot of the poems I write come from how I feel during the time, so a lot of them aren't edited and I like keeping them that way. Raw emotion. Plus, when I read over them, I reflect on how I feel now compared to how I felt then--am I better or worse? So far, better. ^-^ I have a few more pre-written ones I wrote ages ago, but in the future I'll challenge myself to write one with a rhyme scheme just to see if I can do it. It'll probably be Dr. Seus like but oh well. :p |
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11-03-15 03:48 AM
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The Sun The sun will always rise over the horizon Slowly, but beautifully budding forth. Bestowing light onto a shadow-filled world, Blessing it in its warmth, the sun awakens For you and all its smiling creatures, Yet why do you rise? Why do you remove yourself from your safe haven In the waxing hours of the morn If to merely shade your heart with icy, vengeful whirling winds? What warmth do you wait for if not for your Mother’s, for She is the one who birthed and nurtured you? Do you not enjoy the sounds outside your meager home She placed into your life for you to stop and hear? Are you not thankful for the gifts She’s given? You are lonely for the warmth of a companion, A strange who’s face you’ve yet to see, Leaving yourself in the cold winds of Depression, yet a warm, blissful companion hangs in the sky. Our Mother whispers to you, “Come play outside. Let the friends I’ve made for you feed the loneliness within your heart.” The sun will always rise over the rise to great you And the sun will always set with a satisfying sigh But people will come and go from your life. We are unreliable creatures, selfish creatures, Imperfect creatures, So won’t you come And enjoy a little sun From your friend? The sun will always rise over the horizon Slowly, but beautifully budding forth. Bestowing light onto a shadow-filled world, Blessing it in its warmth, the sun awakens For you and all its smiling creatures, Yet why do you rise? Why do you remove yourself from your safe haven In the waxing hours of the morn If to merely shade your heart with icy, vengeful whirling winds? What warmth do you wait for if not for your Mother’s, for She is the one who birthed and nurtured you? Do you not enjoy the sounds outside your meager home She placed into your life for you to stop and hear? Are you not thankful for the gifts She’s given? You are lonely for the warmth of a companion, A strange who’s face you’ve yet to see, Leaving yourself in the cold winds of Depression, yet a warm, blissful companion hangs in the sky. Our Mother whispers to you, “Come play outside. Let the friends I’ve made for you feed the loneliness within your heart.” The sun will always rise over the rise to great you And the sun will always set with a satisfying sigh But people will come and go from your life. We are unreliable creatures, selfish creatures, Imperfect creatures, So won’t you come And enjoy a little sun From your friend? |
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11-11-15 02:49 AM
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I'm still trying to locate some of my tamer poetry. I used to have a super unhealthy relationship that drained everything I had and would write not-so-nice poems about it haha. I'll post more when I find some. |
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11-11-15 03:20 AM
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If I had a Dime If I had a dime for every time I wanted to wish away this bestowed visage, I would be a millionaire. O where art thou confidence or a smile? Hidden behind the frown, behind the hatred, behind the lies, of being okay with how I am. Love yourself, they say, but then publicize those nothing like me. The voices scream starve Starve Starve! And so I do, for what person deserves true happiness when born to look like a beast. A hideous creature thrust into the circus of the world with insecure and cowardly ringmasters to whip and jest at the animal, and a crowd of fearful people laughing along, thankful the spotlight is not upon them. Starve, Starve, Starve! Yourself from the finer feelings because the only thing you are worth is for people to use, and so I do. And people take and use me and abuse and betray Until I have no human qualities left Die, Die, Die! the voices screech inside my head But, alas, it is too late for the personality, the human trapped inside the beast is already dead. If I had a dime for every time I wanted to wish away this bestowed visage, I would be a millionaire. O where art thou confidence or a smile? Hidden behind the frown, behind the hatred, behind the lies, of being okay with how I am. Love yourself, they say, but then publicize those nothing like me. The voices scream starve Starve Starve! And so I do, for what person deserves true happiness when born to look like a beast. A hideous creature thrust into the circus of the world with insecure and cowardly ringmasters to whip and jest at the animal, and a crowd of fearful people laughing along, thankful the spotlight is not upon them. Starve, Starve, Starve! Yourself from the finer feelings because the only thing you are worth is for people to use, and so I do. And people take and use me and abuse and betray Until I have no human qualities left Die, Die, Die! the voices screech inside my head But, alas, it is too late for the personality, the human trapped inside the beast is already dead. |
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11-11-15 08:57 PM
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writingwolves : These poems are pretty interesting. Did you write these to help deal with hurt? I really like the words you use though. Although I kinda wish they didn't feel that hopeless. But that's my personal preference. I'll keep up with this thread. |
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I wonder what the character limit on this thing is. |
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11-12-15 02:37 PM
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A user of this : I wrote these to deal with depression a long time ago. These are several months old and I know several of them I used to deal with a really bad relationship I was trying to break out of (it was a friendship instead of romantic relationship but nonetheless pretty traumatizing). And I used to have a lot of self-loathing. :/ I'm so much better now than I was then tho. c: I just like going through and looking at stuff like this and seeing all the tiny improvements I've made. It makes me feel good, like I'm making progress through life and it makes it really feel like life gets better. Idk. Coping skills mang I wrote these to deal with depression a long time ago. These are several months old and I know several of them I used to deal with a really bad relationship I was trying to break out of (it was a friendship instead of romantic relationship but nonetheless pretty traumatizing). And I used to have a lot of self-loathing. :/ I'm so much better now than I was then tho. c: I just like going through and looking at stuff like this and seeing all the tiny improvements I've made. It makes me feel good, like I'm making progress through life and it makes it really feel like life gets better. Idk. Coping skills mang |
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11-17-15 01:46 AM
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I never liked or understood poetry (except for songs and poems that rhyme), but I have to say. . . you have fantastic writing skills! I am enticed to read more, even though they're kind of saddening, but still. I really enjoyed reading your poems, and hope you post more! |
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"o snap, what up?" |
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