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Best Nichole Anderson Poems

Below are the all-time best Nichole Anderson poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Details | Nichole Anderson Poem |

one last day

The second I see the final day,
the moment I breath my beats away
my heart growing slower 
by each second I stay
with each less breath 
I have one thing to say,

this is't suicide
this isn't shame
this is one way
to remember my name
my story and how I became
your unloved child
on Earths deadly terrain

I would look 
into your lying eyes
and beg to see the man
that I despise
I would ask of you
the honest truth
on how and why
you killed your
daughters youth
hopes and dreams
for nothing I've seen
is what it seems

Father if I just lived one more day
I would make your life Hell,
I would make you pay
for I am a child 
whos voice was stolen
and didn't have a choice

I'm not the happy poet
everyone wants me to be
I just wish for you to know
the things in which I see

I would tell the world 
with my final breath
To stop this deadly game
for I am a child of envy
and my father delivered the pain
with my last beat
I brought an end to his game

here lies me,
a child driven
insane

Copyright © nichole anderson | Year Posted 2011

Details | Nichole Anderson Poem |

our first Valentines

I opened up my box of chocolates,
I could tell you that dropped them
you handed me my flowers
that got crushed by your hands
and my ear rings didn't fit just right
your work called you into tonight 
   but that's okay, I wouldn't want it
any other way, to tell you the truth
I like to watch you stumble, 
but I don't want you to fall
  You forgot to wear the watch that I
just bought you, and when you woke up
all you did was want to fight too.
But that's okay I wouldn't want it any other way.
    I like to watch you stumble in your over sized shoes
knowing that you try so hard to impress me with everything you do.
but you don't have to, all I want, all I need is you.


        So I tossed out the chocolates
and threw the flowers on the bed, I put in my ear rings and this is what I said.
"I like to watch you stumble, but never see you fall, I like to watch you wake up
and yell than not see you at all, I wouldn't have it any other way. Happy Valentines Day."

Copyright © nichole anderson | Year Posted 2013

Details | Nichole Anderson Poem |

the unnamed

reality is not for me
for the truth is to dark 
for the eye to see
every little line 
that was crossed 
by he
who shall not be named
be changed nor slienced
but it is I who is stuck
in the mindless violence
in which is forever unchanging
so blinding and staining
he was one
in many I was supposed to trust
but he was another who was
bound by lust
and lost by favor
he who dared to question
save her?
no instead he just let me slip
and sink in a tainted sip
of poison 
that touches my lips 
that makes me scream
and ever so lifeless
here I am
stuck like this.

Copyright © nichole anderson | Year Posted 2010

Details | Nichole Anderson Poem |

A cowboy is

A sweet reality, The cowboy image
A laborer wore what he could get
ready- to - wear,
would make city men quit
hand me downs
and second hand clothes
discarded garments
by men who stuck up their nose,

in a ranch or range
they'd stay the same
so Still, so proud, 
this typical cowboy
could easily fit in with a crowd
but their sense of self dignity
kept them off the ground
where as city men
always fell down,

filled to the brim
in honesty
a cowboy 
suits were for the rich
and poor hearted
the origins of the cowboy
was never truly started,

for in my mind 
this wonderful man
so moral and true
has to be a dream
This cavalry issued
every silent night
where he fights to stay awake
while city men turn out the lights

The cowboy needed to know how to ride,
rope, saddle, and bronc'
then they had to use their bare hands
like a real man to build shelter
for the animals in which they keep
then as the sun rises 
the cowboy catches sleep

Copyright © nichole anderson | Year Posted 2011

Details | Nichole Anderson Poem |

here lies judgement day

H-e whispers in the dead of night
e-very word was woven tight
r-ight into a web of lies
e-very act to hide the despise

L-ustful thinking
i-n a deadly man
e-ats away at a familys plan
s-weet salvation died away

J-ustice never had a chance
u-nderneath his painful trance
d-eep into the empty mind
g-rounded into a broken line
e-at away at my trusting heart
m-end me back to just restart
e-veryday it one more stitch
n-o morphine could 
t-ake away this twitch

D-riven out of my own home
a-nother new house and another day alone
y-et where does his judgement lie, by his side.

