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Best Poems Written by Cat Way

Below are the all-time best Cat Way poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Little Boy

This small for his age little boy on his first day of school, with his little dinosaur backpack and new blue jeans and white t shirt. Mama said “Be sure to be careful to not to stain your shirt, especially at lunch cause I know how much you love your ketchup.” He stands with his head towards the ground letting his deep red hair cover his freckled face because he knows a whole new world is at his feet, the first day of many more first days to come for the next 13 years of his school life. He looks out among the many faces in the large, peeling blue paint room and his stomach twists into various size knots. He holds his lunch tray of pizza and milk with shaky hands, almost drops it twice just standing there. The roar of all the students and staff echo off the walls, the security with their walkies and the kids laughing horribly loud make his nerves even more uneasy. He stands slightly slouched and bites on his lower lip, somethings hes done since infancy when he was feeling over whelmed. He doesn't know what to do, or what he is allowed to do. Maybe go out to the play ground and hide in the big yellow tunnel slide or even in a bathroom stale till class started. One side of the cafeteria had larger children, the 5th graders, and the sizes of them decreased as you moved your sight to the right of the room. There was no order to where you had to sit, it was just every grade sort of stayed with each other, the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th and 5th graders all grouped together, maybe they were afraid to venture out of their safe zones. After 5th grade you go to the bigger school, they call it middle school which is not the scariest cause after that you have high school and everyone says its a nightmare. He looks down at his feet and knows he looks like a fool just standing there for how ever long he has been, which was much to long. He didn't see any of his classmates, maybe there was a special spot just for his grade somewhere that will accept him with open arms . Even if he did he didn't know any of their names and none of them seemed to care for his. They wouldn't play with him at recess or be his partner in gym, nobody even wanted to sit by him at carpet time. They all gave
him the cold shoulder, you could see the sadness on his face every time you had to have a partner for a activity. As if he was about to burst out in heavy tears, his face would get red and he would hold his tummy as if cringing in pain. He is a coward and returns to the class room to eat his now cold food with the teacher and be forever known as the teachers pet, all because the lack of self confidence in that small child in that small moment in time, in the ocean of seats in the room with the peeling paint.

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Birthday Tears

A birthday cake sits before me, laughing at me. The candles whisper mean things, they know my thoughts. The ocean of red frosting simmering in the lights above, the little black flowers that everyone has dibs on. So elegantly outlined in more black lace, this cake is not for a funeral, no of course not. It's for me and the year that passed, for the one coming my way at full speed, the year of tears and stress. The year of chores and closed doors. Birthdays were never my strong point, they always make me sweep. Makes me want to just draw the curtains and sleep the day away, but no that would be letting me off the hook. Much too easy, everyone must talk big and do nothing. The sickening smell of plastic and mold radiate from the cake, must of been on clearance from the bakery down the street. They show up at my door bearing a balloon and small bag and this atrocious cake. Mother always said it's not how good the gft is it's the fact they got one. I must smile and hold it all in till they leave but in the meantime blow out these taunting candles and force down the oily sponge. Open the gift, a bag inside a bag, a old plaid, partly fake shiny leather purse that only a five year old diva would love. The leathery fur lining the mouth of this little monster is coming off with every touch, wonder where they got this thing, but you must be nice and give them the meanness only middle school girls can pull of, the meanness with a smile and a dis but thanks all in one. I rather think of anything right now, terrible “gifts” or the fact they showed up without even picking up a phone, anything than standing here with this thing burning on my kitchen counter waiting for the howled song to be over to blow this thing out and get alone again. Go back upstairs to my little nirvana and sleep the rest of this nightmare away. All their four faces glare at me, they know exactly what I’m thinking. One stands with my balloon in her giant hands and bounces it off my head, how I wish I could take the string and strangle her with it but I do a half assed giggle and ignore it, she keeps doing it, finally her mother has the brainpower to yell at her to stop. Even she knows I will attack, don't you think I’m on edge enough as is? I feel like the candle, starting to sweat like hot wax, hands grip the knife mom handed me and can't wait to cut this thing. Big breath, be sure to get them all in one try, pretend to knock ‘em all dead.

