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Post Your Favorite Thing You’ve Ever Written

Posted by Introvert


Forum: Writing and Poetry

Let’s post our own personal favorites. I’ll start:


“I've been waiting my entire life to tell you that I'm dying and I figured I'd finally get it over with.

More years have passed in the last than I care to remember,

but I could never forget:

In eighth grade my chorus teacher always told me, 

'Michael, you'll never be good enough.'

and it always excited me. It reminded me of my mother.

On the last day of school she smiled,

her teeth jagged like a train wreck, 

she didn't say a word, 

but I knew exactly what she meant.

In high school I fell in love 

with a roadside bomb waiting to be detonated 

by a passing glance. 

Every time she blew up, 

she'd pick the pieces of herself off of bathroom floors

mixed with the medicine she never needed. 

She had The Disappointment.

One day she caught me staring, smiled, walked over, and hugged me...

she smelled like a lonely night. 

She looked me dead in the eyes and said,

'Don't worry about me boy. I don't hate my life, I just fell in love with stormy weather

and when my head clears up I put it back into the fog where it belongs.'” 

I sang her to sleep when she got tired

of chasing everything else.”

At that point, Michael turned to me and asked if it was all a dream,

as if saying yes would make it any less real. 

I nodded.

At that point he turned away, tied his arm up, and shot the blues into his veins.

He sang me to sleep that night. When I woke up

I looked over a section that he hadn't said aloud. It read:

I didn't address this to anyone 

because it was meant for everyone

and no one at all. 

There is a time when it is neither day or night

It just is. 

As we are. Forever. Everything

and nothing at all

Today, I believe him.

Yesterday I didn't

and tomorrow I probably won't either

but what I do know is that somewhere,

between Heaven and a hard place,

Michael is singing,

and god is wishing he had a voice like that

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Reply by Katie


Season Eater

Orange bleeds into dirt
smashed pumpkin pulp
death crawls across the land
autumn on his fingertips
winter clutching his cloak
fallen leaves crunch under his feet
the crumbs of summer on his chin
spring dissolves in his hollow belly
branches tremble at the amber wind.


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Reply by BabyGirl


Reply by Gareth the Poet


I am a storm waiting to strike,

I am a charged thunderbolt,

I am the bass-line at a rave,

I am the leader in a revolt.

I’m the hunted evil,

I’m a nuclear bomb,

I’m a computer virus,

I’m the right wrong.

I am a dark alley,

I am a monster at sea,

I am the acid on your tongue,

I am just me.

I'm only a dream,

I'm nothing at all,

I'm polite and obscene,

I'm playing the fool.

I am a muddled amalgamations,

I am a theorist in training,

I am a plyable vessel,

I am a tear when it's raining.

I'm music to your ears,

I'm darkness to your soul,

I'm love through the years,

I'm the plug to the hole.

I am empathetic,

I am pleasure and meaning,

I am antiseptic,

I am constantly healing.

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Reply by COOLitJULIE


"Apples and Pears in the Hourglass"

My curves are not for you,
they were a gift.
Passed down from a long line of women,
and lives on with me.

See but I don’t like sharing.
I’m much too selfish for that.
Where I choose to let fabric hug my hips,
where I decide to let a neckline plunge,
when I decide that it’s okay to show my knees,
is all how I choose to appreciate my gift.

Cause I belong to myself and me alone.
And I sure as hell know I didn’t come from a man’s bone
so why should they feel entitled to steal?

My curves are a gift from my momma, my grandmomma, my great grandmomma, and all of the other great women before.
So don’t disrespect them with a catcall.
Don’t you dare poison their baby with the drink “special” at 2 AM.
And if you think taking my ass in your hand is a “compliment,”
you better check yourself you grubby little thief.

I am my mother’s gift to myself,
my breasts, my legs, my shoulders, all of me,
is for me.
So sure sharing is caring, but whoever said that I had to play “nice?”

