Why I Will Not Get Out of Bed

Why i will not get out of bed, you ask?

I'll simply tell you why.

It's the cold floor on bare feet

That makes me want to cry.

It's the school and homework

That I know lie ahead.

These are the reasons

I will not get out of bed.

Where warm blankets and soft sheets

Are always there for me.

Out of every place I could go,

My bed is where I'd be.

Too much action and thinking

Is expected every day.

These are the very reasons

In my bed I want to stay.

Bury Me: Inspired by Frances Harper's "Bury Me in a Free Land"

You may dig a hole wherever you please;
In California or the Florida Keys.
Make it where unicorns run free.
Just as long as there's no poverty.
My eyes would not close if I knew,
The things that people here say or do.
Bury me in the lines of a poem,
As long as in the stanzas free men can roam.
Lay me to rest where bullying is gone,
Even if that is on the edge of dawn.
A world where self-image is poisoned like an apple,
My tomb shall not dare to dapple.
I dare not rest where hurricanes have destroyed.
To live underground, I would be annoyed.
If I saw bombs fly and people die,
In death I still would manage to cry.
My soul shall not depart until I am at peace,
And know that this destruction shall cease.
I do not need a plaque or sign
To prove this spot is truly mine.
All that I need to be brave
Is the promise that this desolate land can be saved.

...Always

I cannot tell a lie,

I did not chop down the tree.

So believe me when I say to you,

There's no end to your beauty.

A Hera among shallow Aphrodites,

Sweeter than night's first star.

The most difficult riddle,

How I wonder what you are.

I aim to be your eyes,

And guide you through darker days.

No matter the circumstance,

In my heart, gold you will stay.

In Waiting

Unread notes on your desk
Your inbox full of
Unread texts

You lived a day ago,
But now it's today.
I still don't understand
Why you'd throw
Your life away.

You left behind
A trail of dust
And confusion in my mind.

Life was good I thought.
It was as good as it gets.
But now you lay
A splattered mess on the parking lot.
How could you jump with no regrets?

A big mess you left me.
I thought you ought to know.
Do you feel the least bit guilty?

Sleep is rare now that you're gone.
My dreams house so much despair.
I cry every night,
Hoping you'll be back at dawn.
But all I have is a pillow that smells of your hair.

To me, you are a coward
And a murderer
For making this life so hard.

How could you leave me with a broken heart
And a message on the answering machine
That you had no intent
To tear us apart,
At the weakened seam.

You said a world so cold
Is no place for a love
Like ours to unfold.

You said you look ahead
To the day we meet again.
But for now, you said,
Don't dwell on the dead,
We'll meet again where there exists no pain.

Exposed

I don't want you to see my scars,
But they're displayed
Like bugs in glass jars.

My blood congeals,
My wounds won't heal,
Won't let me be the person
I know is real.

All people do is say,
"Rub some dirt on it",
But they keep shoveling
hurt on it.

I live with my decisions
And I live with my pain.
My heart is weary
And tears fall like rain.

I hate who I am or
At least the girl in the mirror
That I see.
I can't look at my reflection
Without feeling guilty.

Ashamed of the pig
That stares back with
Lifeless eyes.
Embarrassed of the thing
That sits there and cries.

What sickens me most
Is my immense self-pity
And my need
To be called pretty.

The other half of me shouts,
"Get up, do something!"
Don't just whimper and sob.
Clean yourself up, you worthless slob

Stop feeling bad for yourself
And change who you are.
Put on a smile
And shine like a star.

But while stars seem
Like they gleam,
They're only their
schemes.

The white-toothed smiles
Are painted on,
The despair polished out of the eyes.
Their appearances, based on lies.

And the shining stars
Are just as hopeless
And faded as
The dead ones are.

But all stars did shine once,
Before they fell.
Back when bodies were just shells,
Not personal hells.

Back when
Personalities mattered,
Before the good ideals
Shattered.

Can we go back to that time
When everything was beautiful?
Or is that now
Impossible?

Death of Faith

sealed with a kiss
are the slits on her wrist

blood like tears
spout from her fears

she took a knife
to end her strife

sealedwithakissbloodliketearsshetookaknife

she ended her life.

