Poetry Thread

tcr

sage of six tabs
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finished something with inspiration from sam cooke and blues rock

I was born by the river
in a little tent
Oh and just like the river
I've been running ever since

Told to die by the river
By a gypsy on the beach
So I hang by the river
They always say to each
his own.

I hear her calling my name
O the river.
She has all the claim
to my soul;
the river, o the river.

My fate lies with the river
I feel so bought and sold.
Just a slave to the river
As the gypsy she foretold.

On the edge of the river
I'll build my wife a house.
And I suspect that the river
Will take from me my spouse

I hear her calling my name
O the river.
She has all the claim
to my soul;
the river, o the river, Ooooh the river
 
This is a haiku that I wrote earlier today.
極端や
違い上辺は
同一か

Kana:
きょくたんや
ちがいうわべは
どういつか

Rōmaji:
Kyokutan ya
Chigai uwabe wa
Dōitsu ka

Rough Translation:
The extremes
Different ostensibly
Think about their sameness
 

Skeptics

Banned deucer.
A Tribute to Callous: The ADV Martyr

In my shack I frisk the internet.
It 'twas cold like any icy night shell.
And then after searching I befell.
A channel so cold and Callous I met.

Skills I tried picking upon some bough.
I am done watching Pokémon for now.
This man on a pedestal I decided to fight.
A best of three I win decidingly.
Oh the horror, oh the irony.
You fat fool if only you would see the light.

And now you perform on the great stage.
While I am subject to taunts and hate.
It is okay though I can carry my weight.
How heavy you are you break the page.

The script is ruined all because of you, CALLOUS!
You finish a measly 1-4.
Oh how poor!
And people thought your play would be meticulous.
However your precision failed us.

At the end of the day you failed to outlast.
I am the full-timer and you're part of the past.
I am saddened by all of your attacks and hate.
But I remember I don't need to lose some weight.

And now I take my humble rest.
Until WCOP comes where India I shall bless.
Good bye dear friend, do come back.
I shall still wait in my cold, callous shack.
 

tcr

sage of six tabs
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We were all born of this world
Like the branches of a tree.
Got so much love for the world
Cause its all a part of me

We are but a wave of life
In an ocean of the same.
Got nothing to do but “be”;
Love and laughter be the aim.

We all search for a meaning
To make sense of the senseless.
As if a word can sum it up
When really, its our best guess.

You are the only meaning,
a part of every being.
A part of the equation,
Now is that no so freeing?

Life is like that windowpane
With a magnificent view.
It is beautiful and pure
Just like me and you.

My advice to you is thus
And I shall tell you no lies.
Live in the moment.
Trust yourself.
And open.
Your eyes.
 

Finchinator

-OUTL
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OU Leader
joined the slam poetry club at my school, wrote this briefly tonight. really excited for my upcoming experiences w the club, will post other stuff in this thread in the future, too, hopefully!

The girl with the yellow eyes
Who sat in the second row of class each day
A row behind the scholars and so-called geniuses
Yet a row before the slackers and so-called social butterflies

The girl with the yellow eyes
Who floated through the halls as if the wind controlled her
Each day she kept to herself, afraid of what could come blowing back at her from afar
Yet the atmosphere of fake smiles and subtle chuckles desperately sought after the direction of her thoughts

The girl with the yellow eyes
Who lit up like the melting sun on a summer's day and illuminated the world around her like the freezing moon on a winter's night
Couldn't blend in for her shape did not fit itself in to the carefully constructed puzzle known as a high school's social landscape
Yet her true beauty shined bright, beyond the collection of brown and blue eyes filling the first and third rows

The girl with the yellow eyes
Who no longer blinked at a lonely day passing on by
Embraced who she was and her own beauty, to shine the brightest
 

fleurdyleurse

nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands
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hi, i'm fleur and i write poetry. here are a few that i wrote recently (september 2017 to february now).

he looked through the gentle curtains
of a justasgentle dark for
the murmured vestiges of a tired love

(no
motion no eye could it espy )

for the contours of his love
were not the beauty of
unknowable snow the wonder
of untamable rain the joy of
unseeable light ; only

the cragged wilderness of
his justascragged memory

the night entire

which falls like a tempest into the bleakness of
birds
unsinging,the cleopatra
who gazes unearthly at the
beds of lovers the night which
desperately clings to its stars and falls lachrymose

the
night the
night the night
the night the night
the night the night the
night the night the night

(it is not as thievingly beautiful as the dark-robed daffodil standing quiet in the garden

i was not cold – it was merely the germ
of lust i sought in your cocoon; it was never metamorphosis.

