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    posted a quote
    April 16, 2017 2:11pm UTC
    so what's the point? you go to bed with the same thoughts of yesterday, then you wake up only to find that life hasn’t changed one bit. you are still alive, but what are you alive for?

  2. musicure musicure
    posted a quote
    April 12, 2017 7:53am UTC
    couldn't hear the thunder
    but i heard your heart race
    couldn't see the rain, we're too busy making hurricanes

  3. Mariana101 Mariana101
    posted a quote
    April 7, 2016 9:06pm UTC
    Is she naked because you love her or do you love her because shes naked?

  4. Hale_Storm18 Hale_Storm18
    posted a quote
    July 30, 2014 1:03am UTC
    when we were 12 we could sing the quadratic formula to the tune of a christmas carol, but we didn't know what to do when we didn't like asked us out.
    when we were 13 we could name exactly how and why blood gets oxygen and how it gets to our heart, but we could not explain why our hearts and breathing both stopped when we saw each other.
    when we were 14 we could describe the overarching theme of social inequalities within "to kill a mockingbird", but we did not care that our cafeteria was seperated into cool and not cool by pillar.
    when we were 15 we could write pages and pages about the way trade off the coast of India evolved and was affected by monsoon seasons, but when a storm knocked the power out for two weeks, we found ourselves with nothing to do, no way to connect.
    when we were 16 we knew every rule in calculus: exponential, power, logarithm, the product rule, the chain rule. we can list those in our head, rapid fire, but we do not have any rules for how to fall in love, how much to drink, how to pick our pieces up.
    when we were 17 we could tell you exactly how a bill becomes a law and how often venus is visible to the naked eye, and which surveys to trust, but we could not tell you how to balance a checkbook or talk to a depressed friend or fall out of love with someone or in love with someone else.
    (( public school by claire luisa ))

  5. Hale_Storm18 Hale_Storm18
    posted a quote
    August 2, 2014 1:13pm UTC
    there is a woman in china holding a
    black umbrella so she
    won't tast the salt of the rain when
    the sky begins to weep
    there is a 17 year old girl who smells
    like pomegranates and has summer air
    tight on her naked skin, wrapping
    around her scars
    like veins in a bloody garden, who
    won't make it past tomorrow
    there is a young man, who buys yellow
    flowers for the woman
    in apartment 84b, who learned braille
    when he realized she
    couldn't read his poetry about her
    white neck and mint eyes
    there are people watching films,
    making love for the first time,
    opening mail with the
    heading of 'i miss you', cooking
    noodles with
    organic spices aand red sauces, buying
    lemon detergent,
    ignoring 'do not smoke' signs,
    painting murals
    of his lips in abandoned warehouses,
    the words 'i love you' over and over
    again, swallowing
    phone numbers and forgotten
    birthdays, eating
    strawberry pies, drinking white wine
    off of each
    others open mouths, ignoring the
    reading this poem
    someone is thinking
    i'm alone
    someone finally understands
    they never really
    (( poems from my uncles graves ))