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Mr Wiggles the Stuffed Punk Pig

Mr. Wiggles the stuffed “punk pig” , he wasn’t always this way. Before the safety pins in his little nose and “Dead Kennedy’s” patch on his soft, fuzzy, pink back, he was a loving, clean, attractive piggy who was afraid of the dark. He sewed black and red string into his adorable little ear because he thought it would make him look like a rebel pig, then he got experimental with sharpie, permanently drawing stitches on his non-existing lips all because of the music he flooded into his head. Then after the piercings, he got into tattoos. He has a black and red “C” on his chest and a black dotted “C” with a little black heart on his hip. It’s pretty sexy huh? He got it for someone but that someone loved another. He has big, child like eyes that can mesmerize you. They aren’t blue or green or even brown, They are black eyes that just stare deeply into you. He is also very small, not like the other kids. He used to get beat up when he was a little piglet, Maybe that’s why he tries to be all tough now. He’s a bubble gum pink, maybe that was a factor in him getting beat up by all the other farm animals so much. He had low self esteem and a eating disorder, that's why he is so skinny for a grown man piggy. He hated the way he looked, he was ashamed for being born a pig because they have such bad reputations of being dirty, sloppy, and lazy. He didn't like his feet most of all because they were ugly and gross, pig feet are the definition of this but his are abnormal they were disfigured and very, very pink, not like the other animals with smooth hooves or webbed feets. His are piggies feet that no one will end up ever eating. They look like something Ariel would collect under the sea. Mr. Wiggles wasn’t always a bad piggy, under his thick, fuzzy skin he is soft and plushy pig. One thing that never changed is that he loves affection such as hugs, they are comforting and secure. He smells like a warm breeze and something sugary. He may act tough but there is much, much more then meets the eye.

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All We Do Is Fight

You  scream

I scream

I walk away

You stay away

You beg

You plead

I cry and wither

I lay in bed

and think- why does this keep happening

I soak my pillow

You appear

I shoo you away

You stomp and cause my heart to stop

You simply walk away

I cry some more

I fall asleep

I wake

I remember

I go to you

I climb in bed

I curl close

and kiss your lips

I never want to let go, or be let go of

All is well

All is good, till we fight again

Details | Cat Way Poem

Burning Graduation

The rage inside me is sickening, never thought I would be on this side. Everybody always saw me on this side and being stuck, no support for me. Go ahead rub your rolled up beige papers in my face, all your cheap grad gifts and spoiled cake! I don’t need you, not one of you! Keep your puppy soft dreams and leave me in this block building, with its cold uneven floors littered with junk food wrappers and hallways that reeks of gym socks and piss. Go out into the big bad world and I hope you all get eaten by all the monsters out there. The resent in me leeks a rotten taste in my mouth like roadkill, the stomach turning stench that you know what it is before you can see. The only things my hands hold are more projects and due dates, I grip them so tight my hands turn white and the paper cuts me to bits. The posters, the flyers, all media laughing at me. Radio, stores all just shoving the event down my throat and strangling my heated heart. Hot water runs from my eyes, let them soak wherever they go, I don’t care anymore. You have resumes and diplomas in your polished hands, so go decorate your dorm rooms and party with your frat boys I will be standing right here. It’s like a waiting game of cat and mouse, waiting for the mouse's head to peek out so I can attempt to snatch it up but always slipping through my paws. I take this match and bottle of gas and set fire to your almost grasp of the end of your path. I burn it to a crisp till you can no longer identify what it is. I pace back and forth in my tiny room and kick around my dirty clothes that I threw everywhere in a tantrum. I trip over shoes that have holes and t-shirts with the necks cut out. The ripped posters on the floor lay like fallen leaves crunching under my feet. Pick up pillows so I can share my screams, I scream so hard it feels like I can’t breathe. The shattered frames with my fist placed perfectly in the center stare at me in disbelief and gleaming glass on everything you see. The sun is fighting to get in through my curtains seams, it fights so hard my room has a small glow to my white walls that cage me so well. My homework ripped to shreds because I can’t take anymore. If I can’t see it it’s not real. Family blowing up my phone that sits in the blue light of my clock flashing the wrong time which rests on my scratched up night stand, nothing but a bee buzz against wood. They all want to know when the ceremony is, what I will be wearing, who’s going and where their invites are. The news has not traveled, is my mother for once not taking control over everything? Has she not spread gossip like butter over everyone's brains yet? Let it go to voice mail, I can answer next year.