i was not cold,nor was i to indulge in the concupiscence
of words that you tempt, nor

could i

? and the desoundment we heard was surely
not to persist – it was merely a product of the times; never were there tears

nor were there gasps, or weeping, nor the grinding and gnashing
(of teeth

but

.here is the truth: (were you cold?) here
is the truth: i was col d(was i?) here
is the truth: tears, noise, metamorphosis;
i was cold, i was cold, i was cold, i was.

this is how daybreak spoke: it was with
all the certainty of a rose. with all its
meekness. and all the hush of her fingers

Daybreak shivered. (she was naked)

I

given farewell resounds, naiveté floats quietly –
quietly, and absolutely demurely.

therefore it is understood.
therefore it is emptied – emptied unto the
magpie aloft; and, thereafter, drowned.

listen:

it is the undoneness of the frost;it is the murder of a maidenhood.
men, interluding in the shrift of a new sadness. it is the
unlistenness of the trees;the rape of lucretia.

all will be fallen, and, slight – forgotten. Je pense,

. et je suis.

II

the noise of the betrayal
drew a thousand cockerels, and they were slain. un

ceremonyously, quickly. mother says, they were
throbbing positively throbbing. she said, hail mary,
full ).

ave, ave; ave

III

there is not time enough to be lost; not to be catacombed. and the noise – it is
too bleak, too loud, too shrill. it is decided:

i shall retreat.

and if i were, as by the maid of thunder,
intruded into so beguilingly – i will
not be pallid, and the moonlight will
not be wan; and demurity will turn black:

if i were so discovered in the entrenchment of
our discontent, thrown away
into the soil of mercy – i would search,
peeled, for an unbargained depth,

and, seeking death,
explore it.


tell me what you think :)
 
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Ampharos

tag walls, punch fascists
is a Community Contributor Alumnus
boom
a rhythmic pounding echoes through your ears
as you stand, unbidden, at the cliffside
boom
a little louder now
as a pebble lazily drifts from the threshold
and shatters in time with the next
boom
you think
you try to think
you can't think
how could you think
over the sound of the
boom
it's coming faster, now
ever faster
is that your heart or is that the next
BOOM
the ground shakes
or maybe that's just your entire being torn asunder
BOOM
the cliff is crumbling
a landslide forming
all you hear is
BOOM
you stumble forward
barely catch your
BOOM
breath as the world
ends around you
BOOM
gaping blue maw
stretched before you
BOOM
pounding force
drives behind you
BOOM
shut your eyes
hide inside your
BOOM
nothing left
BOOM
nothing's right
BOOM
never right
BOOM
nothing left

and then suddenly,
silence.

the drummer leaves the stage.
the venue politely applauds.
the band is already dead.

constructive criticism welcome
 

GlassGlaceon

My heart has now been set on love
A pale glow radiated from her face
As shifting ground swallowed her body whole
The docile calm of her nightly embrace
Enveloping my body, heart, and soul.

So steadily she sinks beneath the earth
Her luminescence lingers in the air
Yet all the stars lament; they know her worth
And for her parting they did not prepare

No longer shall your white complexion shine
Till morrow, when this memory lives again.
The thought of your soft visage shall be mine
Whose subtle glories I remember then!

But lo! Apollo, risen from afar
Revives his glorious, triumphant star!


A Shakespearean Sonnet for you all :)​
 

Tera Melos

Banned deucer.
I wanted to write a poem but it ultimately turned into a borderline short story. I will however still post it.


NSFW - NSFL - Graphic Violence - Seriously don't read this if you're not okay with Intense Graphic violence

I am writing this because I feel as if I am at the end of my ropes. I have spiraled down a path I cannot return from. I've become entombed within this grim suffering that I cannot escape. I am, in every sense, living out this miserable life eclipsed from hope. I have no explanation, only my story and the dim hope that there is a chance for me...and for them...them being my loved ones.

You see, for the past handful of weeks, give or take Three or Four, I've had the most agonizing visions in my sleep. Visions of horrific mutilation, torture, disgusting acts of violence...all trusted upon the ones I love dearly. One might typically pass these on as nightmares and nothing more than the terrors of the human mind, at first I did the same, but there is a force working upon me that I cannot control and I feel has absolute domination over my mind, my life, and whatever Soul mankind truly holds within.
Let me take you back to where this began. I came here to tell every detail of my story and the urges to sleep are overbearing. I must continue writing at all cost. My life weeks ago was obviously much different despite me stilling being in quite the unfavorable situation. I was recently laid off from my workplace. Quickly after I was overcome with sever depression. I lost satisfaction in all things that ones gave me great pleasure. Roughly around the time the suicidal thoughts appeared the Dreams began to haunt me. I remember every one of them vividly as if something has burnt the horrific scenes into my mind and the dreams play on a loop..one after the other.