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Reply by bob e


This poem is the first poem I wrote after a 20 year hiatus, I was not sure I could pick up my characters from where I left off or if they would let me

My poetry is character based, my main
character is Matilda, she lives in a small seaport town, my poems cover
her life (starting from around the year 1900 till modern times) covering
the interactions between Matilda & her reletives & towns folk
as well as the goings on in her town of Delby. There are also elements
of the supernatural & magic in the poems.

autumn comes to delby
march 2018

not long after sunrise
matilda on her porch
sits down to tea and biscuits
she breathes in
this morning’s crisp cider air
again- autumn has come to delby
leaves turning color
letting go their grasp
of trees & bushes
field mice & squirrels
gather their hoards for winter
berries & nuts disappear
into hidden dens & hide-y holes
matilda sips her tea
plans her day
in the morning
apple picking
for pies & preserves
later on- the market
for box & can goods
a chance for a little gossip
catch up on the goings and comings
of all things berry hill & delby

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Reply by Juliette


A few things; I lost my pen--

You have a warm and goodwill smell.   Compassionate to have, and feel--  
And tender, too, beside you still--  To rest my head, if head compelled. 

I think I’m one for settling down; 
forgetting often fortunes  found; and wavering once in waried yawn; beside beleaguered,  bothered form.   

I’m set to go a-floating now; awashed around aplenty men; with  lakes serenely sweeter than 
a million candies flecked and fine.    

The roads I drove shone rose gold tone–just hint of gray  from under glint, 
while clouds wide-scattered topped my head; I marveled  slow and long. 

And ent'ring parts both low and lean; a sideswept  noun englittered seen; a forking, softly-sinking gleam;   self jumped from under linens then.   

Truly, I wager most on this: the fairest fled to back of  mind; twin threads of thought unspooling round; 
a dreamless sleep  to sleepers won.      

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Reply by Frosty


Pretty Visitors

at any moment
present, future
a slice of your life could appear in a
recalling frozen moments
tv shows and
eating your weird food
how you used to lean out the window
cigarette and swerves
a flickering flame
put down

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Reply by LaylaBeth


There's a spider on my dress, 

He's just along for the ride 

If we were chilling at home
I'd have put him outside 

But I'm kinda glad he's here
Because he listens like he should

He doesn't say a word
He's just quiet and that is good

Because I have a lot to say
Since the last one said goodbye

This little spider on my dress
Is now my favorite guy 🕷


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Reply by Redd


Cw: blood, death

The blood splatter on my porcelain face
It’s enough.
I’ll never clean the stain
Nor can I replace
My porcelain skin is delicate.
It rips apart with ease
Your head is gone but mine remains.
Your head is gone
Your head is empty
Your thoughts no longer pound within.
Threatening to drown you from the inside,
Leaking through the cracks in your fragile psyche.
I don’t know where your head went
All I see is the blood in my eyes.
All I see are your memories
Fragments of stories you’d never tell me.
I see the end
The way things were supposed to be.
You and I, on a cliff,
Holding hands as the nuclear atmosphere grows louder.
Pounding as loud as our heads and our hearts
And that’s the moment, we’d pour out our skulls together.
We’d show each other every story we never told.
But now
All you have to offer me
Is the silent realization
That I could take my now useless head
And your useless body.
And be a useless you.

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Reply by LilacFlowerAo


She’s the devil

The devil speaks through subtle manners.
The innocent smile of a child,
The nostalgic thrill of seeing magic,
All make me forget my ultimate goal,
All make me forget my love for you.

The devil tries the just through her nature.
The tender warmth of an honest kiss,
The widened eyes of the audience.
All make me forget my saddening duty,
All make me forget my love for you.

The devil corrupts God's holy symbols.
The apprentice copying the master.
The mirror pointed towards her face.
All make me forget my truest essence.
All make me forget my love for you.

This is incomplete, but I do like what I have until now

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Reply by Frankie XD


This is a reminder for all the kids out there

You know the ones. 
Normaly quite quiet 
Only has a few friends 
Not popular but not hated
They keep themselves to themselves 
They have a bag covered in pins 
And pronoun badges on their lapel 
You know the ones. 
This is for you 

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Reply by 𝖅𝖔𝖎𝖊


This one from 2019 is surely a favorite (although the formatting got botched): 