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Backpack Love

You wore your heart pinned on your backpack

no concern for nobody, not even yourself

You saw nothing but shapeless clouds and colored glass

mistakes lie behind you and before you

all over your path

you took whatever came

rotten, second hand things

looked for happiness in every wrong place

but then it came and found you it sits in front of you with open arms

palms to the sky

love pouring out of every seam

nothing but help and hope to be given

while your eyes begin to brighten

they are no longer a storm, a saddened sky they are a smiling childs

your chapped lips quiver and body shakes

for the fear that builds and thoughts drown your mind,

you won’t be hurt again

I promise

these clouds become our future

endless and full of wonder

put down your backpack and surrender your heart, stop running

I’m here to hold you and stand beside you, have your hand in mine

you will never be alone again, never even cold

not again on the wrong path for happiness

for it is no longer at the bottom of a bag or bottle

it tickles and cuddles with snorts and giggles

my smile, your smile

like small children in love

forever pinned together

Details | Cat Way Poem

Where I Am From

I am from day old make up, from hand me down clothes and sharpie covered arms.

I am from a dirt filled well and barefoot on gravel

I am from black and brown caterpillars to the landlord’s koi pond with orange and silver creatures nibbling on my toes

I am from unwanted yearly get togethers and harsh words and tears, from Tia and Lisa to uncle Ricky  and the kids who are unfortunate enough to understand

I am from stuberness and bitterness with flashes of extreme bipolar

From “never letting down your walls” to “men are not to be trusted”

Well I have news, I didn't listen

I am from the trees, the water, the earth, the wind and the sun. I am from everything and will come back again and again, something new but always ignored

I am from Portland, land of addicts and freaks

Ramen noodles and sugar-less kool aid to grandma’s boiled over salted chicken with bisquick mushy dumplings

From the uncle who’s afraid to get close, the mom who is now finally trying to  connect but will never be able to fix the static of our relationship to the aunt who does nothing but drown her problems with a bottle of whatever is on sale

I am from nowhere for I have been everywhere. the everywhere is nowhere. Home has never been a word used much, theres only rest stops

Sheds. trailers, friends beds and couches to the ground.

Life goes up and down, so I am from the waves of living, from doubt and open arms, from hands to hands, hiding in cracks.
I am from here.

Details | Cat Way Poem

Goodbye To Home

Sand in my lungs and in every nook and cranny possible, nothing out here not even a simple bush or tree. Everything is dead and dry as a bone. My own skin holds no life, rough and leathery like jerky. Desperate need of lotion, even more of a need for a place called home. This heavy helmet keeps the cooling breeze from touching me and this scratchy, too small for me uniform is thick and full of sweat.They never told you that you would come to a point where you wanted to die, they never said how many people you would see die, they didn’t heed you no warnings all they told you was that your army strong and a brave soul. The jeep’s engine dies and we come to a sudden halt, Sam gets out of the drivers seat and calls break. Break from what? There aint no break here, but we smile and take our helmets off and rest our stressed shoulders on the bars of the open rear vehicle. James hops out and pops open the button on his pants, struggles with the zipper and takes a piss, back to the wind but not back on us. Nick hands me his canteen and I nod with a thanks and take it quickly, my mouth is drier than a cotton field. Syrupy saliva the color of old tobacco form little bridges from the mouth of the bottle to my chapped scaly lips. What I would give for a ice cold beer, sitting on my porch with my woman by my side. I gaze out in the desert and imagine what life will be like when I get home. They will have a huge party waiting for me at the front gate and wash me with hugs and tears. Balloons tied to the fence, all blues and reds with dots of white. Food piled high on tables for hungry soldiers, smeared make up on all the womens faces. My 4 year old daughter running up to me in her favorite pink flower dress. I drop my stare from the clear sky and look at the man in front of me, his face caked with grease and dirt, his clothes dusted by sand and clay, sweat stains on the chest and even bigger ones that formed under his arms. He looks like the devil himself dragged him to hell and back, a shame to look how he looks, but we all look the same. He hunches over, helmet covering his eyes, hands together and elbows on knees, a stance for a dead man. I put my hand out to give him his water back and it takes him a moment to look up and retrieve it. He looks me in the eye for the first time, the green is brighter than any I have ever seen on a man. He gets a old beat up photo out of his chest pocket and hands it to me, a tall beautiful woman is smiling back at me with big brown eyes, almost like burned honey. Hair that falls over her shoulders like waves of oil. A small bundle in her arms, you can see the tiny hands poking out of the snow white teddy bear covered blanket. I look back up and find him staring at me with tears coming from his eyes like a busted pipe, he picks up his pistol from his inner jacket pocket, puts it to his temple and screams like a lost child and pulls the trigger. The sound of his skull shattering, if I ever dream again this is what it would be, it was a crunch like noise with a splatter to compliment it. Blood and brains paint the back of the jeep like frosting. I will never forget this man. Killing for peace is like ****ing for virginity, you can never win. I pick up his gun and look back up at the sky, I was never meant to see my family again. You can hear the bullets flying through the air from a short distance, grenades explode and bombard your ears. The enemy is running toward us, rising on top of the sand dunes with their arabian hunting knives above their heads and guns on their sides like a infant to its mother's breast, thats what they are doing they are hunting us like deer. Clutching the photo to my heart I raise the gun to my head, take one last breath and hold it, squeezed the trigger, the last death I will ever see is my own.

