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Graduation DayGraduation Day:

They told us we would be alright...

We had fought with honour and won our titles.

We had overcome trials together -

Watching dozens of our siblings fall in the line of duty.

For this they had promised us, a wondrous welcome;

A bountiful world of adventure, with a myriad of paths.

All this, they said, awaited us in the stone cities.

Large metropolises, where the working folk resided...

There were hundreds of us, who made that journey.

Walking miles across the scorching desert,

Clinging to a hope of the fortunes beyond.

Yet what awaited us was not a promised land -

Nor was it a life based on the merit we had earned.

I wish...I wish I was a monster
So I could be kind
And break the stereotypes.

I wish I was colored
So I could respect people
And break the stereotypes.

I wish I was a man
So I could be kind to women
And break the stereotypes.

I wish I had male friends
So we could all be..
Just friends
And break the stereotypes.

I wish I had autism
So I could prove that autism,
Does NOT mean "dumb".
And I could break the stereotypes.

I wish I could change the world.
But sometimes, you can't break a stereotype.

Only stereotypes, can break you.

Lingerhow can i move forward,
when the fingerprints of my insecurities
are still lingering within my chest,
pressing against my ribs like piano keys?
i am just waiting, for the day,
when the saddest parts of me
are overcome with songs of serenity.

Pretty Blue PillsPretty blue pills,
shiny in my palm,
the ticket to my peace,
to my eternal calm.

They're so perfectly round,
and soon they'll be in me.
The closest to perfect
that I'll ever be.

They go down so smooth.
Five, ten, fifteen and twenty.
Soon I'll be gone.
Twenty-five and Thirty.

That should be enough,
but I'll play it safe.
Thirty-five and forty.
Now I have no more to take.

The bottle is empty,
as empty as I feel.
None of this is happening,
too good to be real.

But soon I start to drift
into a dark unknown fog.
Somewhere quite distantly.
I hear a muffled sob.

But I blow it off as fake.
Nobody could possibly care.
I doubt anyone's noticed
th

ten ways this breakup isn't meant for the movies1.
you go out for twelve eggs and come back
with half a dozen and a new girlfriend.
you hold the eggs out to me like
six dead birds is enough of a peace offering.

2.
i push the eggs out of your hand and stay
with my hand over your heart as i watch them
fall. if they do not hit the ground, this is all a dream.

3.
the eggs smash on the tile and splatter
on the cherry wood cabinets, newly installed
that cost me two paychecks.

3.
the egg whites hit your leather shoes that
you’ve worn for two months straight
because you think they make you look more sophisticated.

3.
the egg whites hit the fridge halfway up, barely touching
the moose mag

You don't just die.Do you understand?
The blade against your wrist
Doesn't just slice your skin.
It cuts through others
Hearts
Souls
And sanity.

Do you understand?
You don't just kill yourself.
You kill everyone.
Everyone dies
Everyone cries
Everyone suffers
From YOUR goodbyes.

Do you understand?
You don't just die.
You take everyone down
With you.

PhantomWhen life
or fate
or whatever it is
that puts things together
and takes them apart...
when It
amputated you,
it left me
with a phantom
limb
and you are still attached
to my body
when I dance
and make love
alone

Dear friend,You have to understand, dear
The reason to why I run.
I run away from reality
From the lungs that cannot
Take anymore smoke
From the heart that threatens to
Stop...
I run away because
I'm a coward
Because I'm afraid of life
Afraid to care or love.
I'm afraid that every time
I'm glad it blows up in my face
And that every time I smile
I shed a million more tears.
That's why I run, dear
You have to understand.
I was destined to be a fighter but
I don't want to fight anymore.
I was destined to be a warrior
But how am I supposed to win when
The war I fight is against life itself?
I know that I always blow everything up but-
I keep stepping on mines, dear...
...I keep stepping on mines...

ellipsisshe goes to sleep
clawing at her chest with pinpoint accuracy
for an emptiness she can’t describe,
but hates all the same. tomorrow

she will write a letter: “dear boy,
i always wanted to be somebody’s
flowery poem, but the verses carved in my arms
are riddled with ugly clichés. & you are why

i don’t sleep through the night. if
we were a language, i was the
subordinating conjunction, you were

the punctuation.

i remember you in staccato
conclusions, solemn absences
of goodbye”

TearsI am not afraid to cry.

I am not afraid for you to see the tears

My tears.

Don’t tell me I have no heart.

Don’t tell me I have no soul.

For without them I could not cry.

You may not see my tears but they are there.

I have learned to let myself cry for the things I’ve loved,

For the things I’ve lost.

They are silent tears, but they are mine.

So let me cry.

Let me show you I have a heart.

Let the things that touch my heart be shown through my tears.

I am not afraid to cry.

They Called Her UglyThey called her ugly
and she screamed that she was beautiful
because that is what she believed
and They screamed twice as loud
and They left a small scar on her arm that was
big and red and bright
for all to see.

They called her ugly
and she yelled that she was beautiful
because that is what she thought she was
and They yelled three times as loud
and They left a bigger scar on her other arm that was
big and red and bright
for all to see.

They called her ugly
and she said that she was beautiful
because that is what she hoped
and They just said it louder
and They left a scar on face that was
big and red and bright
for all to see.