  6. Hale_Storm18 Hale_Storm18
    posted a quote
    August 10, 2014 2:06pm UTC
    It's Monday. I'm going home at 6pm and a middle aged man and a teenage boy are the only people left on the bus with me. I consider the fact that because the driver is also a man I am he only person left on the bus with the correct genetic makeup for boobs. I'm automatically scared, scared because of my own anatomy. I wonder how old I was when I realized that my own body was going to be the cause of the constant anxiety and fear I feel in situations like this. I get off at the last stop and the older man smiles at me while following me up the street. His smile drips, drips, drips and my heart is pounding, pounding, pounding. He turns off down another road, but I run the rest of the way home.
    Not all men.
    I’m at home on a Tuesday, beginning to plan the travels I want to go on next year. I dream of wandering the streets and meeting strangers. I just can’t wait to escape the city I’ve lived in for 17 long years. But… my mum is hesitant. She’s forever worried about the danger that being a young girl traveling alone can bring. I’ll be alone and she’s scared. Surely I’m invincible. I feel invincible. But I know, I know this danger is real and I can’t help but think to myself, if I feel unsafe in my own city, how am i going to feel in a strange place with strange men who don’t speak the same language as me? If I was my brother planning this, I would probably just be wondering if European girls are going to be hot.
    Not all men.
    Wednesday is a beautiful sunny day but I’ve always been told that I don’t have a “nice enough body” to wear a bikini on the beach. Ever since I was 6 years old I’ve thought that having tummy fat was ugly. That skin that doesn’t have a perfectly golden glow is undesirable. I amble to a clear patch of sand in my one piece and I can feel pairs of eyes latching onto me. Hairy men in speedos who I don’t look twice at eat into my body with their stares. I’m a piece of meat. I am a piece of meat? I am here for their amusement. Please don’t let me be eaten alive.
    Not all men.
    Thursday night two friends and I are walking to our god damn school dance when we hear “Jesus look at you! You sl.uts heading to a pole?” These words snarl out of the mouth of a respectably dressed man and we stop in horror. Shivers roll up my back in fear. It’s dark. We are alone. What. Do. We. Do??? One of us pulls the finger back. I can never be sure how quickly a sexist man can get angry so we walk quickly away. We’re angry, so so angry. But also so… deflated. I wonder if we deserve this shame.
    Not all men.
    Sitting on the internet, Friday night and scrolling through my Facebook newsfeed:
    "Haha, good job at the game today bro. You R.APED them!"
    "Damn with t.its like that, you're asking for it :P"
    Another sexist comment.
    Another sexist comment.
    Another sexist comment.
    I’m shrinking and shrinking and shrinking and I want to CRY because these boys don’t realize how small they make me feel with just pressing a few keys. I see these boys on the streets, I talk to these boys, I laugh with these boys. Dear GOD, dear GOD i hope these boys don’t think actions speak louder than words…
    Not all men.
    Three rules that have been drilled into me since I was young run through my mind at one 1:30 on a Satur...Sunday morning.
    -Don't ever talk to strange men
    -Don't ever be alone at night in a strange place
    -Don't ever get into a car with a stranger
    I break all 3 of these laws as I pull open the taxi door. Making light conversation with the driver, he doesn’t see my sweaty hand clutching the small pocket knife I keep hidden on me at all times. He doesn’t even realize the fear I feel at his mere presence. He cannot comprehend it, he never will. How easy would this 15 minute car ride be if I was born a boy?
    Not all men.
    It comes to Sunday, another snoozy, sleepy, Sunday and someone has the AUDACITY to tell me not all men are r.apists. I say nothing.
    I'm a 17 year old girl.
    When I am walking alone in the dark, it's all men.
    When I am in a car with a man I don't know well, it's all men.
    When men drunkenly leer at me in the sreets, it's all men.
    When a boy won't leave me alone a a party, it's all men.
    Not all men are r.apists. But for a young girl like me? Every one of them has the potential to be.