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Reply by Erok Beifong 🤘🏾


Generational Wealth 

It's sad people SEE LLC an think it's long live HE

but in REALITY a LLC is whats u NEED to start a COMPANY 

Get that generational wealth for your FAMILY

So ya can be FREE instead of making MONEY for a white man named STEVE

Now I know I'm young shit I'm ONLY twenty THREE

And I work for the white man but his name is TRAVIS

An I'm not EMBARRASSED to say I work 50 hour weeks most weeks cause that's the reason I don't stay at home with my PARENTS 

An although I don't live LAVISH like your favorite rappers an insta stars taking trips out to PARIS 

I can say this 16 a hour puts gas in my mini van an allows me to hit the store an get a hot SANDWICH 

so before ya speak down on those working HARD to provide for the ones dwelling in there HEART 

Remember every dog has its day and every race has its START


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Reply by abbie


Paragraph from a larger project, still a work in progress :)

How does one describe a dream? Most would say that it is like a movie, seamless from start to finish. I would describe it like a puzzle with no matching parts  - an unfinished picture that cannot be depicted because none of the pieces fit together. In the end, all you are left with are fragments, and you are confined to an endless mystery of what the scattered pieces mean. People are like dreams in a way then, too. We are all made up of our own small fragments, each piece unique to its own. I used to think that each person held a piece that matched someone else’s, and that one day I would meet them all so that we could finally complete our picture. But I was naive to think that - I was naive to think a lot of things. I realize now that the mind creates these fantasies out of a desperation to belong to something, because to not belong is to die. And so, I died long ago.

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Reply by nicole


October 23, 2018 at 6:59 PM

mis ojos  

“The eyes are the window to the soul”

You told me I don’t say I’m sorry enough so here’s a list of things that sound better if ‘I’m sorry is in front of it: 

I’m sorry my windows are dirty. I’m sorry they are made of sugar glass. I’m sorry there is dust six inches thick that lines the sill. I’m sorry it’s so hard for you to see through them. I’m sorry if you can see through them. I’m sorry they aren’t bright. I’m sorry they look like the pitch-black sky at night. I’m sorry if you try to open them they will cut your finger guaranteed. I’m sorry they made you lose blood on grounds you didn’t wish to be. I’m sorry the curtains keep all the light out. I’m sorry they never tell you when it’s light out. I’m sorry for keeping all the antiques in the house but you see they are too old and fragile to be let out. So, when you ask me when I’m doing tonight and I say nothing..... I’m washing the windows, it’s going to take all night.

- K.N.D. 

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Reply by ⴰ༢ .˳⁺⁎ eira ˒༄ ೃ࿔


when i looked out the window i saw bright blue.

i called it the raincolor

and went back to sleep.

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Reply by yana


makeup stains <3

my mascara ran on the pillow 
as he ran through my mind
my eyes flowed
as my heart drained
my eyeliner smudged
as my heart smudged
my makeup stains my pillow
as he stained my heart