The First Dream begins with the most comforting state of susceptibility I have ever experienced in my life. There was surely something cradling me as I floated in a snowy like darkness. I could not see a body or arms around me but I could with certainly know that there was indeed an entity of great power lifting me as it build it's twisted world around me. Very slowly the Snowy Darkness formed my Childhood bedroom. Every detail was exact. The playful Decor, the milk stains in the carpet that my mother could never wash out. The Dust on the fan that my mother never cared to clean due to the odd height of my bedroom ceiling.
I was there, there wasn't a doubt in my mind. I could smell my Mother's coffee brewing down the hall, the cigarette odor following close behind. I could feel the ridged toughness of the Carpet below me. I was an adult, but the world around me was that from my Childhood. It wasn't until I peeked out the window that I realized not every detail was perfect.

My window was on the second floor. It had a perfect view into our neighbors bathroom. I remember various times when my younger, mostly teenage self, would catch peeks of my neighbor's wife and daughter undressing, showering, even brushing their teeth or applying deodorant. However this would not be the case in this warped world for as I peeked out my window I saw nothing but ashen trees for what I could only imagine went on endlessly. There was no undressing women, no voyeuristic view into the lives of people much more stable than myself. It was Emptiness, nothing but Ash and Wood.

At this point I knew I must leave, or attempt to find a way to leave. I exited my bedroom and proceeded down the hall. i could hear my Mother in the kitchen whispering to herself. She sounded so young, so youthful...Her voiced hit nostalgic nerves that reminded me of years before the eviction...before the crimes committed against her and our family. Her mumbling ended and I could hear the creek of her chair. She had heard me, her soft voice begged for me.

I entered the kitchen to what was the first stained memory from this experience. My mother was sitting in her old chair at our old kitchen table. Her body was as it was 15 years ago. She was unclothed and smoking a cigarette. I could not speak, no matter how hard I attempted too. I was being held in place by the same comforting entity that coddled me before. I knew instantly I was once again to be a victim of my mother's shameful desires.

She stood up and began to sluggishly walk towards me. The odor of her cigarette was match by the odor of what I recognized as a Bay at Low tide. Strong and Overpowering it was. She began to mumble again as ash tripped from her mouth and down onto her breast. Her speakings were inaudible, near nonsensical. She began to rub her hands along my face. I was paralyzed and weak. I could feel the urge to vomit growing inside of me. Almost as if sensing this urge, she put her mouth to mine and began to ash onto my tongue and teeth. I could not resist the urge. I began to vomit into her mouth as she grossly moaned in approval. I could not cry, I could not fight the urges and agony I was feeling. I was once again helpless at my Mother's hands.

She stepped back and I could see the combination of my vomit and ash dripping down her body. Down her breast, into her public hair, and down her thighs. She sat back into her chair. It quickly collapsed and she began to scream in panic. I could not make of what was happening below me, I tried not to peer onward but again the urges to consent to this act were to strong to fight. I watched as the floor below my mother began to take shape. It violently entered her body, first through her mouth, then her eyes and nose, soon after vaginally and anally. I watched the blood slowly pour from her orifices as her animalistics cries for help pierced my ears. My eyes drifted upwards to the screen door at the end of our kitchen. The bottom of my view obscured by the violent sexual mutilation of my mother, while in the background I could see it's shape. The Shape of the entity that simultaneously held me. In the Ashen Treescape that had become the outside world I saw it attempt to take form. I saw the many twisted hands begin to touch what I could only imagine was it's genitals. I could see it's long boney arms connecting to a shape that I could only describe as blob like, not shapeless but completely loose in form. I could see it's maw opening at the center of it's body as Ash flowed out and crisp burnt organs became exposed. I saw the many eyes of this entity open at the peak of it's shape, as if they would all look up at the cosmos in unison.
The creature made eye contact with me. I could not eye contact, I could not control my body. The Tense painful arousal I began to see. The shared agony between my dying mother and myself. The Shared ecstasy of the beast and I.