  7. Hale_Storm18 Hale_Storm18
    posted a quote
    January 10, 2015 11:25am UTC
    Here in America and every single state they have a set of standards for every subject, a collection of lessons that the teacher's required to teach by the end of the term. But the greatest lessons you will ever teach us will not come from your syllabus. The greatest lesssons you will ever teach us you will not even remember.
    You never told us what we weren't allowed to say. We just learned how to hold our tongues.
    Now somewhere in America there is a child holding a copy of Catcher in the Rye and there is a child holding a gun. But only one of these things have been banned by their state government and, it's not the one that can rip through flesh, it's the one that says "F You" on more pages than one.
    Because we must control what people say. how they think. And if they want to become the overseer of their own selves then we'll show them a real one.
    And somewhere in America there is a child sitting at his mother's computer reding the home page of the KKK's website and that's open to the public. But that child will never read To Kill a Mockingbird because his school has banned it for it's use of the n-word.
    Maya Angelou is prohibited because we're not allowed to talk about rápe in school. We are taught that just because something happens doesn't mean we are to talk about it.
    They build us brand new shopping malls so we'll forget where we're really standing -- on the bones of the Hispanics, on the bones of the slaves, on the bones of the Native Americans, on the bones of those who fought just to speak.
    Transcontinental railroads to Japanese internment camps. There are things missing from our history books. But we were taught that it is better to be silent than to make them uncomfortable.
    Somewhere in America private school girls search for hours through boutiques trying to find the prom dress of their dreams while kids on the south side spend hours searching through the lost and found 'cause winter's coming soon and that's the only jacket they have.
    Kids are late to class for working the midnight shift. They give awards for best attendance but not for keeping your family off the streets.
    These kids will call your music ghetto. They will tell you you don't talk right. Then they'll get in the backseat of a car with all their friends singing how they're "'bout that life" and "we can't stop".
    Somewhere in America schools are promoting self confidence while they whip out their scales and shout out your body fat percentage in class. Where the heftier girls are hiding away and the slim fit beauties can't help but giggle with pride.
    The preppy kids go thrift shopping beause they think it sounds fun. But we go 'cause that's all we've got money for 'cause mama works for the city; mama only gets paid once a month.
    Somewhere in America a girl is getting felt up by a grown man on a subway. She's still in ther school uniform and that's part of the appeal. It's hard to run in knee socks and Mary Janes and all her male teachers know it, too.
    Coaches cover up star players ráping freshmen after the dance. Women are killed for rejecting a date but God forbid I bring my girlfriend to prom.
    A girl is blackout drunk at the after party. Take a picture before her wounds waker her. How many pixels is your sanity worth?
    What's a 4.0 to a cold jury?
    What'd you learn in class today? Don't talk loud, don't speak loud, keep your hands to yourself, keep your head down. Keep your eyes on your own paper. If you don't know the answer fill in C.
    Always wear earbuds when you ride the bus alone. If you think that someone's following you pretend you're on the phone.
    A teacher never fails. Only you do.
    Every state in America.
    The greatest lessons are the ones you don't remember learning.
    Belissa Escobedo
    Rhiannon McGavin
    Zariya Allen

  8. Hale_Storm18 Hale_Storm18
    posted a quote
    March 7, 2015 3:45pm UTC
    Explaining my depression to my mother: a conversation
    Mom, my depression is a shape shifter. Ond day it is as small as a firefly in the palm of a bear. The next it's the bear. On those days I play dead until the bear leaves me alone.
    I call the bad days "the dark days". Mom says, "Try lighting candles". When I see a candle I see the flesh of a church, the flicker of a flame, the sparks of a memory younger than noon, I am standing beside her open casket. It is the moment I learn every person I ever come to know will someday die.
    Besides, mom, I'm not afraid of the dark. Perhaps that's part of the problem.
    Mom says, "I thought the problem was that you can't get out of bed." I can't. Anxiety holds me a hostage inside of my house, inside of my head.
    Mom says, "Where did anxiety come from?" Anxiety is the cousin from out of town depression felt obligated to bring to the party. Mom, I am the party only I am a party I don't want to be at.
    Mom says, "Why don't you try going to actual parties? See your friends?" Sure, I make plans. I make plans, but I don't want to go. I make plans because I should want to go, I know sometimes I would have wanted to go, it's just it's not that much fun having fun when you don't want to have fun, mom.
    You see, mom, each night insomnia sweeps me up in his arms, dips me in the kitchen in the small glow of the stovelight. Insomnia has this romantic way of making the moon feel like perfect company. Mom says, "Try counting sheep" but my mind can only count reasons to stay awake so I go for walks. But my stuttering kneecaps clank like silver spoons held in strong arms with loose wrists. They ring in my ears like clumsy church bells remind me tha tI am sleepwalking on an ocean of happiness I cannot baptize myself in.
    Mom says, "Happy is a decision". But my happiness is as hollow as a pin pricked egg. My happy is a high fever that will break.
    Mom says I am so good at making something out of nothing and then flat out asks me if I am afraid of dying.
    No! I am afraid of living!
    Mom, I am lonely! I think I learned how, when dad left, how to turn the angry into lonely, the lonely into busy. So when I tell you I've been super busy lately I mean I've been falling asleep watching SportsCenter on the couch to avoid going confronting the empty side of my bed but my depression always drags my back to my bed until my bones are the forgotten fossils of a skeleton sunken city, my mouth a boneyard of teeth broken from biting down on themselves, the hollow auditorium of my chest swoons with echoes of a heartbeat. But I am a careless tourist here. I will never truely know everwhere I have been.
    Mom still doesn't understand.
    Mom, can't you see? That neither can I.
    Sabrina Benaim