made by yana

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Reply by molly<3


all around me

i am so in love with those who allow themselves to be obsessed with me, especially to express it
to verbalize to me how your hearts scream and cry my name
it’s always my name, it’s always screaming;
it keeps begging me for more and more so i have to keep the doors and windows locked at all hours
i can feel it crawling sometimes, im not sure how it moves
i know it’s somewhere slithering towards me
it’s dark and wet, it radiates a heat you can feel from 5 miles in any given direction
i can’t stand the nosy cars, im turning my head to face all of them to see if its in any of them,
all the walking people terrify me, eyeing each one of them down to find your features in their faces, nearly fatally anxious to see you staring back at me
to be confused about anything and everything in this world except one thing, wether or not you want me.
i actively seek it out sometimes, and can feel grizzly figures around me swirling, spinning doing loops around my brain until it makes me dizzy, to the point where i’m delirious
i’m delirious, searching all around me for a thing i cannot see
i know it’s there though, i’m certain of it
how could i not be so sure when i can hear it’s sirens for me, i know it’s coming for me.
skittish doesn’t begin to describe the lack of hope, trust, and any craving for touch or lust that left me, i need to be alone now.
i’m still sure, i know what is mine;
i haven’t heard the retched shouting in quite sometime now, i’ve avoided it at every cost.
i woke up this morning and i heard it for the first time again, it’s almost as if i’ve forgotten the physical toll my leeches take on me.
my head starts to sweat, i start to think i’m feeling sick but that’s very soon overshadowed by the shaking in my ankles, i can’t find any position comfortable enough for them, crossing and uncrossing my legs, my knees are not as strong as they were only minutes ago, as my focus moves to notice both of my legs vibrating and i can’t calm them, my hands are the same and i watch them tremble as i reach out into the air as if i’m trying to grab hold onto a rope from the sky, that rope being the only thing that can stop me from drowning at this point.
i cannot return to still, there are forces inside of me different from the ones around me, glistening silver with red eyes, they’re less heaping but just as terrifying, only they want out from inside of me, they aren’t trying to forge themselves onto me, i don’t know how they feel about me other than resentment and hatred for keeping them in such a vulnerable vessel, allowing for such things to happen, they want to draw blood to escape, they want to feel pain to escape, the surface must be torn open and an opening to my core slit just for them to fly out of, straight into the sky, they don’t want to be restrained, they want to be untouched, floating;
i’m out of breath now, my chest as anxious as the rest of me while my lungs try to replace what has just been lost with oxygen instead of..
now the sick feeling has returned, im nauseous again and i can’t even pinpoint when i started to cry but my face is soaking now
i feel so dirty now, there’s a state of cleanliness i’m unable to reach, layers of oil cover me and i can’t wash them out, the slick shower tiles would only reinforce the grimey feeling i’m trying to escape anyway.
the outside forces are back and as i examine my physical self they’re presence has become pertinent once more, the obsessed has returned, they’re still heading towards me;
i dread the occurrence every single time, but i’ve felt emptiness before, i’ve felt boredom
before, i remained unstimulated for quite sometime
the screaming hurts my ears, my body can’t keep up with my brain, i’m sluggish with a brain that refuses to be tamed
i only know one force to be as brave and intelligent enough to do it
rare to value another as much as my own, already established the fearfulness i hold for both of them is equal
they scare me, and i love them
they’re obsessed with me, and i love them
i hate it when they go away, i hate it once i escape from the pestering, i hate the feeling, not the feeling of something lost, but i hate that stupid feeling of truth, of knowing something to be true, knowing the circling is meant for my head and no one else’s;
i know it’s true and i’m lying when i tell myself i’m not sure how i feel about it,
i am so in love with those who allow themselves to become obsessed with me.

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I will when I get my poetry out of my storage box:)

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I can feel your eyes--

Gouging into the back of my head

Skewing out my eyes and pulling my irises into a long, uncomfortable embrace

I feel overstimulated as your fingertips caress my cheek,

Your hands are cold

I almost smile at this sentiment,

But the memory that brought me here lingers beneath my croaking throat,

and underneath my sunken eyes

I'm so tired

I find it in me to close my eyes and turn around

And I scream

I screamed until I thought I couldn't anymore,

Until my vocal chords grew so weak and fragile,

just like the rest of me

And I weep

I open my eyes, as for you to finally see the look on my face,

To grasp the severity of the state I'm in,

you're so cold

I collapse

And I fall to my knees

Because it's just a wall

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Reply by DeryckEleven


Check out the free sample. You can read the whole thing with Kindle Unlimited (or, of course, by buying it).


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Reply by stonebluerue


My shoulders are man shoulders?

My shoulders are the foundations of a loving home that I carry on my back everywhere that I go, it is a home filled with all the care and gentleness the world never gave us but that we radiate out to anyone who touches us and sometimes that gets a little heavy

They are pillows for my friends holy gentle heads to rest on when the world weighs too heavily on them and they can't support themselves alone anymore, but my broad shoulders can

My shoulders aren't too broad for a girl. My shoulders are broad because I am a girl but

I'm a girl like I'm a home,

I'm a girl like I'm a revolution,

I'm a girl like I'm a bonfire,

I'm a girl with worlds to carry,

And a girl like me needs shoulders broad enough to hold the sun and moon in the sky

So no my shoulders aren't man shoulders my shoulders are the shoulders of the women who carried their communities on their backs even when their communities didn't always have their back,

My shoulders are the shoulders of brick throwers, world changers, cycle breakers, and god's favorite lovers.

