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suicide is UGLY

Suicide can be like Oxygen, it sneakily catches into your soul taking all your

energy away.

Silent...but it takes big steps that can only be noticed by the person DEPRESSION

has taken over. 

And suddenly its the season of long sleeves during summer and late night thoughts

of suicide whether tommorrow will be the day this feeling washes off!

But no, this feeling is like a monster only for the eyes and ears of the victim,

because the next day this person woke up to the same demons they were trying to battle off

 the day before that!

So tell me that any Mental Illness doesn't matter because it can't be seen or touched

because I would tell you ''Are you sure about that? Just hear what they talk about.''

All this self hatred one creates because they've been held prisoner of Suicide, Anxiety

Depression, Bipolar Disorder and Eating Disorders, are real and everyday A person battling

with their own mind, all they are living is a Nightmare. 

This poem is about: 
My community
My country
Our world

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Listen to What the Ears Won’t



Bustled tones of nothingness fill my ears



Movement reverberates throughout my body



Across my skin, in through my mouth and ears



The only evidence of its truth is touch



Once young and curious



I’d swipe my hands to feel something, anything



Just for an answer that life was real



Mom would steal my hands away while saying,



“Listen to what the ears won’t”



15 years and I’m not yet used to muzzled sounds of silence



Though I’ve never known anything other

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A City In Turmoil

They say I am free

Supposedly I can do as I, please.

Until I choose to express my right.

We are “free” until we step outside of what their free means

I can not say what I want without having my words twisted

Next thing you know I’m lying dead in the street 

Yet my killer is the one to be named the victim.

Oh but wait there’s more, just wait for the headlines

I wonder what they are going to say this time.

He/she was a threat

I feared for my life I had no idea what was coming next.

Another dead black child laying there in the street

With the blood spilling all the way down to his feet.

Yet the only thing that they seem to ever mention

Is a crooked past to relieve the tension.

Now it’s one story versus another 

but this is not the time to be pointing fingers at 

One another. 

Let’s not mention the fact that his hands were up, no you see even 

With that being done it still wasn’t enough

So tell me what was he to do, he had surrendered just like they say you are

Supposed to.

But his skin was too dark so it didn’t even matter.

When we protest the unjust we are said to be barbaric

One of our own killed in cold blood another mother without her son

He was shot not once not twice but twelve times

Now watch the media slander his name with multiple lies.

This is America my freedom should have no limitations 

And when something so unjust happens to me 

My killer should be jailed not sent on a paid 

vacation.

This poem is about: 
Our world

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A World Of My Own

At flower’s bloom

By the sun of noon

 

A world appears

Welcome to anyone near

 

Where people walk around on their own two feet

Not crawl around in defeat

 

Respect and honor don’t need to be preached

All morals are within reach

 

Men love their women with sane madness

Women don’t feel random sadness

 

No tricks or lies

No sad or cruel goodbyes

 

But by midnight’s call

The world falls

 

And away it slips

Past anyone’s grip

 

Here comes reality

With all too much clarity

 

Then you must wait again

For time to begin

 

At the flower’s bloom

By the sun of noon

Comments

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The only three colors I see

The stripes are red and the corner is blue, the only thing that outshines the stars is you, and by you I mean we and by we I mean all because when we stand together this nation can not fall. No matter your color or your creed it is the red white and blue that we all bleed. 

This poem is about: 
My country

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What I Really Meant

When I said hello, I really meant
"Can I trust you?"
When I said let's talk politics, I really meant
"Let's test you."
When I said let's hang, I really meant
"I want to get to know you more."
When I said let's get breakfast, I really meant
"I like you."
When I said I had feelings for you, I really meant
"I have feelings for you."
When I said yes to being your girlfriend, I really meant
"Fuck yeah, I want to be your girlfriend."
When I said intimacy scared me, I really meant
"No one else has ever respected my boundaries."
When I said you were part of my community, I really meant
"You're part of my heart."
When I said I don't know if that was right, I really meant
"If I tell you the truth, will you judge me too?"
When I said things weren't working out, I really meant
"I'm scared."
When I said please stop saying not all men, I really meant
"Stop making my trauma all about you."