Do you play chess?

Do you play chess?
Said the man who
silences his wife with his fists.

Do you play chess?
Said the bully who
pummels the other kids.

Do you play chess?
Said the man who
stole the woman's wallet at gunpoint.

Do you play chess?

Please comment!

Please please please can someone comment on my works?? I neeeeed feedback and fully appreciate/welcome it. It's frustrating to see people viewing it, but on commenting on it, so please feel free to write even just some encouraging words or perhaps an idea as to what write next....summer's almost here so i'll be writing much more often in a few weeks.

Just to let you know also, most of these works are either written on my free time or were written for something in school. I have a whole bunch of poetry from last year's creative writing class that i will be posting in the coming days.

Once again, I appreciate you (whoever you are) for even viewing my work :)

Life is like that too, by the way

You know when the sky turns grey,

and you get storms?

Life is like that too, by the way.

The sun tucks away in the nooks

of the clouds, and darkness prevails

for what seems like a millennium.

When you feel that the light may never

triumph again.

Life is like that too, by the way.

A balloon slips out of a child’s grasp

and rockets upward in a lazy prance.

The wind tickles the rubber,

sending shivers up the string.

The cold reaches the air caged inside,

and when it feels like everything is frigid,

it pops.

Life is like that too, by the way.

The rain packs up and the clouds

move on.

The sun emerges and smiles encouragingly.

“I’ll always be back,” he says.

Life is like that too, by the way.

Dreams of Us: A Pantoum

I dream of us.

We share a kiss.

You disappear like dust,

leaving seconds of bliss.

We share a kiss,

our hearts and their beats,

leaving seconds of bliss

til next time we meet.

Our hearts and their beats

dance the tango.

Til next time we meet,

memories sweet like mango.

Dance the tango.

Melt into one.

Memories sweet like mango

fade with the setting sun.

Melt into one.

You disappear like dust,

fade into the setting sun.

I dream of us.

A Letter to Who Cares

Dear Heart breakers,

I don't sing or dance.

I'm not skinny or sun-kissed,

and my clothes don't come from Abercrombie,

Hollister or Ralph Lauren.

Do you think I'm pretty?

All signs point to NO.

And maybe they never will say yes,

but I couldn't honestly care less if

you miss out on me.

You think that beauty is the smallest pant size.

You think bigger boobs are more important

than bigger hearts.

You think beauty can be found in

the rolling hills of breasts and valleys of dipping hips.

You don't look to the snow white smiles.

You don't bother to explore the vast uncharted territory of my intellect.

No one dares to test the waters

of my bubbly personality

or swim in the uneven depths of my eyes.

You feel my skin on your skin,

but don't feel the pitter-patter of my heartbeat footsteps.

Beauty, to you, only sits on the skin,

only lies in the hollow of my back,

the curve of my legs,

the slope of my neck.

You don't realize that underneath

is a pulse that runs to my heart.

The heart that beats with love,

love wasted on someone who sees me,

but not me.

I want you to hear the words

that flow from the lips you kiss.

I want you to hold the hands that roam.

I want you to tell me

that beauty does not begin to define

what I am.

What my freckles are,

every story-telling crease in my hand,

my fingers, my lips.

Until you look at me like

I have looked at you forever,

until you stop being

so thick-headed, so shallow, so moronic,

don’t waste my time.

As they say, there are plenty of

fish in the sea.

And I bet some of them are

willing to wade into the pools of my individuality.

　

Sincerely,

The Truly Beautiful Girl

Have I?

Have I touched a life? A heart? A soul?
Or am I as empty as a bowl after my morning cereal?
Have I postponed the knife that beckons death?
Have I made a difference in a life outside myself?

How far does my pool ripple?
Have my waves been influential?
Have they swept someone off their feet?
And made them feel complete?

Have I sparked a light of hope in
someone who's given their self to sin?
Have I drowned the sorrowful cries
out of someone's lungs and eyes?

What have I done for one other than me?
Have I shown someone how beautiful they are in reality?
Have I told them how their laughter flutters?
Or how they gleam with every word they utter?

