[x]

fishbowl reality.the boy next to me just died
but he pressed play again and started
to chase his tail across a screen of purple blocks.
five seats away, a girl is trying to draw a human heart.
another girl is trying to finish her test.

"this class ends at 2 and it is 1:55."

the boy next to me has given up and
is checking his e-mail, while still others
pull out their computers to start clicking
away at letters that will never fade.

i am sitting here, wondering how to tell my mother
her sister tried to commit suicide.

some people say that an umbrella turned upwards
is a sign of bad luck, but there is a lot of bad luck
that has to do with umbrellas

Ady{sen}Seven year old Adysen Reader
Took her mother's most fancy wine glass
And filled it with apple juice,
All the while telling me that one day,
She'd really be able to taste the stars.

"You know," she tells me, "You could jump from the
Empire State building and survive."
I tell her she's wrong, and that you'll die.
"No, no," she insists, "it's not the jump that kills you- it's the ground-
The sky just hugs you and wishes he didn't have to let go."

Ady's been able to draw since she was four,
But she hasn't been an artist till she was nine, and
Manned up enough to tell me that she really didn't
Believe in dragons, but she hopes we can

criss-crossed veins for the trigger girliii.
"you're not okay."
"I'm fine."
"no, you're lying. i can tell. everyone has a trigger."
"What's mine?"
"you smile."

ix.
she's walking around in circles
and trying to pick up her broken pieces, but they're
not fitting like they used to,
something's damaged beyond repair.

v.
"Why are you doing this to yourself?"
"because i've forgotten what it feels like to heal."

viii.
she regrets not cutting deeper, when she sees the life
still running through her veins, and her parents asleep
on the hospital chairs.

ii.
she comes to school the next day with a bandaged hand
and blue eyes that seem a bit dimmer.
"i broke a mirror."
an

half-priced whoremaybe in fifty years,
she thinks,
she will stop feeling his finger-shaped bruises
on her hips and arms.
stop hearing his words—you think you can stop me, little girl?—
in every passing "are you okay?".
stop feeling the wind like a ghost of his acid breath
on the back of her neck
beautiful, beautiful, beautiful little girl.

maybe fifty thousand dove soap bars later
and too many scalding showers
and dusty baby blankets and days spent lying in bed,
looking up at the water stained ceiling,
will be enough to leave the man
on the corner of anderson street and rosa parks avenue
right where she never wanted to find him.

just ask her,

Color me prettyColor me pretty
Paint me divine
Draw on a smile
Prove I am fine
Give me the rainbow
Grow me the sun
Vanish the raindrops
Let us stay young

Open EyesI want mountains to tickle my shoulder blades
and make me giggle.
I want to wear sunshine like a scarf;
To spend days hanging onto each of
your words
in turn,
tasting them like clouds taste
lightning

JeffreyJeffrey Williams is homophobic.
But I cannot hate him for his beliefs, like
He cannot hate me for mine,
Though I know there are some days we both want to.

But there's other reasons to hate the boy-
Hate him because once a long, long time ago
I thought I loved him.
But then we both grew up into
Real-world terms and opinions that were
Never made to fit.

So, some days I think I'm just making up for lost time.

There's this part of me that thinks he deserves
A 'Bad Poem'
Because he called me ugly all through sixth grade,
Insults my friends ("I'd like him, really Grace, I would,
But he's just so... gay.")
And expects himself to be a

Comic Book HeroWe met in the Summer, I was single and free,
So fragile and sweet, he took care of me.
He was so much fun, exciting and new,
It was all so amazing, too good to be true.

Like a comic book hero, he swept me away.
He promised me the world, the night and day.
But his heart was untrue, his words were lies.
No comic book hero, but a villain disguised.

Our romance was deep, like Superman and Miss Lane
Iron Man, Miss Potts, Spidey and Mary Jane.
He impressed me with gifts, and words sublime,
Affirmations of how he would always be mine.

Like a comic book hero, he swept me away.
He promised me the world, the night and day.
But his hea

papered blackbirdWe stopped going to church when it
Interrupted with the scheduling of my dad's favorite radio show.

I stopped believing in God when my
Time-machine turned into a card-board box.

I started believing in myself when
Someone told me
I could.

Fight for our DreamsFight for our Dreams

All our dreams are at stake.
The world stands against them.
It tries to take them away from us.
It tries to take our only free world and destroy it.

The hate of people is what drives us to imagine and dream.
And in that world we are free to live as we want.
Our imagination is the only limit to what we can achieve there.
But regardless of how we protect it the people want to destroy it.

