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Hello, my name is Anna,
or "Blue" if you please.
I am a poet and so is,
Zach, Corbin, Harrison, and Kenji.
We have a passion,
a will to write,
and I don't think you have the right to stop us.
You say that we were just kids who searched for misery,
and you say that boys aren't fit to write poetry.
But those four men I just introduced,
are in my eyes so much stronger than you.
Yes I am a girl,
so call me a hypocrite,
but I'm finding it ironic,
that you think these men,
would have a problem with you.
Maybe you're the little boy inside,
look we get it, wont you just apologize?
Do you know how much effort,
that they put into their work?
I promise you,
that to me they're lifesavers,
They're believers, they're creators,
and all around life changers.
They take me away from this reality,
and pull me into their wonderful poetry.
I can't help but fall in love with their words on the paper,
losing myself in their iambic pentameter.
No matter what words you use or say,
you will never take that beauty away.
You say because they write they are not strong,
I have one thing to say to that, you're wrong.
They're proud of who they are, of what they write,
and they grace me with all of their brilliant insights.
So say what you say, but I've got some words of advice,
real men? They know how to write.

© 2012
Woo....I finally finished.

Here is my rant-like slam poem...

I was angry at how people say that boys shouldn't write poetry and how it's for depressed/angsty people who are downright sissies.

I hope you 4 that I mentioned don't mind that I used my names....you were just the 4 people I thought of. ^^It also just made the poem even more personal...:)

I hope I got the right message across.


(I know I don't always put this under my works but...please don't take them without my permission...^^)
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It was a warm summer night when I found her.
Her dress was white with yellow sunflowers,
and her auburn hair was spread out around her pale face.

It looked like an ever changing halo
moving gently in a soft breeze.

She had lost a shoe

Like Cinderella

Her deep, blue eyes stared into heaven
and the freckles of her skin drew constellations
against the pale background to mirror the stars above.

Fish gently nibbled at her fingers and nestled in her hair
paying no heed to her ruby lips which her last breath had left open
almost like an invitation.

I looked at her
fascinated

I loved her...

Thinking it was the least I could do
now that she had been so carelessly abandoned.
Forgotten
It was my duty to remember her.

I took the memory of her and stuffed it away
for safe keeping
The rest was just a shell
now empty and soon decayed.

Then I left
leaving only the pond behind to swallow its secrets.
A small poem that came to be last night, out of nowhere, after having been drinking way too many energy drinks. My mind went down a slightly macabre road, and I just followed and took notes! Comments, critique and criticism is always welcomed :D
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Carl: Oh…hey…How did he get here?

Paul: Caaaarl, what did you do?!

Carl: Me? Uh, I didn't do this!

Paul: Explain what happened, Carl!

Carl: I've never seen him before in my life!

Paul: Why did you kill this person, Carl?

Carl: I do not kill people. That is…that is my least favorite thing to do.

Paul: Tell me, Carl, exactly what you were doing before I came home.

Carl: Alright, well…I was upstairs…

Paul: Okay…

Carl: I was uh…I was sitting in my room…

Paul: Yes?

Carl: reading a book…

Paul: Go on…

Carl: And, uh, well this guy walked in…

Paul: Okay…

Carl: So, I went up to him…

Paul: Yes…

Carl: And I…I stabbed him 37 times in the chest.

(Silence.)

Paul: Caaaaaaaaaaaaarl, that KILLS people!

Carl: Oh! Well, I didn't know that!!

Paul: How could you not know that?!

Carl: Yeah, I'm in the wrong here. I SUCK.

(silence)
Paul: What happened to his hands?

Carl: What's that?

Paul: His hands. Why—why are they missing?

Carl: Well, I kind of umm…cooked them up. And ate them.

(silence)
Paul: Caaaaaaaaaarl!!

Carl: Well, I—I was hungry. And well, you know, when you crave hands…

Paul: Why on earth would you do that?!

Carl: I was hungry for hands! Gimme a break!

Paul: Caaaaaarl!

Carl: My stomach was making the rumblies.

Paul: Caarl!

Carl: That only hands would satisfy!

Paul: What is wrong with you, Carl?!

Carl: Well, I kill people and I eat hands! That's—that's two things!
llamas with hats is not mine. it is Filmcow's awesomeness. ^^
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She is always weirded out by spiders. They run too damn fast. 
Their legs are spindly and black and pointy. Just something so wrong about that.
There shouldn't be anything in this world that exists small, that would be horrific if made large.

He loves bugs. All kinds of bugs. Big, small, green, black. Crunchy ones are best. The ones
that when stepped on make a nice cracking sound and spew guts. 
That's what he loves.

