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Qwn Jul 2018
My chest is way too tight,
My lungs can't move to breathe,
And I can't stop telling myself,
They wouldn't notice if I leave.
Their lives would continue on the same,
I'm just a mess in their way,
And no matter how hard I try,
I can't think of one reason to stay.
Maybe a few would miss me,
One or two at most,
But they will forget and move on,
Overlook the kid who overdosed.
Lyn-Purcell Jul 2018
A child that runs free
With skinned knees and no worries
How I miss those days
I miss those simple days. truly.
Man, today was such a long day, my limbs are aching!
But i'm back with more haikus!
125 followers? Bring on the tears T-T
I can't thank you enough!
Really, it means alot!
Love you and be back soon!
Lyn ***
Annie Jul 2018
I'm a mess, I know
Back then I was eleven years old
I saw my mother fighting each day
Cancer really spoils you in the worst possible way

I wanted to run, I wanted to change
But I guess old habits can't be tamed
I longed for the attention, the care
I know it sounds selfish, but does it sound insane?

Things happen for a reason, and so I know
I was only happy when I had the stars that glowed
Little hands longing love, put on hold
"You need to change" –as so I was told
rey May 2018
Drugs! Heartbreak! Pain!
Stay away from our families
Parents who cover and sugarcoat our lives
Not letting us know about true suffer
Such as homeless, disease, death, love.
Our exposure to terrible things is limited
To make our childhood a little more bearable
Keeping us Little Ones away from the “monsters”
And the
“Bad guys”
But aren’t telling us that they’re just like you and me.
Our exposure is limited to what the world
Truly is.

© Regan
b Jul 2018
i ******* love
to hate me in
the morning.

its all red and white
but ive inhaled so much
second hand smoke
i wheeze when i
take it all
in.

i cant be pleased.
a mosquito bite
that moves when you
find me,
i haven't been satisfied
since 2004
and i don't necessarily
remember what did it
either.

theres a kid rock song
on the radio
and i blast it
so loud
i cant hear myself
forget to turn
away from
the ditch on the side
of the road.

my glasses go first
through the windshield.
i dont remember much
just that its
quieter
than the movies.

morphine hypnosis and
hospital food.
im back where
the hell all started.

i ******* love
to hate me in
the morning.
Nis Jun 2018
I remember you little kid.
You always were the first in school
even though that didn't make you really cool.
You did not care about you body,
you treated it just like another toy.

But just like this poem's rime
you became a broken toy.
Your mind so full of stars
became silent in shame
over your broken soul.

You killed yourself when we were twelve.
I was left alone.
Alone with your body
in a room
with no doors.

I tried to cry over you rotting body
but the tears wouldn't come out anymore.
We used to cry together over childish things,
but now I am alone and I feel like actually crying
yet it won't happen so I try to laugh.
We used to laugh
all
the
time
but I no longer can
for you are not here,
only your carcase is.
Only your ****** carcase.

You used to say:
"Laugh because you are sad,
cry because it'll make you happy"
and maybe I agree, so I'll remember it.

I'll remember you as if you were real.
I'll remember you as if you existed
far above the page I'm writing in,
but you don't.
Yet your body is tied to mine
rotting in this room with no doors
and I hope I can forget you once more.

It's surprising the power words have on people.
I could have tried to **** myself at 12,
but it never crossed my mind.
I tried to **** myself a couple of times,
yet here I am.
Remembering you kiddo.
Don't dig to much into it, it's kind of random.
Brandon Conway Jun 2018
Dawn with her rosy red cheeks
Triggered dirt water to brew
Out of habit two mugs were set
One for me
                 and
One for you

A forlorn breath passed my lips
No cure for this mornings thirst
I did forget (I mean, I didn't want to face the fact)
                  that
You started college
An empty nest is just the worst

