OUR ORIGINAL POETRY: Share It Here

a lost cause

she is barely breathing

fighting for breath

trying to survive

in a haunted world

now the darkness captures her

plays with its newly found prey

enjoying his victory

in her always losing battle

a war that cannot be won

because you are deceiving, undressing

unraveling the corners of her mind

making her cry

finding it thrilling

exhilarating

fun

you frame her innocence on the wall

lasting painful memories she wants to erase

so she bled to drain the poison

but he's still inside

no amount of blood can purify her

no amount of tears can cleanse her

spilled ink won't save her

no one and nothing can ever wash away who she is

your possession

The sun is shining

I can feel the wind on my face, drink in my hand.

But there there she was in a distance; like a diamond big, shiny and bright.

Red hair and eyes as dark as night.

But I ignore the beautiful monster

And I look, the sun is shining

Drink in my hand I get knowing I can walk away from self harm and the others that lurk in the shadows.

A poem I wrote many years ago...

I hate the tears, the pain, the evil laughter, those games. That smile, the struggle, the "I love you's" and the lies whispered late at night. I hate when you build me up high and let me down hard. I hate the way you almost cared, the way I wanted you to love me. I hate the way you wanted me dead, the way you actually loved me. I hate the way I miss it, I miss you. I hate the way I want to hate you but can't. I hate myself for loving you. I hate myself for being so easily manipulated, so easily played, so trusting of someone that I shouldn't have trusted. I hate the way that I dont hate you at all, not even a little bit. I hate myself every day, but I still love you. Why do I love you so much? Why, why, why do I love you?

school bathrooms

The tiles are dull blue,

a color I imagine was once

the sky but is now my grandfather's

disappointed catalysts following

me as I struggle to breathe.

My own eyes are

the most disappointed. There

is nobody more cynical than

the letdown who once had hope.

I do not have time to be disappointed.

Deadlines barrage me like Israeli

airstrikes on Palestine, millions

of people huddled underneath their

desks in hope that the fragile wood

will save them from destruction.

I am causing my own

destruction by not handing the

work I cannot do;

Palestine is causing their own

by not handing over the land they

no longer have.

"It is never the victim's fault," preaches

my anti-rape campaign, but why

do I scream and pull at my hair and cry?

Why do I hide in my closet when I

find that just existing is too hard?

It is not the victim's fault. I am a victim

of a defective healthcare system.

I will never slit open my wrist, because

I do not want to attract attention

to the sea in which I may drown;

simply falling overboard and praying

that I die is enough.

But I never die. So I face

pale blue tiles, reminiscent of

my late grandfather's catalysts.

Note: This poem is for all the people at my school who've given me degrading looks because I read for fun.

Without further ado...

The Benefits of Reading

-Caitlin Victoria

The kids at school were quite confused

to why that little girl would choose

to read and read the recess through

and read behind her textbooks too.

They ask, Why dont you come and play?

The weathers nice and bright today!

But she would relocate somewhere

Where no one would disturb her there.

Some years had passed, she was a teen

the smartest that the grade had seen,

but all those other lazy louts

had failed because they messed about.

She was the envy of the class

and of the grade and of the mass

of halfwit people here and there,

there was no doubt, it was unfair

Of later on, she got a job

unlike those lazy, foolish fobs-

that didnt bother to be smart

Who said readings not an art?

The moral of the story is

that not reading is quite a risk

So dont be scared of what they say

Youll see, one day they all will pay.

Note: This is a very existential piece. This might trigger you if you are prone to existential crises. You have been warned...

Noteworthy

-Caitlin Victoria

The wind is rushing, everlasting, timeless in infinity

Time is flying, minds are breaking, soon well be just memories

I want to be here evermore, my essence in your melodies,

to have my name engraved in stone, immortal as the vivid seas

Who would want to be forgotten? Who would want a final death?

I want to run and jump and fly when others struggle for a breath.

Only silence hears my plea,

never disturb reality

And Ill be gone and I will be

lost in its fragility

What do you do when your lifes an empty inkwell of invisible ink?

To swirl your brush on non-existent parchment, what will the ones centuries from now think?

How can we live with our souls just hanging like a dying leaf on an autumn tree?

And how can we cope with the fact that only the great or abhorrent are noteworthy?

What do you do when all faith is dying and really, youre glad to see it go

When truth is only apparent in lies, in deception is where the greatest love grows

How can we live with our spirits caged, only death or drugs to set them free

And how can I make my mark on this world if nobody really is noteworthy?

Glass oh glass in my mirror, as thin as a board but it reflects what the eyes are blinde to see. A reflection of yourself can only be seen what your eyes behold of its image. Glass oh glass in my mirror why do you show me what I dislike to see. I stare at the mirror with eyes wide open waiting for a change to pull you out from this attraction to my flaws. In olluision of my mind grows deeper and spreads among the glass, chipping it piece by piece. Is it me inside that glass or is it me standing in front of this mirror, trying to see what's hard for me to see

Predator

An invisible assassin

Taking away my friends one by one

Unbeatable

Undefeatable

I almost wish it was just that movie alien

But it's too familiar

It's part of me

It comes from me

Never leaving

Always watching

Waiting for me to falter

My mind is both the predator and the prey.

(Sorry if that was terrible)

Late night writing...

a love undefined

wounded soul
rationed breath
embedded memories

a child accused, a fearless survivor

death to rebirth
reawakened from harsh winters
rising up from the ashes

shining a light
of innocence and purity
he cannot steal my radiance

i am a living dichotomy
a work in progress
and i will keep my story going

this is my poem :) If it is terrible please notify me :D I wait your comments...

Special Gift

Despite all bad things

Still opening flowers..

To cancel own life among concretes..

Unlike own responsibilities, to run

Through your invisible winds..

Use your limitless imagine world..

There was a great stone,

There was a great gift for you,

Which waits you

As well as your lover...

Our whole minutes try to attempt

To win every game

Whatever you demand

Whenever you select..

In heart of the stone, you will

Well will want you...

To give a special gift for you...

Somewhere, it comes ..

Our new irremedible today..