Copyright © nichole anderson | Year Posted 2011

Details | Nichole Anderson Poem |

power

Trail, error 
here I lay as I fall one last time
posting another poem
into a beaten lie
here I lay within the hands of time
as the people before me,
I fade into the past
the thought of my life
never seemed to last
 trail, error,
stranger, anger
what I needed was a home
but because of you,
I'm never alone
even in my own head
so father kill me
I want to be Dead

Copyright © nichole anderson | Year Posted 2011

Details | Nichole Anderson Poem |

you and I forever

Your voice holds tightly to my heart
Onto the void you filled from the start 
Until wounds stop my lungs from breathing 

Always will our hearts be beating 
Never to see the two souls less than one
Down past the memories that can not be undone

Intertwined within hope and love

Free to be more than what was expected
Other memories were detected 
Rest your weary eyes and see
Everything that we are to be
Vast pictures come to mind
Enter the silence that leave none blind 
Re-enter the life within the hands of time,

Copyright © nichole anderson | Year Posted 2011

Details | Nichole Anderson Poem |

keep out part three

As we walked out the door, a small girl looked in my eyes she was so pretty and
Just then did I know it was time. “ Mommy she looks like an angel!” she just 
laughed 
As the girl twisted her hands through her hair I gasped. She was like seeing heaven
And as fragile as glass. She blinked at me and now I didn’t want to leave.
“Mommy she’s God’s Angel I like this dream!” She smiled again and said a statement 
I liked
“Well you’ll be back tomorrow, I am glad you had a nice day, when we get out you 
can go out
and play.” That night I went to bed thinking about the girl I seen the look in her 
eyes it was like a dream.
Mommy looked in my closet and under my bed, tucked me in and then touched her 
hand to my head.
“Sweet dreams.” She whispered as she walked out the door. Sweet dreams indeed 
for everything and more.

					The End 

Copyright © nichole anderson | Year Posted 2011

Details | Nichole Anderson Poem |

sweet memories

Where do I turn, when all I want is it to be over, where do I run when all I want is 
closure or what do I say when every question shot at me starts another 
interrogation, where all it does is ignite the flames to my aggravation. Where is the 
medicine to help with this situation? Why is my heart thudding in this drugs 
sedation, is it all because of my lives creation?  Where I live my worst fear, a life 
unending for where does the mind take me when the body fails to be sober, and 
free of this sick delusion where all I see is my life becoming a reality, and you 
actually loving me, what a sick and twisted illusion.
	Why when all else fails I turn to my inner most child, pray to God, to let 
me feel something, to let my emotions run wild. Even then I still fail to just hold on 
to my sanity and still some how I twist my own fate, some how I took your love and 
made it hate. What kind of mind set does that create? One that is so self wound 
they can’t tell fiction from facts, as they look back on their lives all the see is the 
fading black, when  they turn around they find there is no turning back?
	That is the world I was surrounded by, every dark moment in my life had 
an alibi, but I was sick of the reasons I want to know just why. Why this life made 
me cry so many times, how it made me want to die and crush my own heart is my 
chest, how you made me feel worthless at best. Why did you make me question my 
own mind, you even made me call myself crazy and blind, but it’s not me it’s you this 
time for you no longer committed the perfect crime. When you lied to yourself you 
crossed the line, it that what you wanted from the beginning of time?
		
			….	This is all I have left of my so called life, is 
this how it will end? It’s practically over before it had a chance to begin? I tried so 
hard to keep up with my mind the scattered memories and the wasted time, with 
the toxic and poison I filled my body with I changed my whole world just to make me 
able to forget. As I grow older the deep wounds still sit, every scar tells a story and 
every drop of blood keeps a secret, this is my story but how do you see it?

Copyright © nichole anderson | Year Posted 2011

Details | Nichole Anderson Poem |

story from within the mind of a madman

I can no longer hear the voices, 
so now I'm not sure what to say. 
I've come to the conclusion 
that they would know a better way to tell this story.
At least if I could hear their opinions or suggestions, 
that would help me to get a definite idea in what order this should be said.
They might of even told me when to add something important, 
and leave out the unneeded information. 
After all, I've known them for so long, and had their help this far, 
I'm not exactly good at these types of things anymore.
Many things have happened, but I don't know where to start, 
let alone the fact that my mind tricks me into seeing what isn't there, 
and for once they aren't here to warn me. 
It's like one moment my memories are engraved in stone, 
to the next moment they are being washed away by the ocean tide, 
taking the restless sand out to sea.
Thats the big problem with being labeled, crazy; 
you're never sure about the things you see.
I could start by telling you, 
it ended in death but to that effect, it also started in death.
So, I'm not exactly sure of what to say. 
Maybe, just maybe I could try to remember something before I went utterly mad. 
All I know in this moment is that some people died, 
and I'm lucky enough not to be one of them. 
The voices told me so, 
that was the last thing they said nefore they left me alone.
instead of their whispers, 
all I have now is the medications that are beign shoved down my throat daily. 
The oval egg-shell blue pill, or my psychotropic pill sickens me. 
Followed by me swollowing the pill,
 my mouth becomes dry until I'm practily weezing and gasping for air, 
as I bang my fists against my own chest so I can breathe.
This pill is like an elevator that can only stay 
in one place for so long but cannot go up. 
The doctors keep saying no matter how happy I feel, 
it's just a facade, a hoax, a joke, 
for the real emotion is lying in wait for the right moment to pounce and release my 
hell bound anger, 
or so they tell me

Copyright © nichole anderson | Year Posted 2011

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