  9. Hale_Storm18 Hale_Storm18
    posted a quote
    July 14, 2015 12:12am UTC
    When the apocalypse comes, Jesus asks you to dinner. Jesus is the son of your mother’s best friend; naturally, you cannot say no. He’s five minutes late in picking you up, bites his thumb in supplication, and you want to press him against the leather seats of Jesus’ dad’s Cadillac. You’ve been on worse dates. The company’s decent, the séx phenomenal, except there is no séx and you’re left wondering why you thought there would be. This is not how you pictured the end of the world. Somewhere, a door slams. Your neighbors are filing for divorce. Jesus walks you to your door with his hand above your waist. He kisses you and time unravels, a ball of yarn torn between opposing knitting needles. Crabapples. Jesus tastes like crabapples and the final stanza of “Amazing Grace.” God calls, asks Jesus when he’ll be home. The sky is orange. At the end of your mother’s driveway, your mother’s best friend’s son’s car radio narrates the coming of the savior: This is Delilah. Avert thy mortal eyes.
    Brianna Albers, "Delilah"

  10. Hale_Storm18 Hale_Storm18
    posted a quote
    July 10, 2015 12:38am UTC
    Complete in blue or black ink. Blood will count as extra credit. Only lies told through a clenched jaw will be graded. You have until the end of Tuesday’s thunderstorm to complete.
    1. How do you bring yourself back from the dead?
    A) Swallow the heart of the last person you thought she loved.
    B) Take the yellow pill off her tongue.
    C) Douse yourself in kerosene. Give her the match.
    D) Her hands.
    2. Use 5 in a sentence to describe the destruction of her mouth:
    Euphoria / Appetite / Absolution / Gossamer / Palpitation / Wretched / Celestial / Bloodthirsty
    3. If on the 24th of November, she says your name for the first time with her teeth on your throat and you are on your 9th cigarette, how many more will you have to smoke before you can breathe again?
    Answer in the form of heartbeats per minute.
    4. True or false:
    i. The night tastes different now that you have tasted her mouth.
    ii. She has the combination to your nightmares.
    iii. A girl with eyes like those can be trusted.
    iv. Her favorite song sounds a lot like how she owns you.
    v. This is a good idea.
    vi. She wants to stop the bleeding.
    vii. She opened the wound in the first place.
    5. Complete the sentence: She said that you are-
    A) That feeling you get when summer fades to autumn and the world slows down just enough to catch a glimpse of everything that’s been promised to you.
    B) Hers.
    --“POP QUIZ POETY” by kat myers and e.m.