Numerous souls pass me in the hall,
And I must wonder if I've inspired them at all.
Do they know that after I leave this place,
I'll still remember their face?

Out of sight, but not out of mind.
Do they realize that they are one-of-a-kind?
A gem that cannot compare.
A pearl that is most rare.

The entirety of humanity is most unique.
Every single person, no matter how meek,
Creates a ripple on the Earth,
We humans never understand how much we're worth.

I'll Get There

once again, this is a fairly unrefined poem, but i needed to publish it without changing anything, in the raw. Enjoy :)







See that dot out there on the horizon?
That little blip that would not trouble a radar for miles?
That's my future.

Yes, it's hard to see and far far away,
but it's my future all right.
I could identify it with my eyes closed.

The last time my mom brought home Chinese take-out,
I snatched up my fortune, like I always did,
hungering more for the slip of white paper that hinted
of my fate than the actual sour, savory General Tso's
that quenched my momentary appetite.
But appetite is only temporary, while the
succulent taste of foresight lingers on the tongue forever.

I lost count of how many
"A surprise will be waiting for you"'s
or "Patience is more valuable than anything"'s
touched my fingers.
But what I failed to realize is all
those fleeting words of wisdom will ever be
on those tiny pieces of paper
is meaningless letters set up in a pattern
to trick the mind into believing
that our true outcome can be found in
a Chinese restaurant enveloped in a
plastic wrapper and crispy cookie.

Fortune cookie, more like fraud wafer.

Last week, I threw out some six wads
of crumpled fabricated finality.
They lay defeated
on my dresser
for weeks wondering
when they would come true

I didn't tell them because
I didn't want to break their
fragile paper hearts.
I guess the garbage bin lining
told them of their failure.

Now with the misguided taunters of fate
safely stuffed in the trash,
I began to live with my eyes closed.
Like that Skywalker boy,
I tried to sense the world without
my eye's deception.

Remember that dot? It's still minuscule,
but it grows everyday,
just as I do.
I learn to experience the world one surprise at a time.
I may be blinded by the possibilities, but I've still got the dot in sight.
It blinks its position like the light atop a lighthouse,
guiding my ship to the harbors
of the future.
I don't know where this harbor is yet,
and I've tried to find in on Google Maps with no luck.
This destination must be found alone
and will not make itself known.

I may not have a clue as to what the future holds,
but just the idea of a million different possibilities
smolders in my heart like an ember that refuses
to sizzle out.

I'm not quite sure where I'm going,
but I'll get there.

Are you reading this now?

Okay so please keep in mind this is a rough draft but I wanted to post this..I plan on giving it to my English teacher. Anyway, basically the idea is that not all literature should be analyzed to death like the damn red wheelbarrow and how it represented i don't know what. Poetry is meant to be enjoyed. So here it is...



Are you reading this right now?
Where are you?
Does it matter anyhow?

Are you reading this right now in English class?
Forced to assess every asset
From the curtain color to
The cacophony used
In this gritty group of
Cluttered crap
That you're taught
To believe
Actually means something
Besides the literal
Truth is
I've arrayed these words to
Appear pretty and poised and appealing
To the eye when all I'm trying to teach you
Is sometimes things don't make sense
And you can't let rules fence you in
Unless you want to find yourself
Encased in a identical ideal
You won't always be able
To decipher symbols like how
This poem is portraying life.
I haven't got all the answers
So how could you be Expected to
Know why I just capitalized the e in expected
When it means nothing to me or you.
Focus on the important facts and don't bs the rest
Just discard the diarrhea of silly assumptions
That everything's got some hidden meaning
This poems not a hieroglyphic
I hereby give you the permission to tell your
Teacher mr or mrs whatshisorhername
Theres no underlying statement and
Sometimes things are simpler than
They seem
No sir there's no apostrophe no meter No overstatement no rhyme scheme
That'll make you scream from extreme screening
Of these lengthy lines
That slowly unravel like twine
See that slant rhyme
Savor it don't decipher it.
Words and in turn poems are
Here to entertain not to hurt your brain.
Teachers let me make this easy
So you don't make your students queasy
Stop with the aggravating translating and debating
And make with the appreciating

Are you reading this now?