your own poetry
 

I seen many threads about poetry, but none on sharing your own poetry. So if I am wrong and there was already a thread on poetry, I'm sorry I'm still new at this.

This is for expressing yourself, please don't hold any poems back for fear of being ridiculed or sharing too much.

Now keep in mind my first poem was from when I was a lot younger and after all my hair had fallen out because of chemotherapy

Hair

My hair is gone,
it all fell out.
"I miss it I miss it"
is what I shout
My hair doesn't like me,
it all ran away.
Now its growing back
it BETTER STAY!!


Growing

Others gave up,
but no, not she
And there she stands
for all to see.
She's had her share
of troubles and woes.
But she made it threw
and still she grows.


Tears

Tears are falling like a rainy day, I can not stop
for I'm releasing my pain.
Leave me alone, please go away,
I need your help but you can not stay.
I'm bringing you down with my pain,
leaning on you, pushing you away.
Why wont you leave, you've suffered enough?
I need to stand on my own,
even though it is tough.

Those were my first poems!!
Now it is your turn.

I don't do much poetry, per se...

Instead, I present "Lyrics by P.o.A"

Poetry in a sense, yes?

Verse 1
You were born into a generation,
Bred in procrastination,
Can you see the connotations?

Can you hear it? Can you feel it?

Taken from us what was ours,
Before the card was even charged,
Expectations have been enlarged.

We can't meet them. We won't heed them.

Our way of life has been bombarded,
Our right to win has been discarded,
Our feeding fire has been retarded.

Give it back. We'll take it back.

It's a war, they're on the winning side,
We can't run and we can't hide,
All our outs have been denied.

We can fight it. We can beat it.

Bridge
You ask me about my mom,
You ask me about my dad,
These are the role models that I have.

Out on the street,
Stuck on the pipe,
And you look down upon my life?

Chorus
We are bred of the disadvantaged youth.

What does that say about us?

Verse 2
They ask us to justify,
The morals that we live by,
While they themselves cannot deny,

They birthed us. They raised us.


They look down on our claims,
Yet they gave us all our names,
Forced us to play their games.

??????

We're expected to take a shot,
At the things our parents could not,
Learn the lessons we weren't taught.

?????

Now we pay for their mistakes,
We can never catch a break,
Nothing left for us to take.

We can fight it. We can beat it.

The question marks are because I'm not quite finished...

Furthermore, here's a haiku I just wrote about DaniGirl:

Puts down the sweet juice,
Like a fish in the water,
...We will pass tonight

I love haiku poems...

Awww, I feel special now!!!!!

---------- Post added at 02:04 AM ---------- Previous post was at 01:30 AM ----------

Ok some of my Emo poems

Broken Child

The broken body of a beaten child.
The mother says nothing, the doctors don't care.
The Child is gone no feeling of pain,
some people would say this is not fare,
this is insane.
The neighbors all watch and do nothing at all.
As the father doesn't stop, as the child falls.
The crime is clear for everyone to see,
the child is dead the parents flee.
Who is to blame the father or mother?
they sit in court and blame eachother.
They both are in jail, the papers are filed
the charge is for the Broken Child.

---------- Post added at 02:53 AM ---------- Previous post was at 02:04 AM ----------

Unwanted

Unwanted,
mistreated,
ripping, torn
I fall apart
My heart is
sinking, drowning
in blood.
Emotional,
lonely,
Ripping, torn
I fall apart.
Pointed, poked
touched, used,
Im nothing to
YOU


Feelings

So many feelings deep inside,
a lot of guilt
I can not hide.
The pain is enough
to tare me down,
Why cant I be tough,
like I know deep down?
Its eating at me inside to out.
I want to keep it secret
but I cant help but shout.

Sorry, got board and wanted to post more poems, an d Im a little drunk

It's Nobody's Business

It's nobody's business if I smile or cry,
it's nobody's business if I live or die.
It's nobody's business if I think of suicide,
it's nobody's business if I dig a hole and die.
I am my own person, I am me,
leave me alone, just let me be.
It's nobody's business if I smile or cry,
it's nobody's business if I live or die.

