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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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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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Where once I was cunning, now I am wise.
Where once I was fragile, now I am strong.
Where once I was selfish, now I am selfless.
Where once I was aimless, now I have purpose.
Where once I was a killer, now I am a guardian.
I am a serpent all the same, but where once I was a snake...
Now I am a dragon.
This was a spur-of-the-moment thing I came up with and thought "It's fantastic, and it will be my first non-rhyme poem posted online as well!" To be honest, this has more to do with me and how I have changed in the past year than you would think. The fragile to strong thing is more literal than you would think. I was never very strong, both physically and mentally, but now I am more solid physically (I mean that quite literally, based one what my friend said after tackling me yesterday), and I have realized that I can match more strength than one might think, despite still not having a lot of muscle. As for the cunning and wisdom, I used to do things behind my parents' backs, but although I still do that now sometimes, I also do what they tell me to when it is the most convenient for everyone and not just myself. I have also learned to think through things better. I have stopped being so selfish and have learned how to be selfless. I was once like a snake, but now, I am like a dragon. Please, leave a comment detailing your thoughts on the poem. Any comments are appreciated.
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Fear consumed me. My body froze, every particle of blood solidifying into ice. It was as if every bit of oxygen had been torn away from me and I was left with nothing but empty lungs. Goose bumps rose on my skin, which was covered by nothing but an old, unfitted, dirty ragged dress. I couldn't feel the pain that had throbbed from the graze on my knee any more; nor could I feel the blood trickle down my leg. All I could sense was the bitterly cold air, and how the frozen moisture reached out its long icy fingers to kiss my bare skin. Sweat broke out on my forehead, immediately turning into beads of ice. The frost on the trees glinted in what little sunlight broke through the canopy of leaves. I would have thought the scenery was the most breath-taking sight - if it wasn't for the figure that was the root of the threads of fear that pierced and sowed through the core of my body. I heard the satisfied growl from behind me, but I stood motionless, unable to move. I heard footsteps behind me and a small menacing laugh, but it was as if my feet were glued to the ground with terror.

"Hello, little girl." said a gravelly voice. I felt it's hot breath on my neck, and whatever it was reached for my hair and twisted it playfully. I winced and stepped away, but I felt a vice-like grip wrap around my hand. Now I looked at it.

It was the first time I had glimpsed the creature, and what I saw took my breath away. A tall handsome man was standing in front of me. His black hair had been swept to the side, and he wore a cruel smile on his face. His eyes were the palest shade of blue, casting a deathlike look about him; his skin didn't lessen the chilling effect. Ashen; white as a billowing blizzard; a walking-dead shade. His eyes glinted with evil, and he ran a finger from his free hand down my cheek. I wriggled, trying to get away, but his fingers tightened in an even stronger and more painful grasp.

"Now, now, there's no need for that." he crooned. He stepped towards me so that we were barely an inch apart, and he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. I cringed and he laughed again.

"What do you want with me?" My voice was as small and weak as a bullied year seven's, and my breathing quickened as he leaned towards me. I turned my face away, but he grasped it, forcing me to look into his ghostly eyes.

I saw images in them, scenes from the creature's past. There were screaming girls and boys, whole towns of people running in fright. And then the cold, pale face of a drained body; a face I recognized as if it was my own.

"What have you done to my sister?" I cried, suddenly shaking. But this time I wasn't shaking with fear - it was anger.

"Only what I intend to do to you." The creature grinned maliciously and he lifted up my hand which he still held in his own. He began to twist my arm until the point where the pain was unbearable. I screamed for him to stop, but he fed on my tortured yells.

Tears ran like waterfalls down my cheeks, and I pleaded, "Please ... Please stop!" He bent my arm further, a cruel and manic expression on his face. I screamed as the cracking sound, not unlike that of a snapping carrot, echoed around the entire forest. He finally let me go, and I fell to my knees, clutching my searing arm.

"Look at you," he mocked. "Aw, is the wittle baby hurt?" He laughed again, kicking me in the stomach. I didn't have it in me to scream any more. I laid there, curled up in the foetal position, as if I really was a baby once more. I felt the tears tracing hot paths down my cheeks and dripping off the end of my nose. He knelt beside me and leaned over me, messing with my fiery red curls again. He licked the blood from my knee and I recoiled, resulting in a sly chuckle. I felt his breath in my shoulder, and then on my cheek. he moved my hair away from my neck and whispered into my ear, "I must say, for a weedy little mongrel like you, you have the most beautiful neck."

And whilst my heart beat painfully fast and I felt my neck throbbing as the creature's lips touched my skin, I closed my eyes.

Ready to die.
I came up with this a while ago, and I had previously wrote it in a journal. I thought I'd transfer it into a deviation :aww:
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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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i was a wildflower girl,
(battle the mountain,
savor the rain.)

but
2 am, this is when i miss you most, because
i,
i am not atlas,
i cannot carry the world
on my shoulders,
in the darkness,
in my shadows,

alone

so i will just tell myself
over

and over

and over

to hang onto
hope, because i have nothing left anymore, not even

the boy who tasted my name
like sucre on his lips, not even

the boy who knew
every inch of me
in the moonlight,
when i was still alive.
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Bones crackling over skin.
Mournful optimist after a mercy killing.
The living dead scream sweet sorrow.
Idiotic Wisdom betrays an open secret.
Blood flooding the streets.
Cruel happiness makes for sweet pain.
The killer staring at the moon with yellow eyes.
This was a poem that I did in Sophomore Year for my english class. never thought it would be published in the school literary book. That feeling was so amazing.
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From dusk to dawn,
my soul...
it lingers

cold and
alone

in this desolate place
that we call
reality.

Though inhabited
by many,
these are

bleak and
forsaken grounds.

I feel that
I'm trapped
with no way out,
no escape,
no bliss
awaiting me...

Without a future,
without a purpose,

my yearning soul...
it roams
this earth;
this grave...

As the darkness
continues to
consume me...

As the numbness
feeds on
the remnants
of my sanity
a little
each day.
I think most of us have felt this way at one point in our lives...
Hope you like it. :D
 Keep your head up high and keep fighting. Heart Black Rose 
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