They call

brain squealsI beat depressions in the earth
for my brain squeals and waves
that burst in my wet ears
until something makes me drown.
I will. (again) V.

Virginia,

put rocks in pockets
and walk right in --
I'll drink your overcoat
until your throat weeps
and your soaked hair
weighs you down.

I promise.

with love,
Ouse.

P.S.
brain squeals are from cold sweats
sleep well.

I am notI’m not your little boy.
You’re not my little girl.
I’m just someone you met,
And wants to change the world
I’m not the prince in your dreams
I don’t have smarts or might
I’m just the one that screams
And cries to sleep at night
I’m not who you want me to be.
I will never be what you are.
I’m myself, I am free.
I’m not ashamed of my scars
I’m not that weak
You’re not that strong
You still have company
But I’m still alone
So I speak
Though this poem.
It’s not a pretty love song
I’m just saying what pains me, explaining what’s going on.
Because I am not perfect,
I’m not retarded,
I’m just like you,
Broken Hearted
Never forget,
There is always a reason to be
And I won’t regret
I’m always happy to be me.

combatantI.
it strikes me
that this woman
could be a palace.

I marvel at
the opulent dome of
her brow, her arch
expression—

skin like a courtyard of
ivory tiles,
a thousand intersecting
golden lines about her
head and neck.

she beams from atop her
sunlit tower,
beatific and beautiful,

spreads her arms like
open doors,
invites you to be one of

the many
who have wandered her
lavish halls.

II.
I’ve often thought
of myself
as a castle:

all rough-hewn stone
and turrets,
a temper like molten
tar.

my head is crowned
with
embattled parapets,

weapons readied
at the crenels.

I look out from my
guerites, my brattices,
eyes like arrow-slits

Second ShadowThe hand on your shoulder
The whispers in your mind
The words on your tongue
The voice in your throat
And the feelings in your soul

To drive to madness
To seduce the insane
To draw the blood
And dull the senses
To plague the memories
Of damage done
To fake safe haven
As the character changes

Light the anger and fuel the rage
Another mind to feed
A second shadow
To take you into eternity

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More from *VPofFantasyland

The kid with the baggage"My suitcase is open, what will you add?"
" Nothing, I'll help you to carry it instead."
You smiled as you tried to convince me it's true,
You know what the problem is? They said it too.

They turned over the suitcase, emptied on the floor.
It made me feel lighter. Then they reached for the door.
But before they left, they turned around,
To put back all the garbage they found on the ground.

I tried to stop them, to close up in time.
But they knew how to open that suitcase of mine.
Now I'm on my journey. Mess keeps spilling out.
'The suitcase stays closed' is the last thing I vowed.

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Submitted: March 16, 2012
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by *VPofFantasyland, Mar 16, 2012, 4:14:23 AM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

Wandering on the streets tonight,
People hiding from the lights.
A scratch, it burns, claws so deep.
The truth is out there can't you see?

One step further in the dark,
You will always wear these marks.
You gasp, a shock, straight to the bone.
Oh please don't!
Leave me alone.

There is no hideout, no safe room,
So I wish, please take me home...

Homeby *VPofFantasyland

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

Audio available [link]

It's sad, but sometimes that's what life's about.
I tried to capture the threatening feeling of being an outsider and feeling down.

Critique by ~ramekinkin Apr 3, 2012, 11:42:00 PM

a really eerie, yet great poem. its short, but it really brings about emotion and how the reality of the outside world will always make one wish for the comfort of home.
the rhythm is pretty consistent--its nice that you kept the syllables for each line at a pretty strict 7/8 meter--it makes the words flow. the only part that differs from this set time is the 4th and 5th lines of the 2nd stanza, but it worked perfectly because they complete the regular 7 syllables when said together--separating them into 2 lines though makes it more dramatic.
*the only thing i would suggest is that you keep the 2nd lines of each stanza consistent by using a capital letter at the start.

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Critique by ~BabyPearlie Mar 29, 2012, 7:16:19 AM

Critiquing for :iconGoldenCritiqueClub:

Ahhhh... I love me some poems. I find that after I read a poem, I start talking in a rhythmic way for a while

Anyways, great poem! I love it when a poem isn't just something clever, but has a a story that goes with it. It was a bit of a creepy poem, and you caught that emotion very well. The picture you chose goes very well with the poem too.

Now for critique.. Maybe I'm just an idiot who can't figure stuff out, but I didn't quite understand the third and fourth lines of the first stanza. So much of the poem is telling what's happening, so third and fourth lines don't quite match up with the rest of the poem.

Other than that

It's a super duper great poem! Keep writing!

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~slowlysailing Jun 19, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

^{The simplicity of this is what works and makes it really effective. It gets to the point and drives and emotion home that we have all felt and is very relatable. I really like the way you constructed this piece and I don't think I have any corrections for you. Well done!}

*VPofFantasyland Jun 19, 2012

Thank you for the kind words

~slowlysailing Jun 19, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

^{you're very welcome}

*VPofFantasyland Jun 19, 2012

Did you read my other poems as well?
And if you didn't, would you mind to read some more and critic them?
Because you seem to know what you talk about and I want to know how I can improve my writings

~slowlysailing Jun 19, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

^{haha, i have not but I would not mind reading them. however, i'm a little busy at the moment so do you think you could note me or comment me with some links to the pieces you want me to read. thank you}