I awoke. I quickly leaned up and attempted to make noise. I was okay, I was alive. I quickly noticed I had ejaculated in my sleep and appeared to have vomited over the side of my bed. With the dream having passed I began to feel increasingly more depressed, hungry, tired, restless, aroused, and the strongest sense of agony and dread I have ever felt in my life. My day went normally despite the haunting memories of my mothers nude body becoming one with my own vomit.

The Second Dream came soon after, I would likely say within four or five days. Just like the previous my day prior had been normal despite the constant feelings locked within me after the first dream. This dream, like all those forward, began differently than the one before. The comforting entity and the Snowy Blackness remained, but the world being constructed around me was that of my High school English Room. The world outside the windows solidified that I was once again in the nightmare world of the beast. I knew what would be coming soon, I knew this would be another disturbing reimagining of events of my past. I knew Mr.Daro would soon appear. I knew he would be hurting her the same way he did before. I knew I could do nothing about it...that much would be the same.

The dismissal bell rang. I did the only reasonable thing I could think of doing, I dismissed myself from the room. The hallway outside however was where things became twisted. It was endless, lockers and tiles for miles, Ash littered loosely on the floor. I could hear her painful grunts but I could not see her. I could hear his attempts to silence her but I could not see her. I could hear the clashing of flesh and the smothered cries for help. At this point I felt the entity slowly pull me back to the room of Mr. Daro. I could now hear their confrontation much louder. The entity faded me through the door and there they were. The blinds were down, the desk were turned on their sides, and two bodies of flesh were on Mr. Daro's long desk...contorting and binding into a almost shapeless mass.

An act of violent sexual power became an act of fusion in this case. Every time he thrust into her their bodies sank closer into each other, skin ripping and blood mixing below them. His hand cupping her mouth in silence began to sink into her lips. His other hand on her breast began to blend disgustingly into her pale nipples. However, as they blended together their mass grew. New Limbs appeared, sets of sexual organs began to grow from his back and the sides of her torso. These organs began to penetrate on another. This act of violent rape became a single individual creature, proceeding to orgy with itself.

I felt this pain she felt, the pain of viciously losing your innocence and dignity while your brother watched onward from the Door window and did nothing. I felt his pleasure, the pleasure of sexual violence being tapped into. The agonizing arousal came over me once again. I felt enlightened but at the same time disgusted. My emotions were in sync with hers while my body began to grow in sync with His. My insides conflicting, my mental state completely diminishing. I saw the mass forming once again behind them. The Slender Boney Arms, the twisted crippled hands, It's body seeming to cling in the air, becoming one with the nightmare world it built around itself. It's great maw let loose pounds of ash onto their bodies. It's thousand eyes tilting downward as if to watch my approval. I could now make every detail of the beast while it began to absorb the gruesome orgy before it. It's body was almost the texture of jello, but more sludge like, as if it was made of pure tar. Surrounding it's lower region were many sex organs between many contorted arms. The arm span was uncomfortable long and it's hands appeared as broken, some child like and covered in flesh, the others the same tar substance the creature seemed to be made of.

As it engulfed them, both Monster and Man began to scream while the bodies suffocated and crushed my mutilated sister below. I could see the remains of her individual body be crushed. Bones shatter from skin, urine squeezed out of her groin like a juiced fruit. Her bowels empties as organs forced themselves out. I felt every fraction of this pain and can not begin to describe how unbearable it truly was.
I awoke quickly, again finding myself had ejaculated and my entire bed soaked in sweat. My bed had been ruined, soiled by all manners of bodily fluid. I would not sleep, I would never sleep again. That was my solution to this unexplained dilemma. That very decision would be the one that escalated the situation I had found myself in. For I went days without sleeping and for the days I went I grew more tense and unstable. I began to smell the Cigarette smoke that stained my mother's dresses. I began to smell the perfume my sister adored so much. I began to hear my wife's voice begging me to help her, begging her to pull her out. I could smell her burning flesh.

I could hear Cynthia crying from the back seat. I could not save them then, but I would not let my nightmares violate them as well. I began to spend time on my balcony, finding myself held back from jumping by the same force that comforted me in my dreams. I began to has visions of far off suns and planets where nothing but fire and tar make up the terrain. I hear chanting, deep unisex voices chanting in languages I do not understand but give me the ultimate sense of hopelessness.

