No one ever had a mammoth pimple like me
Enormous enough for the next block to see
Larger than an Iowa hay wagon filled with people
Seen by every Catholic underneath that church steeple
It did not help that when it happened, I was always thirteen
Saying things to myself that were mostly bullying and mean
Thinking everyone was focused in on this blemish on my chin
Not realizing I was in the same circumstances other thirteens were in
Her inner universe is chaotic.
Nobody gets how deeply misunderstood she feels.
The world cold and callous.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: 2nd place 2026
Neptune has entered Aries—a journey
of tribulations for thirteen years.
With his planet among the flock,
Poseidon grabs his trident
and waits, in rage but calm,
to fearlessly feel
when to harpoon
the unheard,
holy
lamp.
Titillations in the shallows.
All of life's! Before a wave.
Edging which twin immanancies
Of head's, heart's diving brave.
I am hot, cold, joyful, sad
I feel well, sick, sullen, mad
Depending who I am with, I am good or bad
I am grumpy, excited, eager too
These feelings come in bulk; maybe I’m blue?
I’m thirteen years old, so I have more than a few.
It was just two days short of new year's eve,
The decorations were still up on the Christmas tree.
The smell of plum cake wafted through the window,
While I laid by the fireplace watching it snow.
My brother had just finished his fourth run of Home Alone,
And was cooking up pranks of his own.
Dad had just left to clean the driveway,
Distant sound of shovel hitting snow right outside the archway.
The sound entwined with that of my mom's knitting,
While she lazily sipped on her ginger spice tea, humming.
I open my eyes to an empty house,
As my gaze sweeps around in a browse.
My body shivers as I stagger to the kitchen,
No plum cake waiting for me or gifts behind the counter hidden.
My grimy sweater barely hangs on my shoulders,
Devoid of my mother's warmth and all colors.
The snow stands tall and dirty outside the doors,
Hollowed heart heavy while silence roars.
Oh how I wish I were thirteen still,
When December was free of war cries and blood spill.
The crowd is gone.
Even the banners have tumbled,
damp scraps collapse against fences,
glued there by storm and breath.
Here, at mile thirteen,
the body speaks its own dialect:
ribs clattering like loose screen,
calves stuttering,
lungs threading sparks through the fabric
of my chest.
Still, I keep faith with motion.
Each footfall a defective prayer,
each muscle shivering,
but unwilling to betray me.
I remember the child I was,
running shoelaces through fields,
believing the world boundless,
believing endurance implied joy.
Now I know endurance
is the art of carrying grief
without letting it drown me.
It is learning to trust
that a horizon recedes
only to teach patience.
The audience disappears.
Even shadows seem to lag.
The only voice left
is the one I forge
between heartbeat and breath.
I do not race to conquer distance.
I race to prove
that I am still becoming
that even when torn open by fatigue,
the soul can strike a lantern
from pain.
And if the finish waits, let it wait.
Let it wait.
Here, in the thirteenth mile.
On this day the…
thirteen colonies
broke away from British Crown~
forming USA
A voice recorded, soft but clear,
Echoes pain we failed to hear.
Hannah spoke from shadows deep,
Of secrets buried none should keep.
A hallway's whisper, locker stares,
Unseen wounds and empty chairs.
A photo passed, a cruel slight,
Each reason dimmed another light.
Justin's love turned into blame,
Jessica’s tears, the haunting shame.
Bryce’s smirk, a predator’s grin,
The silence loud—it let him win.
Clay rewinds but can't undo,
The paths they crossed, the truths they knew.
Mr. Porter, blind and slow,
Let chances slip and let her go.
Zach took notes but not her cries,
While Tyler's lens revealed the lies.
Alex sank beneath the weight,
Of guilt, too heavy and too late.
Thirteen stories, thirteen names,
A map of hurt, a trail of flames.
In every voice, a fractured plea:
“Would someone have stood up for me?”
