heard
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Unfinished always are my poems
As I always long for more
Thinking about ways to show them
That my meanings are much more
Can you hear me
I know I am quiet
I can be overlooked
Not one to shout above the noise
Too afraid to speak my mind
I find a place where I can shine
Words on the paper
Free like birds
Why do I have to deal with this?
This pain with which I can not burden others
How do I fight to be seen?
When I also fight to hide
I need hope
But it has fallen away
I need peace
I am so very quiet
You might not know I am there
But I am your listening ear
I'm there to hear your problems
I hear to show I care
Just call my name
Tell me your shame
And once you're done
Peace. Love. Happiness.
Remsembles all my wants.
My 'already haves' sofficated,
buried six feet under my soul.
My ears captured the bells from afar.
Though my eyes rest,I know exactly where we are.
I can feel the throbbing pain,
before I even stand.
Why must I wear these?
Who exactly am I trying to be,
A hushed, resigned, tailor
Observed, a noiseless, patient spider spin,
Past Apollo's race,
With needlework of kin,
Our pace pulls in the dawn.
The riddles that ring,like the telephones from now and the pastThe dialing of the words that spin in a continuous circle, they always lastAnd when you answerYou want to know why they called
When asked for a poem, what do I write?
Are there words that inspire, kindle, ignite
Passion and action let pages incite
Although I lack either, I’ll still take flight.
ten thousand bullets headed your way
what do you do?
run and have hope you'll make it out alive?
or just stand there and wait for the outcome?
the first couple of hits might hurt like hell
I wonder what would happen if WE. BOUNCE. BACK
Like the elasticity of elastic bands being stretched by heavy hands
Lassoing nappy strands running amuck like wild stallions
We, are wild ones
Soft spoken,
quiet,
eagle scout,
First born child,
birth order pushed down.
Four adopted sisters came along.
I attempted to speak out,
They quieted me down.
Sang with them in church,
As I sit down once again, in front of the old computer with the whirring fan
My fingers begin to hit the black keys, each one a small click
That make an musical orchestra of words
Today is the day I will be heard
Today I will emerge out of this shyness
I will let the world know
I no longer will stand injustice!
Today is the day I will be heard
Today I will say
Oh the anguish I feel in my spine
Everytime you tell me "You do as I say".
Yes, I was in your belly for nine months it seems,
But am I your puppet that you can control as you please?
She sits and remembers all that has past
The things that were said and every laugh
She thinks about how she heard what they were saying
But then she thinks about how she listened to her heart without betraying
To be heard is to be Waldo, found at last
To be heard is to be the smallest person in any given room with the most passion of any given person
What do you want to do when you grow up?
Fire fighter! Veterinarian! Actress!
At a young age we all begin our long journey to finding the right job,
As years progress we realize just how important that decision is.
I am from a small city with BIG DREAMS.
I am from lost faith and lost hope.
I am from pot heads and crack feens.
Nothing seems to work
Nothing could ever be said
I am never heard
Nobody can hear
Nobody will listen now
I am never heard
Silence is comfort
Silence is my company
I'm running, but going nowhere.
I need help.
Help me try to get through all these nightmares
that keep racing through my mind.
How long will it last?
Someone, anyone, help me.
Every thought.
Every dream, every hope, every fear unheard- silently hidden within one's self. A soft, slow grumble tumbling up and courageously out- voiced through lead and chalk, ink and paper.
No longer a thought.
Nevermind that your scared!
Give me truth!
Give me the first thought
Not the nice thought!
You, I want you!
Not a mask of polite-niceness
I want the hammer that breaks the rock
Give me truth!
Afraid, Lost, Judgmental, Crestfallen:
These are the reason why many are afraid to speak up.
Poetry allows are voices to be heard,
Without worrying about others beating us down.
Poetry allows an escape,
Poetry is not the fashioning of words,
it is the forging of swords.
Poetry is not the stanzas or the verse,
it is the carriage or hearse.
Poetry is not just some thoughts to a rhyme,
it is the journal of time.
It is all said with silence
Although no words are spoken, a million words are heard
Words of disappointment, shame and failure
Words that ignite discouragement and extinguish pride