And after six months of silence,
When I finally said sorry, I really meant
"I fucked up."

If I had just given you the benefit of the doubt.
If I had just ignored my own insecurities and anxieties.
Because all of this could have been avoided
If I had just said what I really meant.

Because I didn't tell you I was afraid.
I didn't tell you about my trauma.
I didn't tell you anything.
Because I still worry about being that girl.

The girl who is broken by her past.
The girl who can't take care of herself.
The girl who doesn't let anyone in.

Just because I am not that girl
Does not mean that I'm perfect.
And you never asked for perfection,
But unfortunately I did.

Because you deserve a perfect girlfriend.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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"The New World"

Before life, I was just hanging out,

Walking around looking at God,

Starting to have a little doubt,

With very little odds!  

                                                  

Then came the world,

Life was before my eyes,

The whole thing was swirled,

As nothing insight ever dies!

Just a I knew it, I was old,

Rocking back in my chair,

Shivering because I`m so cold,               

I need help gasping for air!                             

Life went to quick,

I Didn’t even know I was sick!

Comments

Voices

When i tried to masquerade in the voice of a woman,
tuned decibels of my voice to effeminately soft frequency,
trying to whisper like a dainty maiden boisterous in youth,
the result was abashingly bad, as all i ended up doing,
was like a eunuch wailing his woes on the vacant street.

when i tried to emulate the voice of humming bird,
attempting to chirp with emphatic authority,
mesmerizing arid patches of air with placid tunes,
drowning a majority of animals in spells of my infectious sound,
all i ended up doing was sputter like a parrot replicating its masters voice.

when i tried to duplicate the voice of a dog,
growling fiercely with spurts of tenacity and vigour,
snaring my teeth as if thoroughly infuriated,
the actual monsters on the street stared at me ambiguous suspicion,
smelt intricate parts of my body, discarding me as an outcast from their community.

eventually when i discovered my own tongue to speak,
the effect of my sonorous voice was stupendously enchanting,
it easily surpassed the effects of all voices i tried to imitate,
thus teaching me a lesson to speak in the dialect and sound i naturally possessed,
the voice that was 100% mine.

Comments

Grandmother Goose

Dear Grandmother Dear, 

When I first met you, Oddly, I called you "Grandmother Goose". The name stuck with me until I actually realized that people called you "Grandmother Dear". I would walk in your room and we would talk about anything and everything; from your childhood to how old the crochet blanket was on your bed. During our conversations, your trusty sidekick, Lady the dog, would sit on your lap or lay down in her "territory". I was amazed at your energy and your magical ability to talk to people with ease. Young and old, you were naturally hilarious and kind. Without a doubt, you loved Godiva chocolate and Stephen King books. You loved your grandchildren and the last memory I have of you is the one where you're gasping for air in the hospital bed. Rushed out of the room, I saw you two weeks later in front of the pulpit. Lying ever so peacefully in a coffin, my lips touched your cold forehead. I haven't seen you since they've closed your coffin. It seemed like you were only just stuck in time, it didn't seem real.Days before your trip to the hospital you had told me your favorite song "It's the Talk of the Town". I had put my Beats Headphones on your ears, and I enjoyed watching your face light up at the sound quality. The Grandma that was cold and laying in the coffin wasn't the same Grandma I knew listening to music. As a kid, I was so shock that I honestly thought you would come back.It seemed temporary but it really dawned on me when I walked in your room days later. I was expecting you to sit in your rocking chair reading a Stephen King book or watching tv. I was disappointed when I arrived and saw an empty chair and a crochet blanket folded on the bed. You had a good sense of style and a great personality; my only regret is asking you questions that are on my mind now as an 11th grader. She had passed away when I was in the 6th grade. I want you to know that I appreciate every moment with you and I'll make you proud next year when I graduate. Love you always, your second oldest  Great-Grandchild. 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family

Comments