A moment captured
Those two mugs
A message sent
Expressing my love
Good morning kiddo, I miss our coffees. Love dad.
This sadness belongs to the mourning doves.
miki Jun 2018
how wonderful it was to walk through life
thinking everything was flowers and daisies
when in reality it was not
everything was thunderstorms and poisoned rain

and it still is.
A rhetorical question finds me ask
king (to no one in particular) why I bask
with recollection the names of blank
exclamatory staid grade school crank

key teachers approximately
     42,0480,000 breaths aye drank
fifty years ago (most whose names frank
lee listed below),

     when the need to access
and retrieve
     immediate necessary information
     analogously interleaved

     among coaxial bracts
during examinations relegated
     as hopelessly lost
     into interstitial invisible cranial cracks

irretrievably buried
     during examinations, which age
(feels like a million years ago)
     often found me seized and caged
with sudden inability to remember

     any vital answers as gauged
evidenced by nothing writ
ten on paper (even including my name),
     thus loosely similar as aye sit
to compose poetry,
     and/or prose tempted to quit

asper defeated by resignation,
     and sinking sensation in the pit
of my stomach (more so regarding orbit
ting like an unsound garden  

     black hole son around cold (mit
ten necessary) awful days grudgingly
     handing over like a lit
till insignificant being,
     a test paper devoid of academic grit

analogously surrendering
     (while feeling fit
tubby tied, sense internally emit
ting abnegation sans chafing at the bit,

yet no sooner did buzzer indicated test
time over, then (of course),
     an instantaneous pest
that blocked chunk dramatically
     flowered gloriously invoking nest

head treasured mother lode
     of learned information invest
ment accounting for principle ball lanced
     formerly figuratively barricaded facts
     suddenly at my behest

ironically retaining to this day
dogged details amazingly,
     now gracing lix spittle fist size gray
dictating academic failure

     forcing laying down pen hay
for ma forgotten requisite thoughts may
king skepticism about self thrive, ray
zing mailer demons impossible to slay,

when into scaly claws, sans first
to sixth grade Precambrian relic
(Missus Batson, Missus Rittenhouse,
Missus Wells, Mister Stout, Missus Shaner,
or Miss Rinderle).

Invariably the majority
     of elementary grades didst accord
accredited ancient authenticated creatures bored
(with exception of sixth)

     freely exercised diabolical chord
churlish ******* animalistic
     zealous yakking, wickedly,
     aye (a basket case) deplored

unprintable (epithets) this then
     (unprincipled urchin) puny pupil felt lord
did over whacked, sans receiving end,
     viz fiendishly gruesome
     hellish instructions mean teacher scored.

Assignments buttressed with ultimatums
harkening back to Jurassic period earlier
in the dawning primate consciousness.

Lesson material kindled justifiable license
in league garnered insignia heft brought pupils
to heal predicated, via warped weft woven
wonderfully wrought writs welcomed whips
with warranty whenever recalcitrant ruffian
refused respecting reptilian rubric representative
saber rattling, where...

(The Idler Wheel Is Wiser Than the Driver
of the ***** and Whipping Cords Will
Serve You More Than Ropes Will Ever Do),
which loosely rendered regularly warbled

wishy washy verse curmudgeons freedom
granted to interpret as one decrepit, hawkish
insignia certified one beaming Eve and/or
stud deed brute soffit.

Education often relied on the weekly reader,
and letters to or from Aunt Emma to this Jack,
oh napeswho never wrote back
sheesh, alas and alack.

Nefarious mean linkedin kickstarter jawboning
torturous treatment tolerated, asper imps
of pervert, mutant Ninja Turtles duty bound
antsy youthful yokel yodelers weathering ululating
sing-song quintessential precepts.

adieu:
math a hew
scott harris a gentile Jew
all ways felt like new
kid on the block isolated

     in his hermetically sealed queue
pay perm ash shay watched per view
whew
at last in conk clew shun to you
from one primate within the human zoo.
Abbas soni Jun 2018
“Sorry”,they said,
“No matter how many times,
You shook your head,
Provided with all the necessities,
Now move ahead.

No matter what you say,no matter what you feel
Now get up and be brave,
With time,all your wounds may heal
You wouldn't be taken care of,
So better look for your own meal

There wouldn’t be a lullaby singer;make it a habit now
There wouldn’t be anyone to wake you up,
You have to adjust anyhow,
And don’t be a mischievous kid,
Now take a faithful vow.

Come to us now;it's time for goodbye,
They said they’ll love you like we both,
Albiet it’s a lie.
But you have to be independent now,
Go son! It’s a goodbye”.
How a 10 year old poor kid is sent away from his parents for studies!
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