How should I tell them?
Tell them who I really am-
How I feel,
How I act.
Will they still love me?
Will they still care for me?
Will they be there for me?
Something I will never know.
Something lost out there.
Something I will probably never see.
That part of me is hidden.
Buried so deep,
other wounds are already piled
on top of it.
The wheel is fast, and it never stops. There are many thoughts that are racing, some at the same time, some competing with each other.
Negative self talk always comes in first, with impending doom coming second.
Laying in bed trying to sleep, the thoughts don’t creep, they gyrate. Aggressively, impulsively, gyrate.
You can try to fight it, “you’re amazing, you’re awesome, don’t let these thoughts win”
But in the end the wheel never stops.
When will I learn, the wheel doesn’t ask for permission.
It just spins.
To be loved,
Is to be confused.
It’s receiving roses without thorns,
And looks without scorn.
The feeling of melting in someone’s arms,
While being unarmed.
It’s being afraid of the dark,
But knowing the moon shines afar.
The wind that brushes hair from your face,
Making your life suffice.
The moth that’s usually drawn to the flame,
Waits by the porch light to hear you say its name.
The glitter on the floor you can’t get rid of,
The thread in the cloth that you stitch.
The one you get to keep secret,
Safely tucked away in your pocket.
Even if their mention never leaves your tongue,
They still make you think you’re enough.
Because they’re job is to confuse you,
And to never leave you.
Because even after they’re gone,
They still linger on.
In the perfume that they wear,
And in the roses that they share.
I say “just one bite,” I swear I do
But somehow I keep going, what can I do
Every time food comes near, I give in
And suddenly I’m full again, where do I begin?
I try to be strong I really try
But food keeps finding me, I don’t know why
My fork won’t stop, my plate is a mess
Yet somehow I munch with full happiness
I tell myself later I’ll eat less
But somehow I always make a mess
It’s a tasty trap I can’t escape
I end up laughing with crumbs on me.
My stomach protests but I ignore the signs
Each bite convinces me it’s perfectly fine
I wobble, I giggle, I reach for one more
The snack-filled adventure I can’t ignore
This pant may not fit me tomorrow
But right now, who cares about sorrow?
I’ll deal with it later, it’s all okay
I’ll worry later, I’m feasting today.
Right now, it’s snacks that lead the way,
Who needs control when dessert’s on display?
I eat like it’s always a holiday,
So I lift my hands and shout, “Hooray!”
I’d be mad at the world
If you suddenly decided to write your story with a rope
Tied to a ceiling
Or a razor
Glided against your pulse
No one goes out without a story
And your story wasn't perfect
No one's is
But you couldn't write some things in your story
And in your story someone else altered it
To hurt you
So
Some pages are torn and wrinkled
I don't think you can mend all the pages
You can't fully straighten a crumpled paper ball
But you can smooth it out
And try as best as you can to fix it
There will always be scars
Trust me
But scars are healed wounds
And you can alter the future of your story
Always
And scars can fade over time
Or till they leave a tiny mark
Therefore
If your story got too long
And too dark
I wouldn't remember how you went out
Because I'd be too angry at the world
But I'd remember your mark.
-D.B
Dead Love - Poem
Like the sunshine going missing in the shadow,
So is my love.
The darkest green in the meadow,
First blooming like flowers in spring,
Then buried like the loved ones in a funereal.
But my feelings are like secrets,
Never dared to be told,
Because of all the power they hold.
So I am left to suffer alone,
To fight the lion,
Or was my mind playing tricks?
Was this feeling an illusion,
Made by my brain,
I come to a conclusion;
Never did I know how real romantic love felt.
How it is to held.
Asking the flowers,
Does he love me?
Or does he love me not?
Something I don’t have to waste my time on.
He is long gone,
Doting on another,
Whose name is not mine.
- Emily Knoll
Flippin patties, fresh and hot,
SpongeBob’s grill is the best spot.
The secret formula, a secret so tight,
Makes the Krabby Patty just right!
Flippin’ fast with perfect skill,
Each patty cooked with extra thrill.
He loves his job, he’s full of cheer,
But he’s messy, and sometimes weird.
With cheese and buns, he’s set to go,
Serving up patties with a big hello!