It was at this point in which Nightmares turned into active daydreams. I was no longer in control of my life. Just like now, I would fight sleep ultimately to realize the world around me is a fabrication. The first lose of control was a clear sign from the beast that I was no longer getting chances, I WOULD consent to it's torture and I WOULD be a slave to it's desires. There was no comforting entrance to the dreamscape. I was simply there, on the side of the road, watching my wife and child burn alive as the fire itself took shape and began to molest them. Both of them moaning in sever pleasure while their skin blistered and popped. I could hear the deepest humming as the beast began to form in the Ashen woodlands behind them. I was there, I was helpless. I felt the agony of my wife and daughter while the beast bent their helpless mortal souls to it's will. I could feel the pleasure it forced into them, the confusion from my young daughter as the beast twisted sexual hellscape is forced into her innocent body.

My wife peered over to me, mouthing words I could not make out. The beast's thousand eyes looked upwards to what I could now see was a sky filled with endless stars. Soon after, I awoke on my balcony leaning over the ledge. The beast had taunted me not only with the worst of all agonies, but with the release of death.

This has continued seemingly nonstop for what I believe to be weeks. I do not feel as if I've slept. I do not have a grasp of time or reality. I do not know if I'm in our own world or the world this great unforgiving beast has created around me.

I am it's slave, I can only be thankful that it's letting me write this...even though deep down I truly know this is all for nothing.

I will continue to watch everyone I ever loved die, I will feel their agony through every second and I will feel the pleasure the beast gains from this as it's 1,000 dotty eyes stare deeply into the cosmos.


I am hopeless. I am not meant to be forgiven.
 

A

Joker fan
is a Smogon Discord Contributor Alumnus
hi there I actually write a bunch but generally don't share them, here's one.

I see blood, a battle has been fought.
I see pain, was it all for naught?
Perhaps victory was in forethought?
Or meaning has been sought

To fight is a fool's plan
To run is a death sentence
Yet too late to understand
Too prideful for repentance.

Blackbirds stagger from war
reaching out to the stars
searching for hope from afar
Still they continue, learning from their scars.
 

Amane Misa

Bring Them Home Now!
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I was depressed.
Day of wrath and doom impending,
this is me in ashes ending,
David's word with Sybil's blending.

Generations come and generations go,
but my soul will blow.

They love me, they say,
they care for me, they say,
in practice, one will not care if I wear away.

Agony will perish,
roses will flourish,
happiness will be high,
if my poor breath will die.
 

fleurdyleurse

nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands
is a Social Media Contributor Alumnusis a Community Contributor Alumnusis a Top Contributor Alumnusis a Top Smogon Media Contributor Alumnus
reworked a few earlier poems i was dissatisfied with to write this

something yet described: yet
reconstructed in the depths
of utterance(it is – or, it could be –

the tip of your concealing
fingers, who, brushing,

become ineffable—we have yet
to gild that touch with speech:
and it wrings, wanders,
into silence.)

all that passes:why,
we cannot talk it—the warbler
comes close, but even it falters:

so that all that courses: tensions.
hereafters. quiets. they are in a touch,
who collapses, ablank.
 

Diophantine

Banned deucer.

I'm not sure where we class rap in this but I think that up until 1:21 is a great display of poetry.
The rat race lines are reflecting the stresses of the working world whether you're at the top or bottom.
The rest of it is quite personal - as most rap is.
"The premonitions had me scared of living; I could see through the fog if only I had a clearer vision" likely describing how emotions or perhaps even mental illnesses can make you paranoid.
"I speak to the Lord and the devil, I don't fear religion. I be here persistent spitting prayers and wisdom - cheerful scriptures" Either denouncing religion or (as you're not supposed to fear religion) praising it.
"Reaching for the stars cuz; bleeding like stigmata" This goes back to the rat race bar. Again, talking about painfully aiming for the top. Stigmata (in Christian tradition) are marks corresponding to those left on Christ's body by the Crucifixion - proof of labour and hardships.
Not really poetic analysis, but Ps is British slang for money.
"Scars on my arms from when I was feeling like crap. Fuck body decoration look these are my tats" Powerful and speaks for itself. Not ashamed of the scars and they hold artistic, poetic value much like stigmata.

This isn't my own poetry or anything, but I listened to it when I was 13/14 and thought it was pretty good. Rap is often overlooked in the poetry world because people look at it as one big genre, as opposed to many small subgenres - which is understandable if you've never had an interest in rap. Also big up the Curtis Mayfield instrumental. Hope you enjoyed
 
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I've been taking AP Psychology, but since I'm not taking the AP exam, I've been writing poetry. Here's one:
Parents are everything. They do a lot, nurture, clean, and bathe. They raise us since babies. They always do the best; its for their kids, the best. They'd do anything. To push for their kids, the best. They'd do anything. To push for college, they but everything, toys and lessons. Except for freedom. Rules and Regulations. Parents set sturdy laws. Yet, teens go beyond. That occurs disarray. A bittersweet war begins. At age 18 it ends. The whirlpools try to hold on, but are rejected. Now free yet coin-less, They need to survive in the world. No parents aid.
 