They want to take away our precious and bound it into darkness.
They want to see us suffer and on our knees.
All of that is because they lack the imagination of kids.
Those in control desire our failure so they can devour our cr

sometimes i feel like a superherothe house across from my bus stop
is a temporary funeral home, but back when the Yankees controlled the town,
it was owned by a family whose daughter rode bareback
twenty-seven miles in the middle of the night to warn her
rebel leader of a lover that the Yankees were coming for him,
the Yankees were coming, the Yankees were coming,
the Yankees are coming, John, get out, quick!

and maybe she tripped and fell,
or her red cape got tangled up in her stirrups and ideals,
because by the time she rode into the neighborhood,
the houses were already on fire, children were already
crying for their mothers, and her John
was already hung up

ROAD CLOSEDMy face is a town
that she's put in her rearview mirror
I've been the way there and back again
Now I have no way out

The only lovers that know my lips
are the vices I can't stop clinging to
We all take our medicine
then creep home under the radar

I'm just killin' time
until time kills me

Their Stories I've read so many stories,
yet none appeal to me
I want the weak minded thought's,
I want to know their dreams

I'm sick of strong male characters,
and feisty female minds
I want someone who can't take it,
someone who's lost the fight

I want the truth behind the lies
Not the mask that hides the shy

I want their inner feelings,their core
I want to know their hearts, do they feel remorse?

I want to know their fears, their worries
I need to know who they are, their stories

count to infinity before you sleep.cause i know
there are days when
it's painful to even breathe,
your throat closing up on the knowledge
that you don't know
how much longer you'll be waiting on this
band-aided, superglued planet.

every cell in your body vying to be the next to die,
and all you have to tell them is
maybe. maybe next time.

those are the days you spend
cutting rose thorns into your palms
and clenching your fists tight around
jagged reflections and prismed rainbows.
the days you realize
we're losing so much faster than we're learning.
we're maturing faster than we're growing.
adults stuck in the bodies of kids,
moving around, making the mistake

things i'll tell her somedayher eyes are still closed
when i meet my daughter for the first time.
she's pressed against my stomach
unknowingly touching
2, 4, 6, 8, 10 scars.
she's scradled with spray-tanned wrists that
don't really hide the complete truth.
i think of laughing- how could something so
ugly hold something so beautiful?
but i just clutch her closer and promise
that the same things will not happen to her.

in a world that will treat her wrong,
i swear i will raise her right.

i will form her hand into the shape of a gun,
just so i can show her the peace sign.
i'll teach how to forget to breathe,
but only for things she thinks are worth it-
lik

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a town i don't want to call mineon the right of the turquoise green sign
that welcomes you to columbia,
there are two gas stations and a church.
on the left side, there’s a morgue.

when i was five years old, my father pulled over
and stopped on the side of the road while black car
after black car passed us, going the other way.
“did we know them?” i asked.
“no,” he said, putting the car in drive. “but someone did.”

at seven, mr. jimmy down at the ice cream shop
let me have free samples of all the new flavors he made
before he put them out to the public.
a favor, he called it, for his little henry.

(years later i would realize t

tear the skeleton from his comfortzonei want to build a skyscraper, seventeen stories high
and fill each floor with a story from the people who never said goodbye.

i.
a middle child, born in 1994,
she always wanted to be loved the most
until she learned how to give a blowjob
in an alley behind Miss China’s Takeaway
at knife point.

ii.
she lost her childhood
to an ocean who always thought it was small
and never stopped pushing its borders.

iii.
he’s not sure how he’s supposed to live without her.
staring at the closed coffin, he loses the ability to want to.

iv.
it’s not fair, she thinks,
that the house creaks when she’s trying to sleep,
but when

ily2i wrote a poem for you because
you make me believe in happily ever afters,
romantic suicides and the fact that one day
i might not break everything i touch.

i don’t know what i’m going to do in four years
because i can’t comprehend a life without you.
and i hate you for it.
you’re just so—

you adjust my skirt and give me a pair of jeans
and say, “don’t let society make you .”
you stay up late with me to watch the sun set
only to wake me up early to see it rise.

you guide me out of the way of
already-broken leaves and
piggy-back me straight into puddles and snowdrifts.
you steal pieces from

no wonder it took him 1455 pageswhen i was seven years old, a group of kids in my grade threw rocks at me for liking neopets more than webkinz. from then on, i was convinced i knew what hatred meant. but i don’t know how to describe it to the little girl who sits in the corner of my womb and in ten years might call me mommy and ask for help on dividing the world into black and white.

would i point to the churches with their bigotry? to the cotton fields of the south in the 1800s? to the classrooms of modern day america? would i tell her about how the jews stood in straight lines, waiting to die, with fear in their eyes and faith in their hearts? or would i try and de

not all humans go to heavencock it
april 23 2008
“bye mom. i love you so much, i swear
i’ll be home soon.”
“please, you’re only eighteen, you have your
whole life ahead of you, please
don’t throw it away.”
“i’m going, mom. i’m going overseas
but i swear i’ll be back before you
miss me. love you!”