Bikini Bottom knows his name,
SpongeBob’s patties bring him fame!
With every flip and every bite,
They bring us joy from day to night!
At
the bottom
of every corner store
and coffee shop mug,
there is a collection of
teardrops and coffee-stains.
Waiting
to be gathered
so they can write
their stories in indelible
ink.
I spend most of my
days at the wishing
well, tossing in loose
coins and spare change.
One wish for them,
one wish for me,
one wish for them,
one wish for me.
Only thing I ever ask
God or the universe
for myself is to
keep the cash flow
coming in.
Only thing I ever ask
God or the universe
for everybody else is
world peace and
maybe just a little
bit more music.
Global population:
8 billion;
good thing about that
is I won’t ever
run out of wishes.
Don’t be shy,
grab a friend’s hand
and let’s dance around
the world. I’ve had
enough of this war
.
Pain hits us like a bullet
Suffocating us with every few breaths we take
Hit me with rock
Poison my roots
Burn me to ashes
But like a phoenix I will rise
Rise from the crippling pain of the burning ashes around me
I will rise like the sun does every
Shoot your bullets
Try to annihilate me with every curse you have
But I will rise rise rise until the sun stops to rise
Anxiety eats me alive
Right down to the core
Where my soul and mind meet
It’s always at war
It’s rotten, decaying
Losing worth like a dime
Ten cents to a nickel
A penny, with time
The gut wrenching feeling
Won’t go away
For better or for worse
Push though day by day,
But how can I live
With this knife in my chest
It’s hard to breathe
And leaves me restless
When will it get better?
Medication will do
Let’s drug you up
Silence your mind too
A walking zombie
No feeling or care
Just a lifeless body
With hurt and despair
Anxiety eats me alive
Right down to the core
Rotten like an apple
It’s hard to ignore.
he said its not all men,
but whilst that is true,
why would you pick this precise moment to make it about you,
it's not all men,
but it's almost always someone we know,
every woman has something she can contribute to the horror show,
whether that's crossing the street because there's a man behind us,
or sitting with a jacket over your legs on the bus,
it's not all men,
but it's enough men,
that's why we feel scared,
that's why we walk onto the street prepared,
checklist in hand,
ensure I can grab everything on command,
pocket knife,
check,
pepper spray,
check,
keys between fingers,
check,
oh, and I mustn't forget to walk with purpose,
never show off the way that I'm nervous,
oh, and I mustn't forget to cover up,
because after all I don't everyone to erupt,
what were you wearing?
is there really a right answer,
should we really be comparing,
comparing my clothes to the disaster,
the disaster the society is in,
but after all it's not all men,
but then again,
not all snakes are venomous but it's hard to tell which ones are,
so you're cautious around them all to avoid leaving a scar
There's a voice inside my head;
I've tried to shut her,
over and over again.
She speaks my language,
but I don't want to understand
her painful words that make me feel just average.
She says she knows what's best for me
but she's nothing more than a liar,
because she's just a voice inside my brain.
I'm sick of her talking,
because everywhere I go,
she keeps on her painful talking.
Maybe I should ignore her,
because this is hurting hard inside my chest:
but how will I do this, if she's inside myself?
I feel her under my skin,
she's now a part of me;
I whish it didn't exist.
She judges my moves,
my decisions and my ideas,
even my own damn words.
Now I've talked with her,
she has spoken with me,
she has confessed.
Her, ladies and gentlemen,
is what they call:
to overthink.
Collective nouns, what do you mean?
Let me present-
A gaggle of geese,
A moose and some meese,
A tuft of grass,
And a band of thieves,
A fleet of ships,
And a flock of sheep
A flock of sheep?
Well, if the goose is geese,
geese are a gaggle,
moose is meese,
So, why is it not a shoop and a sheep?
ENGLISH! I think I might even sue!
I will take you to the BENCH of judges,
There we will resume!
You make a porridge of words
In your cauldron of 'sense',
Whilst you horridly cackle!
Your words need to be observed
Under a great big lens!
I may host a contest? For the most politically correct here
On the theme of playing monopoly, with fake money
Is that legal btw ? I'm sure there will be some interesting
Entrys.'
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