Level 51

the orchestra plays the prettiest themes
is a Site Content Manageris a Community Contributoris a Top Tiering Contributoris a Contributor to Smogonis a Top Smogon Media Contributoris a Team Rater Alumnusis a Forum Moderator Alumnusis a Battle Simulator Moderator Alumnusis a Past SCL Champion
Future CS student here kind of, but despite my tendencies towards science/math subjects I kind of dabble in writing I guess? The poetry I've written is often malformed and always half-finished, but I enjoy the snatches I write nonetheless. Anyway, my brother took a creative writing elective in university or something, and his tutor, who is apparently some well-known poet in the local scene (?) criticized his work for rhyming too much.

I thought this was pretty dumb. I don't dislike blank verse as a whole, and I don't mind some interesting twist on the meter; I'm not some crazy poetry conservative or something. I just feel that at some point poetry kind of devolves into a stream-of-consciousness style ramble with line breaks dispersed seemingly at random throughout the whole thing, which to me kind of defeats the purpose of the form. I like thoughtful blank verse, but pseudo-intellectual linebreak-added ramble with a thinly veiled fake-profound message isn't quite my cup of tea.

Anyway, I wrote a poem in response to the incident. It uses whitespace heavily so it doesn't render properly on forums, but here's an image of the words, whitespace included:

Feel free to attack me for my views.
 
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not mine, but it deserves to be read
--

you have to understand,
that no one puts their children in a boat
unless the water is safer than the land
no one burns their palms
under trains
beneath carriages
no one spends days and nights in the stomach of a truck
feeding on newspaper unless the miles travelled
means something more than journey.
no one crawls under fences
no one wants to be beaten
pitied
i want to go home,
but home is the mouth of a shark
home is the barrel of the gun
and no one would leave home
unless home chased you to the shore
unless home told you
to quicken your legs
leave your clothes behind
crawl through the desert
wade through the oceans
drown
save
be hunger
beg
forget pride
your survival is more important
no one leaves home until home is a sweaty voice in your ear
saying-
leave,
run away from me now
i dont know what i’ve become
but i know that anywhere
is safer than here

— Warsan Shire
 

Abejas

Yo where Ken at
is a Top Tiering Contributor
I had some rough moments in my life due to some people that found it funny to cyberbully someone. I always loved this community but some people made it really hard to find a reason to continue being a part of this. I had moments where I wanted to escape from the real world and have fun with a game I love, but for some reason people found it funny to alienate users because they were a bit different. Thankfully I found ways to ignore these people and managed to find a great community which is the NU one. I always loved poetry but I suck at writing them, this poem is from a great poet writer called Shane Koycnaz and I found it a great description of what I felt.

Once upon a time, you and all your kind
lived underneath bridges
had ridges for ribs that dropped off into empty chests

as if your hearts were all stolen treasures
as if an excavation crew were hired to dig up and remove the part of you that let you feel
and while the world above you invented the wheel you stayed put
knowing that would one day roll over top of you to get to where it's going
you had an endlessly flowing supply line of food
you began to brood over humanity and made meals of our hope
as if crushing our spirits would make your mirrors cast better reflections than the ones they gave
as if the only way you could save yourselves was to make the world ugly so no one would notice you hided in it
you learned to knit pain into a kind of camouflage
treated hope like a mirage that you could use to lure in your next meal
you lived off our fears, you could taste what we feared
and every night, as the moon at bedtime stories on sunlight
you took darkness as an invite to head out into the woods
you curled your hands into wrecking balls
your breath became squalls, you made rocks rumble,
you made land shiver, you made boys and girls pray that someone would deliver them from you
we told them, you aren't real
and then one day, the world changed
but you all stayed the same
just migrated from living underneath bridges to living underneath information superhighways
days and nights became meaningless, each already deep in chest became an abyss no one would ever find the bottom of
concepts like love fell into your gravity
we turned ourselves into life preservers hoping to save as many as we could
but the fathers who guarded closet doors and the mothers who secured the floors under beds all shook their heads not knowing how to deal with you
you, who crept into our lives, with tongues like knifes stabbing your words into our skin
you began to begin uploading yourselves into our homes
you had computer screens for eyes and software for bones
you turned your hate into stones
and hurled them at beauty, as if you couldn't bear to see anything other than ugly
anything different
you had fingernails like flint and scraped them against decency hoping we would be the ones to all catch fire
you all had smiles like one-way barbed wire not meant to keep us out, but to keep us in
always like a firing pin, you spoke in explosions
it isn't cute
it isn't funny
you talked strangers into death
and laughed
and as each family learns to graft skin over the wounds you gave them, you helm yourself into the scar
you have coaxed the sober back into bars, handed out cigars at memorials
offered nooses, cliffs, and pills to those who unfortunately found you before they found help
you praised suffering
waltzed in between tragedies, gracefully dipping miseries as if we would be somehow impressed by the dexterity of your animosity
you cheered on rape
dashed through police tape as if it were the finish line in a race on who could be awful first
even now
you somehow see this as an invitation to turn your keyboards into catapults
wondering which one of you can be the first to hate us best
your loathing
already dressed in riot gear
ready to incite rage
as if each message board is a stage who you recite hostility turning freedom of speech into freedom of cruelty
we are stuck with you
the same way you are stuck with you
your mind is glue and it keeps malice fastened there like cheap wallpaper
we were once upon a time told that none of you exist
we dismissed you as make believe or myth, now
on only with resolve
we can no longer afford to tell ourselves, that you aren't real
we will not let you make your dinners out of the things we feel.
 