---------- Post added at 10:44 PM ---------- Previous post was at 10:42 PM ----------

Well no one else is posting poems so I decided to post another, I know really Emo. But if you lived with my crazy family you would understand.

I was asked to write a poem for a friend: a collection they are putting together called A Generation Of Cinderellas. It's called:

the ideal woman.

I am alarmed I guess
What a well-placed name
In my used dress shirt and vest
They’re being commandeered for the day
Lingered smile. Calm eyes and limbs
Paint fading on her face
Where’s the evidence of my childhood whims,
The oft-timed line: the thrill of the chase.

Grains of dust swirl round my head
The sun outgrows the trees
Those shafts and rays are blinding still
Proof that even with sun, nothing comes for free
The labour of man is met outside
Their machinery huffs and sighs
The door jam cracks as she walks through,
I casually meet her eyes

Coffee purrs and trots along
Endearing. Dependant.
Floors and shoes sing their song
I remove them to amend it.
Morning hypnosis does its waltz
“I’m staring at nothing; really”
character in chipped hand-me-down mugs
We attempt, and fail, to converse freely.

I profess I have a tale
She’s determined to chase it (down)
But even though I try my best
Without caffeine I simply sit, blink, and frown
Hands are colder then before
They drift across my own
I imagine this my eventual kingdom
This old couch, my contemporary throne.

I wonder what my parents think
I mean, they’re still young enough to grow old with me
I hardly pass by their view anymore
I consider what sort of man they see
They look beyond my dark blue sight
Which is curiously safe and swell
My mind races to years from now
Where you do the same as well

And then it hits me; I see it clear as glass
Or as much as my disease allows
I’m falling in love with the idea of you
Caused by misfiring chemicals and a nights worth of spirited vows
I’m not in love with you at all
And yet I sing a grifter’s tune
Not aware a mask is there
a promise to see you soon.

still I spend my days and nights
Wondering why I’m so misplaced
Pining for this ideal woman
who, eventually, furthers my distaste
When it’s gone, I start to slip
A life of lost and found
All this needless circling the strip
Destined to never touch the ground.

[i'm only half as terrible a person as this. I think.]

enjoy,
taylor.

I enjoyed that. :)


Okay, I'll play. Wrote this a year or so ago. I am by no means a poet, though...

**
tie me down
I'm feeling violent
wanna bite
and scratch
and fuck
and scream
later, you can love me
with tender kisses,
gentle shivers
but now, I'm feeling violent
so tie me down.
**

Great poem, thanks for sharing!!

A new one from the same collection:

At The Ballet

It’s a sin we all commit
Makes a communist of me
And from my stories I omit
This sad and youthful spree

This car is smaller then before
Artistry bred of hands and heat
Our ballet turns into a war
Our bunkers, these dusty bucket seats

And yet without opposition
We still fight for our lives
War’s gone from rightful expedition
Now, a way to pass my time

What's worse is as much as I can give
I can’t seem to get enough
“20’s when you’re supposed to live”
But I’ve become a lush

Admittedly I do enjoy
In a naive way
This is just part of the dance
A need to for some ballet

When it’s over we sort of bow
Though no one claps aloud
And no one begs for signatures
Still, it’s implied I should be proud

I feel I must confess
I fear against the grain
This stage is not what I’d have guessed
Nor the lack of pain

The longer it demands devotion
The less I seem to care
Simply going through the motions
The footwork and the flair

And although it seems this art’s my fate
Experience might make me adept
Or is it that I can’t differentiate
The performer from the steps

taylor.

I awoke to the sound of traffic
and sunshine flooding the room.
The door was wide open beside the bed,
and I knew it was you who had left it
that way—the cats were off the hook.

I know you think the fresh air and sunshine
is only good for me, but I don't think I could
have done the same to you: leaving an open door,
letting the world in on you as you slept.

Maybe that's the problem. Am I shutting you away?
I should be bringing you to see the world, but our world
is shrink-wrapped into this tiny apartment—stale dated.
I've become oblivious to dates, and the sunlight is passing us by.

I don't want it to be too late for you to see what there is
to see in this life.

I want to open the door while you dream, as you do to me.

[A spontaneous poem based on the recollection of a sensation upon waking on a recent morning.]