  11. *brianna* *brianna*
    posted a quote
    November 23, 2016 1:59am UTC
    11:59 PM
    you left a tsunami in my lungs.
    it feels as if i'm drowning every day,
    and I'm left to pick up the pieces
    of a mess you made.
    after the storm there's always a rainbow,
    but you stole that from me.
    instead, i get flowers growing
    in the darkest parts of me,
    which is more beautiful than
    any rainbow could ever compare to.
    you left a tsunami in my lungs.
    and quite frankly,
    i don't think that's a bad thing

  12. seafoam* seafoam*
    posted a quote
    September 29, 2016 8:16pm UTC
    Please leave format credit to 1986!
    I love that word. Forever. I love that forever doesn’t exist, but we have a word for it anyway, and use it all the time. It’s beautiful and doomed.

  13. Amenah Amenah
    posted a quote
    September 25, 2016 3:10pm UTC
    20 minutes ago I stopped myself from walking off a platform in front of an incoming train and 15 minutes ago I started texting my friends and 14 minutes ago I gave up on asking for their help amd 14 minutes ago I started crying alone in a train station and 8 minutes ago I started walking home and 20 minutes ago I didn't die but 6 minutes ago I realised I still wanted to.

  14. seafoam* seafoam*
    posted a quote
    September 16, 2016 4:09pm UTC

    I’m going to tell you something: thoughts are never honest. Emotions are. Do not go around asking for honesty in what people think; much of what they perceive as thinking is empty anyway because it’s thought out again and again and comes out refined and muddy. The ones who know how to feel might have to say to you a couple of interesting things or not and when they do that, you ought to know how to listen. So learn how to listen. You can’t make someone open up about their feelings in case they don’t want to. But you can remain open yourself through listening deeply and completely; they might want to talk about the weather and keep it simple — allow them to feel the simplicity…Emotion pours out directly or indirectly each time people engage themselves in the process of genuine interaction.
    —Albert Camus

  15. seafoam* seafoam*
    posted a quote
    August 27, 2016 11:10pm UTC
    You are not the only one who feels this way,
    who walks with tender steps, too afraid to be led
    down a path that will take you farther from home.
    But home is not one place, never has been.
    Home is everywhere your feet have wandered,
    every place where you have laughed or drank or slept
    or kissed. Home is in the faces of the ones you love.
    Home is the hearts beating in their chests, calling for you
    to return again. Home is wherever you claim it as your own.
    And so you are never lost, just wandering. Finding, rediscovering,
    claiming all the places you now belong. And always will.

  16. seafoam* seafoam*
    posted a quote
    August 30, 2016 9:03am UTC
    Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
    Write, for example, ‘The night is shattered
    and the blue stars shiver in the distance.’
    The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
    Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
    I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
    Through nights like this one I held her in my arms
    I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
    She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too.
    How could one not have loved her great still eyes.
    Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
    To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
    To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
    And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
    What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
    The night is shattered and she is not with me.
    This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
    My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
    My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
    My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
    The same night whitening the same trees.
    We, of that time, are no longer the same.
    I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
    My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.
    Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.
    Her voide. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
    I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
    Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
    Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
    my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
    Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
    and these the last verses that I write for her.
    —Pablo Neruda, Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines

  17. desperado* desperado*
    posted a quote
    August 16, 2016 10:04pm UTC
    (Adj.) wandering alone

    posted a quote
    August 17, 2016 8:57am UTC
    sometimes we wish to sleep so we can forget. and sometimes, we wish to forget so we can sleep.

  19. dontsellyourselfshort dontsellyourselfshort
    posted a quote
    August 12, 2016 10:45pm UTC

  20. seafoam* seafoam*
    posted a quote
    August 8, 2016 7:14pm UTC
    I have a need of silence and of stars;
    Too much is said too loudly; I am dazed.
    The silken sound of whirled infinity
    Is lost in voices shouting to be heard.
    I once knew men as earnest and less shrill.
    An undermeaning that I caught I miss
    Among these ears that hear all sounds save silence,
    These eyes that see so much but not the sky,
    These minds that gain all knowledge but no calm.
    If suddenly the desperate music ceased,
    Could they return to life? or would they stand
    In dancers' attitudes, puzzled, polite,
    And striking vaguely hand on tired hand
    For an encore, to fill the ghastly pause?


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