Don't take it personally
The reverberating silence
When you every a room
All in your head
Kids don't just bully
As you pick rotten fruit
From my hair
Asking me
What did I do
There is paint painted on me
It is a kind of paint that whose pigment can dust
And cause a different kind of stain on you
If and when;
You glide on me,
You lean on me,
And colide with me.
I keep myself away because of that difference
So as to avoid such kind of confusion
"You treasure what's yours but again confuse it"
Eager to prove me wrong but will you believe me?
Give ears to listen to the different kind of story!
The story that makes my paint that way.
Will you distinguish and help me see
If there's that I don't see that I should
Yet you shouldn't always expect that
"There must be something you see that do not"
The truth is You never know whether I looked further
Further than your eyes made there sight
"We are the same" but, "just made different"
Though even so
How much can you make up from those two statements
"We are the same" but, "just made different"
Or is it that I am the foolish one and,
Don't deserve to sit amongst you
Just because I have a different opinion.
My dad had thirteen siblings
worked for every thing he ever got
many hand-me-downs but no handouts
I can feel my pulse in my fingertips,
like my hands are trying to escape.
Do I lean in? Do I lean back?
Please don’t let me stumble over my own feet.
My heart is doing that ridiculous thumping thing.
Why does it feel like the world is waiting?
Should I say something? Something clever?
No, just stay quiet, it’s fine.
Just breathe…oops, too noticeable.
Why is everything suddenly so tricky?
Your eyes are so close, almost too near.
Okay, maybe not, maybe it’s the perfect distance.
What if my lips are awkward? What if I taste strange?
I’m panicking, yes, in every corner of me.
I tell myself stop, act normal… but my pulse gives me away.
“Hey… is everything okay? You seem nervous.”
I nod too fast, my thoughts scattering everywhere.
I want to laugh, I want to crawl under a rock.
I feel like I might float or fall all at once.
My eyes dart everywhere, but you’re right here, holding my hand.
And then it happens, gentle, hesitant, soft.
Our lips meet, and my stomach flutters.
It’s awkward, it’s funny, it’s perfect in its messiness.
I think, maybe this is how first kisses are meant to feel.
And I secretly hope it never ends.
Children of Divorce
Divorce
A curse
On a family
Who once was happy
Never to feel the same
Feeling like they are to blame
For this never ending game
Just wanting to be the children they were before
But they will always be the children of divorce
Children of divorce
Dear old man,
My quill quivers.
How do I glorify you,
With only ink, not gold?
Oh lady Calliope,
Lift my soul.
A pin drowned in an ocean of words.
Guide my conscience with notions,
Dearth of words I face,
To sculpt my father's grandeur.
A shrunken, grainy face is all that's left.
Struggles, unparalleled for eternity
Spine bows, for the weight he bears.
A warrior bending his knees to fate.
Wounds he has procured,
A soldier indisputably.
Laments the injustice once and twice,
Yet, prefers seclusion.
No more wars he seeks to wage,
On his own kinds.
The past shoots arrows at him,
Bleeding eyes and shattered bones.
How can one slip such agony?
And forgive his enemy.
Yet, still, Calliope,
Though you guide.
The shaking of my hand,
Hardly lets me carve his story.
Despite your hand over mine,
How do I shape an epic?
That soft whir that hums away
Holds my heart with so much sway
It slips me to a bygone day
Now digital decay
Those nights when it could be heard
I never noticed when it whirred
But now i’d find my heart stirred
To remember how the white noise purred
At night, while my mind goes on
I realize that the noise is gone
When did it fade with the dawn
Will I follow it into the beyond?
Where is the sound of static?
The murmurs in the wind named me a whore
According to those prayers i never wished for more
Than to be touched by the purest
And held like fine wine
All In the hands of a caliber
I held that knife like i held you darling
And when you told me all i am is ing boring
I threw the knife straight between your eyes
Hoping you wouldn't notice the hole in my mourning
And i told you death was better mercy
In the hands of a caliber
No one can hurt me
So i slashed off my hair
And killed all my friends
Hoping i'd never again find a caliber in my hands
Woah for this winter
Mourn for this winter
Up here in the mountains
No one can hurt you
Expect for the snake
That hides in the hole
With the same name
Same voice, and same clothes
And it hisses at you
To reconcile
All in the hands of a caliber
He grew up in a town named Haskell,
but his brother was the family rascal.
He took no guff,
Nor did he bluff,
and no one messed with a McCaskill.
Yogi Bear to me is as close as family
Out in the backroads of my youth
Grew with me through the years
I’ll always have that soft spot in my heart
The duties are paid, yet restless remain these eyes,
Without my beloved’s sight, in vain remain these eyes.
His radiance softened my roughness away,
Helpless in their watchful pain remain these eyes.
Truth is no healer holds a cure to impart,
Afflicted with the illness of heart remain these eyes.
I cannot accept that another may see,
Slayers of grief and disgrace remain these eyes.
“Bhav” still stands humbled in the endless queue,
Whether love’s confession or death remain these eyes.
I will seek you even in my darkness
Cause that way I won't be totally lost
Bit by bit I'll find my way
And with time I'll be by your side
I will sit in your refuge
And wait as long as it takes
Cause I've seen your works
And each is beautiful
I will sing your hymns
Cause it soothes the soul
As I hold my prayer beads in one hand
Going through prayer and solemnity
I will speak of your works
And of all that you've done
So that your creation bears witness
To your presence even in our despair
I will seek you even in solitude
When it's just me and you
So that I can know you deeply
And marvel at how great you are
The PO£T
Moonlight’s bright tonight.
Let’s go outside and play
In the fields of the village.
Morning’s far away.
Still crisp air holds its breath
In silence as we watch
Moonlit shadows creeping west,
Forever out of reach.
We try to chase the shadows
Running through the trees,
Standing tall like rocket ships
Against the lonely seas.
Come along and run with me,
The fields await our gaze.
There lay mysteries to be seen
Beyond the twilight haze.
We’ll chase our noble destiny
Into the howling storm
And catch those fleeting shadows,
Running with open arms.
We’ve stayed in this tiny village
Longer than we aught.
The world awaits, bold and bright
Even if we’re caught.
It’s time to make our journey
To lands far and wide.
I’d rather face the future
With you by my side.
Moonlight’s bright tonight.
Let’s go outside and play.
Time to forge our future,
In the streets with me today.
(G)etting taller, larger, or smarter
(R)eady to change things up
(O)pening up to new and different ideals
(W)anting to have more personal control
(I)nterested in deeper understanding
(N)oticing people in need
(G)iving without expecting something in return
(U)ndertaking more personal responsibilities
(P)articipating in activities with purpose
Oh ye mighty hurricane, storm, or gale,
I cannot say, that I can e'er endorse
the means by which you make your will prevail,
depending as you do upon your force.
Indeed, you just destroy the young and frail,
as your wild, brutal tempest runs its course.
Young tender saplings grow into strong trees
'neith the sun, swaying in a gentle breeze.
Youth mentor with a message to convey,
do you find that your voice is growing tired?
Your heavy-handed tactics will not sway?
The odd way we human beings are wired,
it's joy to help a child find her own way,
and so, I've rhetorically inquired,
"What's more effective than a harsh command?"
- the gentle guidance of a helping hand.
Specific Types of Growing Up Poems
Definition | What is Growing Up in Poetry?