Poetry Anothology Project

I.

White Knuckles

My pride- a fire

Roaring in my stomach and climbing up my chest

Refusing to go unnoticed

Refusing to sit in the sidelines

And not interfere

My pride leaves me crying in the bathroom

Typing out the same story over and over again

Until I’m the only one left

With no option to escape

My grip on it tightens

“I want to go home”

Because home is safe

And home is familiar

But home can’t free me from my own mind

Or my petty grudges

Or every trait that further isolates me

Until I’m completely alone

I want to let go

Why can’t I let go?

Knuckles white

My grip on it tightens

II.

By a Girl Who is Sick of Being Stepped On

School systems

They bleed copper pennies

Cry silken tears

But their faces host no stains

Their tin foil minds 

Feed insincere advice

Empty promises, and plastic sympathy

To the chapped lips of their tin foil mouths

And they think they're smart

But they're so blissfully unaware 

Of the hurt and the crushing bias

that they must be schemingly hyper-aware

Of the pain they cause the children

They "protect" under their roofs

When ten years of harassment is dealt with

Threat Of Suspension

Do they not see what they're doing

When they're sweet talked and lied to

And turned against the little girl

Who has no place in her world?

You say: "special snowflake"

I say: "They hurt me

But You Broke Me"

III.

Bad Poem About Bad Poems

And as I sit here

writing bad poems

I know

that you are

the sun

the moon

the clouds

and all of the stars

in my sky

And in my gut

I can feel

the chaotic calm

settling 

as I realize

that even now

I would take a bullet for you

even though

I know

that you’re the one holding the gun

IV.

Consumed

I can’t handle you

When I think of you, look at you

I’m consumed

I’m a cup of water and you’re the meniscus

Sitting at the rim of the glass

Almost spilling  over

But not quite

I almost sleep

But I never do

I hear your voice in my dreams

Your smile is burned to the inside of my eyelids

Your laugh is embedded in my soul

And when I go

I’ll tell the gods to carve our names in the stars

So our love never truly dies

V.

Black and White 

A single white rose

Sitting in the dark room on 

The cold winter’s night.

Like a breath on frosty glass

Obstructing your view

Then disappearing, my love

Is but a fleeting moment

VI.

Untitled

She was the wind

She tugged on my heart and flew me over the top of the world

And then

She stopped

She left, and she dropped me into the ocean

So I sank

Deeper

Deeper

Deeper

Suffocating

And here I am

Still sinking

Deeper

Deeper

Deeper

But I am learning to swim

I am learning to fight back

To reach the surface

Because she may be the wind 

But I am the stars

And I will survive this

I will

VII. 

Hiking

A clear mountain stream

Carving through the rocks

And rushing, fast-paced

I breathe in the fresh, thin air

Dizzy from high altitude 

The sky is filled with white noise

Dandelion seeds

Blow past in the wind

Inhaling, I sneeze

VIII.

Power Outage

Flickering candles

Reflecting the snow outside

Can’t warm my cold hands

IX.

Freckles

Your

Freckles

All scattered

Reminded me 

Of a game; I want to connect the dots.

But this is not a game, your face is stern

As you start to

Back up and

Walk from

Me

X.

"Pride"

____________________________________________________________________

Poetry contests I entered:

http://www.poetryinstituteofcanada.ca Open Ages Poetry Contest

http://poetry.com/ Daily contests

http://www.poetrynation.com National Amateur Poetry Competition

Evidence:

Poems submitted:

White Knuckles

By a Girl Who is Sick of Being Stepped On

Black and White

Hiking

Freckles

Poem Formats:

White Knuckles- free verse

By a Girl Who is Sick of Being Stepped On- free verse

Bad Poem About Bad Poems- free verse

Consumed- free verse

Black and White- tanka 

Untitled- free verse

Hiking- extended haiku

Power Outage- haiku

Freckles- double tetractys 

"Pride"- concrete

two weeks

“Well, what happened? I want all the details!”

“Okay... The three of us were supposed to meet at a cafe before the movie, but I was a little late. When I arrived, they were sitting with their heads close, talking practically in whispers. I walked up to them, and they stopped talking. He looked at me and proudly announced: ‘Hey before you came in she said that she loves you.’”

