Category Archives: Angst Poetry

proud of me

Today my mother told me she is

proud of me

because the police report said I was

polite and cooperative

she said she knows how hard

it can be sometimes

-dpd

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Always Beautiful

I knew a girl once,

who beauty killed.

She knew more about

looking, than feeling.

She’d been fat,

she’d been beautiful,

she’d been wanted,

she’d been scorned.

She bloomed like a flower,

and when the vase dried up,

she wilted.

A tenth grader who already felt

past her prime.

A tenth grader who was made to feel

ugly again.

Sucking on a malboro red,

windows down,

hair a mess.

Never ugly.

I remember the yearbook pictures,

reading like an age progression

for a girl who wandered off years ago.

She was called fat,

she was called beautiful,

she was wanted,

she was scorned.

She was beautiful.

If she could only see,

that she still is.

She still would be.

-dpd

3 am

Isn’t it fucked up,

How I love you the most,

When she loves you the least,

At 3am,

When the stars are our flashlights,

You’re drunk,

raw with emotions,

and Beautiful,

the silver light of the moon

Illuminating your skin

through the car window.

 

by ForgetMeNotMyWords

http://youngwritersproject.org/node/82018

One Night

Just for one night, we’ll pretend it’s love.

You smell sweet and safe

Like kush,

Forests,

And herbal tea.

And tonight,

I feel as empty as the sea, so

Fill me with words that

Won’t mean much in the morning

But tonight

Will allow me

To dream.

Just for one night, we’ll pretend it’s love.

by imperfect

http://youngwritersproject.org/node/81032

As If She Cared

by juliar

I felt her eyes brush mine

As if she was judging me from behind

Looking at my hair

Not missing any detail,  as if she cared

From my morphed together toes

up to my ski slope nose

I could feel her stare

The sizing up glare

It’s almost as if… she honestly cared.

*****
I want to tell her that you grow out of feeling like that…

…But I don’t want to lie.

Therapy

by ForgetMeNotMyWords

The invisible hands of the old man clock ticked away,

As she twisted a thick gold band around white knobby fingers,

Her radioactive green eyes trying to pry into the abyss,

Of my mind,

She purses her lips,

Disgruntled,

Trying to interpret the vacancy of my face,

Still and patient,

I wait for her calculated observation,

Thick white paper crinkles beneath her yellow stained finger nails,

The lamp set off an eerie glow in the room,

Her ratty brown hair hung loosely above her shoulders,

My legs impatiently twitch beneath me,

“You’re depressed…You are too stressed out”

She finally says in an unexpectedly calm voice,

I can’t hear her,

For dissociation has already taken me far away,

She waits for my response,

An hour almost gone,

My vision finally starts to return,

My brains way of saying “fuck you” to her,

The invisible hands strike 2:45,

I stand to leave,

Hands wrist deep in my pockets,

The paper of her skin tightens across her face,

An hour wasted,

I shuffle towards the door,

Wondering once again why I’m even here,

As I turn the silver lock to make my leave.

Cyclical

Every night
When the moon replaces the sun
I’m haunted by sharp things
That speak to me, begging me to carve in to
Not only my arms, but in to
Everything I’ve ever known to be real.

And every day
When the sun replaces the moon
I’m haunted by regret
That stabs in to me, begging me to put a stop to
Not only to what I do to myself, but to
The way I reject reality to feed my addiction.

by imperfect

The Rain

I remember how it felt to be in your arms that once.

Like you were strong and I was your baby girl.

Like you were everything and I didn’t have to be

anything but yours.

Not even mine.

I remember how it rained that day.

Hard. Like the sky was pelting words at us from too high up.

And you rocked me

gently

like you had always dreamed of doing.

From the moment you knew me,

you dreamed.

And I remember the unsettling feeling that came with the next moment.

I remember hearing my own screams grow in strength

before you knew that anything was wrong.

Before you knew you were

going

to

die.

And I can still feel the force of your cry

as the wind ripped me from your arms

and the place where I fell

still hurts.

The rain stopped then, but you were already gone.

And I was the last little bit of you that was left.

Your child.

Face down on the street.

Waiting for you to come back for me.

I called to you once,

begging you to come down again,

and you called to me telling me to come up.

And I tried. I tried so hard.

But I fell.

And I clearly remember how no one was there to pick me up again.

To cradle me like you did. That once.

To hold me as their child and sing to me as I cried.

So I stopped trying to move . Stopped trying to cry. Just layed there.

Waiting for the rain to start again.

by Quella

Grade 7

I love these kids.

I love these kids.

Young writers, reaching out and helping each other. We’re all the same. It’s never easy for anyone.