Elevator! Take me to thirteenth floor!
I'm sorry, Dave! I'm afraid I can't do that!
Indeed the panel lights skip a beat,
Beyond the limit of what one hand can count.
Off the precipitous cliff into the valley periphery,
Into the shaky, rebellious and withdrawn teens
Between childhood, tears and grown-up years.
A baker's dozen, a boost to some!
Or the Loki or Judas curse of a gate-crasher supper guest.
Even the moon tries to squeeze
An extra quaff in 12 months of years and 12 hours of days.
For the number thirteen is an exceptional outcast
It's amiss peripheral, a step beyond.
As I look into his hazel eyes,
Unfolds a story about his past life.
He was thirteen,
Leaving his life behind,
In exchange for a brighter future,
Putting on the mask of the american dream
But he was young,
He was lost,
He was left alone at a stranger’s house,
Oh how hungry he was
Still the food wasn’t his,
So he didn’t eat for three days.
He was laughed at,
Stepped on,
Ripped to shreds,
Uncovering all that was beneath the mask of the american dream.
So he dragged himself to a needle,
Tears streaming down his remains
Trying to sew what was left of him, but it was never the same.
Suffocated with work,
His body was drenched in pain.
Ripping open his patchwork of remains,
He would never be the same.
He would close his eyes,
Hoping to be embraced by his mothers arms,
He only wished to be home again,
He was only thirteen.
From thirteen colonies, a nation rose,
With liberty's flame, forever it glows.
Delaware first, its colors bold,
"Liberty and Independence" proudly hold.
Pennsylvania next, with virtue's might,
"Virtue, Liberty, and Independence" burning bright.
New Jersey joins, with freedom's plea,
"Liberty and Prosperity" for all to see.
Georgia stands tall, with wisdom's grace,
"Moderation and Justice" in its embrace.
Connecticut thrives, a spirit true,
"He who transplanted still sustains anew."
Massachusetts strong, with courage pure,
"By the sword we seek peace, but peace secure."
Maryland follows, with arms held wide,
"Fatti maschii, parole femine" as their guide.
South Carolina rises, prepared and free,
"While I breathe, I hope" eternally.
New Hampshire’s cry, bold and clear,
"Live Free or Die" without fear.
Virginia’s might, through tyrants' fall,
"Thus Always to Tyrants," freedom for all.
New York stands tall, with dreams so high,
"Excelsior" calls to reach the sky.
North Carolina, steadfast and true,
"To be, rather than to seem" is what they pursue.
Rhode Island, last, but forever bright,
"Hope" their beacon, guiding the light.
many girls at thirteen want to be seen as unique
declared amazing in their attributes
appreciated for their individuality
then Susie wears a polka-dotted frog hat with roaming eyes
six roaming eyed frog hats are purchased the next day
Jenny brings her salamander in to show him off.
the pet store has a rush on salamanders two days later
girls at thirteen are often highly suggestible.
professing they want to be totally unique
unlike everyone else, and yet,
striving to be exactly the same as girls they admire
thirteen is a year of confusion
where peer pressure pack mentality often trumps individuality
Fawning for apples undeserving,
I'm done with every inch of that;
Flirt like you did at thirteen,
love with no boundaries;
Pure and innocent;
Make me believe
you'd die to
not hurt
me.
You became great at merely just thirteen.
Success, that's what your life really mean,
Your intelligence, scares their crowd thin.
Hating your great achievements, a grave sin
Your good look, the best that has ever been,
Your greatness troubles them like a strong gin,
It's with cups of favours, your blessings drink,
Today is yours, by those with brains to think.
Praising your good deeds, the best real thing.
Your birthday songs, the heavens proudly sing,
Loads of happiness, what your presence brings,
Your wisdom wears you golden crowns of kings.
Goodness, what your whole life really mean,
Your kindness, the best any eyes have seen,
You live a life full of many great wins,
Your enemies dwell only in your bins,
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