“Oh, damn.”

“Yeah, I just brushed it off. I didn’t want to make things weird. Anyway, she was acting stressed out the whole night. She was jumpy and peeved and I tried to get her to talk to me a couple of times, but she wouldn’t budge.
I felt so helpless, watching her act so upset the whole night. Even at that party that we went to, she was really quiet and jittery. She’s insanely pissed off at him, too. At one point she dragged him off to another room and they didn’t come back for, like, ten minutes. Afterwards, he kept apologizing and she kept brushing his apologies off. She was trying to act nonchalant, but her anxiety was radiating off of her in waves.”

“He’s such an asshole.”

“I know, what a dick! We all eventually went our separate ways, but she and I texted when we got home. She kept apologizing for acting so on edge, and at one point she asked me if I knew what was going on.
‘It’s pretty obvious,’ she said.
‘Yeah, it is.’ I responded.
‘Oh,’”

“Oh.”

“Exactly. I told her not to say it.”

“How long have you been dating?”

“Around two weeks.”

“Girl.”

“I know! Okay? You don’t need to tell me. But I’ve never felt so strongly for someone. Neither of us is going to say it. She said that she’s saving it, and I think I am too.”

“You are? It’s been two weeks!”

“I know! It’s been two weeks, and I think I’m in love with her.”

his closet

His closet is a mess. It is evident that his clothes, previously strewn around his room, have been hastily shoved into the closet. The clothes hear him apologising to his guests for the mess in his room, almost as though he’s forgotten that he momentarily tucked it away from the eyes of his company.

His closet is big. That’s a perk of living in the suburbs; he could practically live in it. Still, he can never find anything in there. All his black clothes blend into a big pile of nothing, and he wonders if he’s staring at a black hole, his clothes lost in it. In search of That One Shirt, he tears the pile apart, and again his clothes are thrown around the room. He doesn’t find the shirt, and his clothes are left on the floor, only to be inevitably shoved back into the closet after six hours, seven hours, seven days.

His closet is a metaphor. A cycle of mess, constantly moving from behind to in front of the mirror door. Rinse and repeat. He stares into his own eyes and sees hopelessness. He never gets a break from his own mind; a cycle of unproductivity.   

almost enough

what is a hero?

hero/heroine

1. a person admired for bravery, great deeds, and noble qualities
2. the most important person in a story, play, or poem
3. in Greek legend, a person of more than human qualities

1. almost admired

the conch in his hand

cannot compare

to the boar

on the stake

2. Almost important

the ship passes by

fire unnoticed

unattended

the children play on

3. almost a demigod

his golden hair

a golden crown

he's not enough

anymore

the island is green

he hunts

sort of

he searches and chases

but the pigs' blood remains unshed

the island is green

between the high sea

and the high C#

the island is barren

with not a single teacher to praise him

nor a parent to love him

he dreams

he hopes to sink his knife into a pig

or two pigs or three

dilute the blood within the water

run the island red

but what does a high C# matter

when no one around cares?

his talents forgotten

the conch just out of his reach

the island remains green

and

i needed an escape; I went out, went somewhere

anywhere because i needed to leave and

what now?

i walked and walked until i stopped

and sat down with my bum on my heels and looked

until i could feel particles

buzzing in my feet from the cut off circulation but i still looked until

the light of the stars was burned into my eyelids

i closed my eyes and got up off the ground and

stomped the blood back into my feet but when i turned to go back

there she was

illuminated by the streetlight and i

was frozen

captivated by her beauty

and i was standing in the middle of the road like an idiot

but my legs were suddenly wires

not firm wires they were thin and breakable and i was sure i had

collapsed but then i was walking toward her and i gave her a

hand and we were walking

hand in hand

alongside the sleeping cars and empty shop windows

and there was a silence between us but

not really a silence more like a language

only we understood and we were

both barefooted and i felt

my heart

skip a beat

every time i looked at her and

every time she looked at me

i knew

we were both boundlessly happy and

i knew

that we would be okay

by the time time ran out for us