I’ve written a few poems. Here’s one of them:

I am king of all despair

Bow down, bow down

Your ill fate belongs to me yet it is you who wears my crown

And we shall walk this earth as one, and if we live to see tomorrow

I will cover you with gold and you shall shower me with sorrow

Do you see, you ought to see

That all those who pray to me

Become endowed with many manners of noble philosophy

Yet it it you who wears my crown and it is you who dons my gown

And if you wish to see tomorrow:

Bow down, bow down.
 

GlassGlaceon

My heart has now been set on love
My grandfather passed away recently. I wrote this poem in the 15 minutes after I heard he died to cope with the intense grief. I read this at his funeral. This poem is atypical, written with haste; but also with immense, irrevocable love.

You loved classic cars.
Enamored with their antiquarian intricacies,
You dreamed of refurbishing old Fords
Buicks, Packards...
a myriad of mechanical magnificence.
I never used to understand why you loved them as you did.
You took the 1928 Buick in all of its rust-covered glory,
And fixed,
and worked,
and toiled away
until the car was restored to a perfection it had never known before,
an excellence and a luster that a dealership
could not even fathom bestowing upon its creation.
You loved God
God loved— loves —a classic man.
Captivated by his own creation so much
That he saw every scratch
Every dent
Watched every speck of dust accumulate on his aging windows
And decided to do what you did, Grandpa.
Isn’t that neat?
He decided to bring your old vehicle back to life this afternoon,
And I know that down here, we try in vain to wash with salted water.
Dry with the sun’s deceptive rays
Your vehicle that still remains in our possession.
But God’s work is superior
and He knows more about your intricate parts than we ever
could have claimed to.
So as He gives you a new body
As all your dents are repaired,
All your rusted gears oiled
As your good and faithful service, your transportation of faith and emission of belief, is
rewarded.
I think I can now know why, and how, you loved classic cars so much.
 

DEG

The night belongs to you
is a Community Contributoris a Forum Moderator Alumnusis a Tiering Contributor Alumnusis a Smogon Media Contributor Alumnus
My grandfather passed away recently. I wrote this poem in the 15 minutes after I heard he died to cope with the intense grief. I read this at his funeral. This poem is atypical, written with haste; but also with immense, irrevocable love.

You loved classic cars.
Enamored with their antiquarian intricacies,
You dreamed of refurbishing old Fords
Buicks, Packards...
a myriad of mechanical magnificence.
I never used to understand why you loved them as you did.
You took the 1928 Buick in all of its rust-covered glory,
And fixed,
and worked,
and toiled away
until the car was restored to a perfection it had never known before,
an excellence and a luster that a dealership
could not even fathom bestowing upon its creation.
You loved God
God loved— loves —a classic man.
Captivated by his own creation so much
That he saw every scratch
Every dent
Watched every speck of dust accumulate on his aging windows
And decided to do what you did, Grandpa.
Isn’t that neat?
He decided to bring your old vehicle back to life this afternoon,
And I know that down here, we try in vain to wash with salted water.
Dry with the sun’s deceptive rays
Your vehicle that still remains in our possession.
But God’s work is superior
and He knows more about your intricate parts than we ever
could have claimed to.
So as He gives you a new body
As all your dents are repaired,
All your rusted gears oiled
As your good and faithful service, your transportation of faith and emission of belief, is
rewarded.
I think I can now know why, and how, you loved classic cars so much.
This is probably one of the best poems I've ever read. Your emotions are really hidden between each letter and everything is linked perfectly. Sorry for your loss, stay strong.


