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Literature Text
There's a little boy who walks to school,
Nobody knows his name.
No matter what he tries to do,
It is always the same.
He keeps up with all the trends,
He knows them inside out.
Each one he pulls off perfectly,
Even that selfie-photo pout.
Each week he brings a box of muffins,
Though nobody knows why.
He used to try and hand them out,
Now he doesn't even try.
He shares the muffins with the crows
and eats them one by one.
For consuming that much sugar,
He sure looks miserable when he's done.
He looks down at the empty box
and you see a little smile.
The crows fly off and he lies down;
They'll all be full for quite a while.
The same routine, every week,
I think so that he can pretend,
That in the year that he's been here,
He's made at least one friend.
©lonewolfpuppy
Nobody knows his name.
No matter what he tries to do,
It is always the same.
He keeps up with all the trends,
He knows them inside out.
Each one he pulls off perfectly,
Even that selfie-photo pout.
Each week he brings a box of muffins,
Though nobody knows why.
He used to try and hand them out,
Now he doesn't even try.
He shares the muffins with the crows
and eats them one by one.
For consuming that much sugar,
He sure looks miserable when he's done.
He looks down at the empty box
and you see a little smile.
The crows fly off and he lies down;
They'll all be full for quite a while.
The same routine, every week,
I think so that he can pretend,
That in the year that he's been here,
He's made at least one friend.
©lonewolfpuppy
Literature
I was taught right from wrong
I was taught right from wrong
By a murderer
I was taught truth from lies
By a magician
I was taught who my friends were
By my enemy
I was taught to be honest
By a professional liar
I was taught to always speak my mind
By being told to keep quiet
I was taught to be kind
By someone that beat me down
I was taught to smile
By someone who could never wipe a scowl of their face
I was taught to love
By being abused
I was taught to live
By someone who was already dead
I was taught to perform
By someone with stage fright
I was taught to be excellent
By someone that failed in everything
I was taught to rely on only my self
By being su
Literature
Sick.
life slouches against the door
[i think i can hear it crying]
sickly grins lick my lips;
rub the undersides
of scream-sore throats
stained with the sweetest sort of bruise
every nerve--
a soft
atrium flow;
cutting
capillaries
screams all my own
swallowed in cotton lungs
pressure in my skull
fire in my veins
holding the skin i had
clinging tighter to fragility
and i just can't find
the strength to cry
anymore
the night stretches on for months
red.
red.
black.
i shake like a leaf
Literature
I want to forget names,
& faces,
& people.
I want to forget their veins,
fingerprints forever burned into my eyelids;
wrists I can't look at
without longing to tear apart.
Spine full, and spiteful:
I want to cry
roses in my midnight tea
for these star collapsed lungs.
I want to cry for her
& for me.
But Shame,
she wont allow me the courtesy.
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Well, this is the first (I think) poem I've ever written that hasn't stemmed from my emotions (At least, not conciously) or an event that has occurred to myself or someone I know. In fact, I don't even know where this came from. I was in drama and we had muffins that we were sharing and it just sort of came to me. I almost burst out in tears because of the images and words it brought to my head. I was reluctant to write about it, so I sat on it for a few days but I couldn't forget about it. So, I wrote it out and here it is.
©lonewolfpuppy
If you like this, you should check out Who needs friends? by His poem is absolutely amazing!
©lonewolfpuppy
If you like this, you should check out Who needs friends? by His poem is absolutely amazing!
© 2012 - 2024 lonewolfpuppy
Comments71
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Very compelling. I feel this one deep inside.