aim it.
now
most nights he shakes himself awake
with the vision of bombs and fire and bullets
still imprinted on his eyelids.
he doesn’t know what to call them.
the dreams, i mean.
what do you call bad dreams when
you’ve already lived the nightmare?

his therapist says his problem
is he think

fast-forward through the goodbyesthis is the beginning of the end
“i know you,” he says.
and he looks defeated, he looks sad, he looks like
he's a boy who may one day realize how much
he cares for you, so you cut him off and say,
“minus all the secrets i don’t tell anyone.”
“well, yeah, minus those.”
“then you don’t know me at all.”

and then you tell him,
i love you. but you don’t use those words
because those are taboo. are jinxed.
are knock on wood three times fast.
instead you press him in a hug and say,
i’m sorry, knowing he won’t understand
that this is the first time you ever cared for some

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Submitted: July 29, 2012
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cinderella died yesterday

by ~MisfitableGrae, Jul 29, 2012, 4:16:48 PM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

_{"burn your tiaras,
bury your fairy godmother.
it's time for you to grow up now, you're
no peter pan.
forget never never land.

stars are just burning balls of gas that are
slowly running out of time- they can't
hear your wishes.

cast aside your dr. seuss books like you will
later cast aside your bibles.
after all, a fairy tale is a fairytale is a fairytale.
life will teach you that.

grace, you were born into a role
only a very strong girl can play.
see, society will hate you for being
what they don't want to believe.

surrender your throne, your castle is under siege.

stop being fascinated with the sky,
you'll never go there.
keep your feet on the ground, and steady yourself
before you help another.

your brain is more logical than your heart,
therefore take your instructions from it.
promises can be broken as easily as can be made.
do not rely on something as weak as miracles and love-
and if you only have one piece of armor,
defend your back from the people you trust the most.

and grace?
if some one ever, ever tries to tell you
you're worth it,
they're lying through their teeth."

and that is the Goddamn Truth.}

cinderella died yesterdayby ~MisfitableGrae

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

_{and i'm trying not to care.

i'm bbbaaacccckkkk. and i wrote this poem about how a mother will never tell you the things that you really need to know to survive in this world.

how it's time to grow up now.}

love 1 1

joy 1 1

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

sad 1 1

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~magic6jewls Mar 9, 2013 Student Writer

Reality is only a plaything of the mind. Truth does not exist. If mothers tried to preach it, it wouldn't work out very well. I don't think at least.

But dayum. Your stuff are good.

~yarryanotak Nov 10, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

Woah. T-T This nearly destroyed my childhood in a matter of minutes.

~AGEofthehopeful Nov 1, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

An excellent poem, truly. But a point of view that brings tears to my eyes. This is your truth I can see that, and it hurts me deeply.

~Starkpretty Sep 23, 2012

I have never believed anything that folk say anyway. I believe in magic, in my own cold breath in the autumn air, and I believe that the flipside to logic is magic.

The magic is what lets you survive, and fairytales always have some application to real life, no matter how scant.

God, this is a beautiful poem. <3

~nixcoo Aug 21, 2012 Writer

Oh God, the first 3, 4 verses really got to me. It's so awesome how true it felt, that fairytales are just fairytales. I've always had a logical mind, but this shattered some of my fantasies too. And I can relate to having a mum who doesn't tell you the real facts to keep you surviving in the world. This is just fantastic.

~BlueDreamer77 Aug 3, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

This is great!!! I love the title. I really like how it flows and how you start with fairy tales and go reality. It's really good. Great job!!!

~MaxwellAestorai Aug 1, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Don't judge people based on a stupid, corrupt society, judge them after you know them. Some people really are worth trusting, you just have to find them. Keep looking. Eventually, there will be someone who won't ever betray you.

Growing up doesn't mean trusting no one and being cold, not like this.

Growing up means that you know what to do, and when to do it. Growing up is when you realize that it's not necessarily the time to steady yourself, because someone else is even closer to falling than you are. Growing up is when you make the right choice, because you know that it's right.

This is just going backwards from the kindness and willingness to help of a child.

It's still a well written poem, though, and very thoughtful. I like it, even though the message is a little de-motivating.

BY THE WAY. You. Are. WORTH IT. I'm not lying. Stop putting yourself down. If someone ever does something for you, IT'S BECAUSE YOU'RE FREAKIN' WORTH IT.

~WhisperedInsanity Jul 30, 2012 Student Writer

WORDPORN.

No, seriously. This is amazing.

~anthyrosebride Jul 30, 2012 Student Traditional Artist

life is cruel..... arn't fairy tales the thing that gives us hope of something more then this nightmare of a life , the light at the other end of the tunnel.

~lalaith913 Jul 30, 2012 Writer

Really great piece. "And if you only have one piece of armor,/defend your back from the people you trust the most" is just so painfully true.

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