She cannot sleep. Not much. Not easily. 
She sees arms reaching toward her in the dark. Always in that stage
right before she falls asleep. The bridge to sleep is blocked by
spider arms.

He sleeps like a log, especially after a kill. Always after a kill. The warmer the blood, 
the slower the death, the more pitiful the cries for mercy, the better the sleep.
It never ceases to amaze him. 
The power of murder.

The smell of autumn comforts her. The cool breeze soothes as the curtains flow outward.
The full moon shines in and she cannot see spiders in the moonbeams. She smiles, 
and sleep comes.

He spots the opened window and looks in. He sees her sleeping on the bed. 
Radiant, welcoming.
He smiles. He knows he will sleep like the dead come morning.
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On Sunday afternoon,
after exiting the church,
you plucked the sun from the sky
and hid it in your palms
so that when I held your hands
they would no longer be cold.

When Monday night arrived
you snatched every single star
and used my tears to make
a necklace.

Tuesday's empty dawn shone
through the cracks of the door--
you stole the promise of what
could never be
and draped it around my shoulders.

After Wednesday's twilight passed,
you grabbed the clouds
and wove a tapestry of lies
that I hung on the walls
of my prison.

Thursday crept through us
on silent tiptoes,
waiting for us to take notice--
instead, we merely waited
for midnight to come.

The dusk of Friday waned
while you stripped it of its sorrows
and sewed them into my skin.

When Saturday came
you tried to steal the moon;
I watched as you stood on your tombstone
and stretched to reach it.
You fell, then--
fell, broke your neck,
and landed six feet under.

I couldn't cry afterwards,
for you had taken my agony
and washed it out to sea.

Rather, I stuck around
as Sunday loomed
to watch your trinkets
return themselves to the lives
they'd lived before.

I guess you were right:
it was only borrowing after all.
This is whatever you make it out to be. 
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it would take me
4,498,560 steps
to walk from my
front door
to yours,

according to google maps,
it would take me about
558 hours,

and while that's still longer
than i would like to go
without seeing you,
it a much more appealing
number than
the 3,157 that we
have to wait through
as it stands.

-

i've never enjoyed math,
i've never enjoyed missing you.

putting the two together
adds up to what is probably
the single most unpleasant thing
that i can think of.
shut up
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I've been in a good head space my mind has been free
Recently nothing's been bothering me
The problem with this is I had nothing to write
The blissful acceptance blocked my sight
The tables are turning things are troubling me now
The flow gets easier, it's freeing some how
I don't like this cycle the pain let's me speak
Silenced when I'm happy, frustrated when I'm weak
.
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When I was young I made a friend.
She was kind of quiet-
a loner, like me.
She wore a long cloak of stars and melodies
that would wrap around us both when she got close.


As we got older
we became closer-
until she was all I could see.


She gave me words of comfort,
whispered when no one was around.
And I would hold her close,
Keeping her curled up inside.


Even when she was mean,
I would forgive her.
If she made me cry,
I would hold her closer.


We are never apart for very long,
though the people around us would try
and rip us from each other’s grasp.
She would simply disappear
for hours or days or months.
And soon she would sneak in my bedroom
with her cloak of starlight and music
and hold me in a lovers’ embrace.
This just... sort of happened.
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Tumbling through the sky toward a summit uncertain

My nights are alight with a flourishing flicker

That burns in my bones with an ache I can't hide

Desire that damns me down to ashes unsigned

And it can't be right, but it can't be wrong

So I twirl on the tips of my toes like I'm told

While casting my head back to scream at the cold

Spinning faster and swifter with each star that descends

Defying the wheels of roulette that forget

That I always win out in the end.
Music: www.youtube.com/watch?v=PTGVnI…

This is my horrendously overdue assignment for angelenroute's MyWritingClass. The prompt was to write a ten-line poem about the way my life is right now, and true to my style when writing shorter pieces, I decided to write a single stanza with each line separated by a single space. Why the heck did this take so long, you ask? I've been through a lot lately, good and bad...let's leave it at that for now.

Other upcoming poetic projects:

- "The Dove and the Dragon", a sprawling poem expected to be pretty much my best one yet.
- "Lovely", a shorter poem but not too short.
- Some kind of poem reflecting on an observation Miamelly made about me.
- A collaborative piece with GalliumGrant.
- "Pulse", a collaborative piece with oceanserenity.
- A piece for Zevais because he won the contest for a free poem on the shoutbox of my page. By the way, Zevais, what exactly would you like me to write about for you~?
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and i wonder what it feels like to be


alive.
-I don't know.
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