I haven't shared anything for a while, so I'm dropping this.

I wish I could tell you right now,

But my heart doesn’t allow,

My words to wrap you,

I always knew,

That you are what I want,

But I never knew that you’d haunt,

Haunt my my mind, haunt my heart,

Haunt my dreams, haunt my art,

I never knew that you’d make me cry,

That you’d make me ask why,

My body aches, I can’t find the antidote,

All I do is try to cope with these sad quotes,

How can a source of happiness,

Turns out to be your only sadness,

Your smile now no longer make me smile,

But makes me wonder for a while,

Why do people change,

That concept is strange,

How can you forget me,

After everything we tried to be,

I gave you all my time, all my feelings,

All my sleep, I healed all your bleedings,

All your wounds, all your emptiness,

And you managed to put them all in me,

Now I’m an empty mess,

And I’m on my kees,

Begging myself to stop,

To stop thinking about you,

Your love put me on the top,

Now I’m drowning so low,

I can’t sleep at night,

I can’t wake up in the morning,

Everyday is another fight,

My thoughts are just a warning,

But after all that pain you caused to me,

I still freaking love you,

I still care for you,

Ill never forget about you,

And what pains me the most isn’t you,

It’s these memories that cut deep inside,

It’s all the time where I tried,

To save you from your pain,

Where I hid you from the rain,

It’s what we could have been,

Now, trying to understand what love mean,

I’m a bird with broken wings,

Far away from being a king,

Ever since you changed,

Everything changed,

Ever since you changed,

I don’t feel the same.
 
This is one of my favorites of mine. It's a venomous short-hand Shakespearean poem of mine.

If the real Eminem were to beg and whither for a rap lorn bleeding Celtic measureful bed of women and lust for proper real poetic music, all would get the gist of music.

This is a very powerful rhyme!
 
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sig

Banned deucer.
Ultimately I don't understand a thing
I try to do the best I can
I know you try to do the same
We're just so bound to make mistakes
You could call it a disposition
I apologize for all your tears
I wish I could be different
But I'm still growing up
Into the one you can call your love
I don't know if I'll ever be enough
I'm throwing in my chips
I guess I tend to push my luck
 
ok, i know this is probably not up to the standards here, but I came up with the lyrics for a piece of music i’ve planning to do for a while, hope this counts as poetry.
you witness the downfall
you just embrace the truth
there’s nothing you can do
that’s her struggle, her brawl
you end up missing her youth
you leave without a clue
just watching the rainfall

cus’ she just has to wither
you can wither with her
you know you can’t stop her
cus’ she just has to wither
you can wither with her
you know you can’t stop her
cos’ she just has to wither

you know how much she cares
you know how much she matters
but you leave in ruins
when she’s the one who bears
she wisely knows life scatters
she’s learnt it with bruins
that time hunts sundry pairs

cus’ she just has to wither
you can wither with her
you know you can’t stop her
cus’ she just has to wither
you can wither with her
you know you can’t stop her
cos’ she just has to wither
any feedback is more than welcome!
 

tcr

sage of six tabs
is a Tutor Alumnusis a Team Rater Alumnusis a Smogon Discord Contributor Alumnusis a Tiering Contributor Alumnusis a Contributor Alumnus
i made more lyrics

Hold your head up high~~~, young one
Nothing worth a lie~~~, young blood
Nothing left to see, got everything to be
The world is at your feet, beloved son

What is it all worth~~~?
Your feet upon the dirt~~~
Nothing up your shirt, love will always flirt~~
What is it all worth~~~?

A life that's not worth living
endless theft but never giving
Do what you must, just to survive
everything's a lie, now tell me now
Are you surely alive~~~?

What is it all worth~~~?
Your feet upon the dirt
Nothing up your shirt, love will always flirt~~
Tell me what it's worth~~

Keep your head down low, old man
life has took its toll, old man
You never ran, never had a plan
Tell me what's it worth~~
To you in the end?

What was it all worth~~~?
A body in the dirt~~
Nothing up your shirt, love will always flirt~~
What has it been..... worth.


The ~ are supposed to represent melisma so think of it with that in mind
 

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