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SELENA M Oct 2014
He keeps trying to convince me that he will change
Can't teach an old dog new tricks
He keeps telling me he loves me
But how can I survive off of a what if?
We have no trust so we have nothing
I am not afraid to start over
It's been four years no ring, no commitment
And I was really stupid I have to admit
Because he was a rebound and  i let myself get serious
Now I'm much more upset because we have two kids
I'm I am completely fed up with people and their attitudes and actions
I can't tolerate no more of it
push me so much expecting no reaction
feeling the need to put give their opinions when not needed the past 22yrs I been Livin
they take kindness as a weakness
I told myself I wouldn't stoop to
Their level I'm beneath this
expect others to treat them good and ****
only to treat you how the last person in their life treated them like a *****
finally they feel like they have someone to do it to
expecting you to be sweet and sincere too
I'm completely fed up with they malarkey selfish actions
push me so much expecting no reaction
toying with you for instant gratification because their life is **** its self
No understanding that I am a ******* human just like you but with more love to show
More than living organism on this barren cold waste land we call home
I rather walk in this forsaken planet alone
I'm done with being this nice guy
no one can understand or accept
Fully in depth
push me so much expecting no reaction
understand or accept this no more mr nice guy.
Leah Rae Sep 2014
Six girls.
Four bunk beds.
Freshman year.
College.
We are all nervous.
Elbows and knees. Awkward.
Like being packed into a cattle car.
Rewind 6 years.
Homeless, living in the back of a minivan.
Three children, and our mother.

Sleeping together in a single motel bed
Nervous for morning.

Elbows and knees.
I am built for building.
Made to create.
Hands like carpenters, I make a home out of anywhere I go.
Learned to carry it on my back.
To take things with me.

And now, I am almost nineteen year old and I have been living out of boxes for the past two months.

Out of containers filled with my own clothing.
I feel like I can’t find stillness.
Or have silence.

I haven’t been alone in two months.
I am sleeping with the lights on.
They call this temporary housing,
For all the students who applied late.
Like me.

But I didn't think I would be here.
But I was raised poor,
remember the minivan,
so a free college education tasted like..
Like you’re starving, and your mom’s food stamps haven’t came in yet, and you’re at the grocery store,
and its Saturday,

and they’re handing out free samples.

And I feel lucky.
And I feel blessed.
And I feel grateful.
And I feel slighted.
And I feel frustrated.
And I feel tired.
And I feel angry.

Angry that I am this easy to tear down.
That I am ticker tape,
salvage yard,
construction zone.
That the four walls of the home I've tried to build inside of myself can be so easily burned down.

Can be destroyed.
A fire alarm in my chest, and a flooded basement.
That I can’t find peace in the only home I've ever had.

There are motel signs.
Blinking,
three am,
and my mother’s credit card is being declined.
And my little sister won’t stop crying.

And we are in a homeless shelter when I’m 6.

And we’re in another when I’m 8.

And another when I’m 13.

I’m 19 in a few months,
And this dorm feels like another one.

And I’m convinced they build these places, on purpose.
Temporarily temporary.

To show us how temporary we all are.
That we can’t take anything with us.

That I can't take anything with me.

Where ever it is that I am going.
Where ever it is that I might end up.
I’m just praying..

Praying there is a warm bed to sleep in when I get there.
erika hernandez Sep 2014
And here I go again; losing sleep because of you. Thinking about what we once were and what we could have been. Why can't I just get you out of my head?
I just want some ******* rest
Sound Of Rain Aug 2014
If only I could write without choking up every time I spilled out words on paper,
If only I could close my eyes and block out the harsh things that I still seem to remember,
If only I could smile and write pages after pages about everything without tearing up,
If only I was not as shy as I am right now and instead was bold and fierce,
If only my hands would stop shaking when I write your name,
If only everybody kept the freaking promises that they made.
If only.
If only.
If only.
I would surely be happier and more satisfied than I am right now.
I don't even know. Suffering from major writer's block. Can't seem to express any of my feelings properly these days. *sigh* If only.
punk rock hippy Aug 2014
I know for a fact that it's getting bad again.
Its getting bad again.
Its bad again.
I want to get high again.
Just let me get high again.
God ****** it won't happen again.
Its happening again.
Ring around the rosies pocket full of posies ashes ashes watch me ******* fall down
I can't write music,
I don't write lyrics.

My poetry doesn't sound like that.

My pen doesn't print words into chord formations,
which,

Admittedly is frustrating because all I want to do is sing to you

But I cannot use a staff to frame my sentiments

And while I pride myself in the power of my pen,

I still dream of a world that I could tell a few words to whistle your tune

All day I dream of music,

Just a note to give to you.
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