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Keagan, Innocence Lost

Dear stupid diary,

I woke up, had my cup of coffee, fixed my hair and painted my face. Pretty normal morning, thought I’d call a friend see if they wanted to meet up or maybe go see my boyfriend Calvin and go to the mall or something. I didn't know that I would become so angry so soon in the day. My friend Mickey called, I've known her since my freshman year back at barlow, she was a quiet pip squeak mouse and I was the big mouthed, girl that everyone knew. Shes been my best friend since forever, shes like my sister. Anyway she called crying, hardly able to hear the words over her gasps. Her baby nephew died, in his sleep. Not even one year old and gone, want to know how they found him? His older brother, only four years old, was crying, holding his little body trying to wake him up. Kaden was screaming cause he didn't understand why his baby brother wouldn't get up and play with him like he always did after naps. How could a baby die? Just like that, happy and laughing one minute then gone. It's bull*****like this that proves my point; there is no god. No all mighty, no one power, no anything. You cannot pray and ask him back, you cannot beg and plead for him to return your son, you only get silence and a mothers cry. I am so angry at the world, so angry! Why do rapists, abusers, child molesters, criminals get to live but little children don't get to start living. The ones who could change the world, the ones who will be someones soulmate, president, the one who finds the cure for cancer. They all die, innocent faces, tiny fingers and toes, bright eyes, why don't they get a chance to prove they are worth the world. Right now His mom and dad, Chris and Candice, are sitting in a cold, sterile lobby waiting, just waiting to hear how their beautiful son died. To the doctor it's just another case, another dead body, but no his name was Keagen and his wasn't even one. So take a moment and think: how could such a amazing baby die. Is there really a god or is it all a lie. I’m betting it's all just a ****ing lie!

Details | Cat Way Poem

Red Clowns

I sway back and forth slurping on my soda and spot a peculiar scene
Over by the creepy Clown with the evil green eyes
A girl standing alone
Afraid
Talking to herself, repeating a name
Sally she says
over and over again
She almost screams at the words
Guys walk up to her
They give me a sick vibe, deep in my chest I feel how she feels
Panic, wonder, fear
Betrayed.

He grabs her arm, violently squeezing
I can feel the pain on my own arm
I want to help her
I do
But what could I do?
I'm just a small girl like herself, I could not fight
I would try to speak but lose the nerve
Lose the words of defense

They drag her away
I should tell someone
If I don't the guilt will eat me alive..
I won't say anything
I'm sure she will be fine
If she didn't want them she would scream and fight back
Right?

She sees me watching
Her eyes plead for me to take action
I look down at my shoes
I didn't see anything
I glance up to hopefully see her judge ridden eyes to stare back at me
But she is gone
Forever lost
Her voice I still hear
Sally she says
You said it would be fun