So no my shoulders aren't too broad for a girl they are just broad enough to carry us into a softer world

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Reply by Edward Cullen


I've always liked the stars too much to be afraid of the dark papa's pizzeria

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Reply by Onix



I talk to my friends and they respond in my voice,

I reach out to them and feel the cold empty air,

when I cry they wipe my tears with my hands, 

when I close my eyes, I see their faces, hear their voices, feel their touch,

when I open my eyes they remain.

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Reply by ⦻ circus/graves 🌈💊📼🎸 ⦻


Mine is really short, but I think of it a lot.

I'd give anything to be normal, but I have nothing left to give. I guess I just gotta stick with what I've got, no turning back.

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Reply by PseudoScientist



the other day I talked to you on the phone

sobbing as you split open, parting the seas in your skin 

i hope someday you learn how to be my friend

until then i will continue to pander to the hurricane that slips from your tongue on our wednesday night reunions, your breath smelling of the alcohol and bitter like your mother’s

my sympathy has changed from steel to paper maché

crumbling under the pressure of a paper doll that pulls himself apart

you seem to be homesick for chaos

devouring stability and covering yourself in the juices of your darkened world

inviting me to share a glass

it drips down my throat, hot and full of little glass shards

i brush my teeth with perfume and bike to your house

the air is gray and smells like an elementary school morning

i apologize to you for falling short

you blow away in a million sharp pieces

yesterday i shook fearing one day there will be a funeral 

your parents showing off a doll in your coffin while they lock up your body in the attic

roses burst forth from the valleys in your arms

a november snow freezes your pale trembling hands

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Reply by Cicil


Here's mine!

"I wish that I was a kid again

So that I can run in the fields all day and finger paint clear blue skies

I wish that I was a kid again

Because then, I would still be seen as smart and creative

I would be able to scream and play with my friends without a care in the world

I wish that I was a kid again

If I was a kid again, I wouldn't be neglected, the

arguments and fights will stop

My parents would still be together, not so happily

but I could live in an ignorant bliss I wish that I was a kid again

If I was a kid again, I wouldn't be judged for

having the wildest of dreams

If I was a kid again, I wouldn't have to worry

about food and whether or not I would wake up

with a roof over my head

If I was a kid again, I wouldn't be harassed every

single day for being me

I wish that I was a kid again"

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Reply by R00by!


I've got this story that's on Amazon about a trans girl going through school in the 00's and there's a few I really loved!


My favorite chapters I wrote are 3, 9, 12, 15, and 19. Anytime it's a simple adventure is my jam! The fundraiser was really fun to write because of the well crafted cringe

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Reply by Truant Kids


On Letting Me Down Gently

Was the habit of a long face
Long lost habits in a long lost place
From the back of yr long limousine
City looks like cardboard forts & magazines

Say yr dear friends & fly from yr grave
Summer breaks back to fall in the end
No use trying to save every moment
Drawing lines out of chalk on the pavement

By the water
By the water
By the water

I can't be guessed to change my mind
Change my shape or close my eyes
To me it's just another side of my mind

Madmen on thеir silver steeds
Enchanted by forgotten deeds
Copеrnicus would scatter seeds, now wouldn't he?

City looks so tall
It's really nothing at all

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Reply by Aliverliving


I am a labyrinth

A labyrinth of time

Lost in a place 

Yet stuck in my mind

There's a way out 

Yet it I can't find

I am a stowaway 

trapped in my mind

My eyes gave me away

The fear struck behind

You have to be smart

To be able to see

That striking fear

That fear is of me

-a poem of self hatred-


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Reply by UrlocalPossum


A promise of an Identity 

When I was a child, I played alone.

I didn’t quite mind playing alone, it even grew so peaceful.

I could imagine anything, dream anything, my mind broke the limits and before long I was flying!

Yet no one was there to tell me.

Who am I?

No one was there to describe me.

Did they see me?

I had a vague idea.

I could discern a shape, hard to make out.

That was my self.

Yet nothing reinforced it.

Did I exist to these people?

They told me I’d know more when I was older.

They promised me an identity when I was older.

That vague image never changed.

The person in the mirror never became a person.

It stays a husk.

A shell.

All that’s left are masks.

The lies told out of fear.

There’s no core, it never got to form.

They promised me an identity when I was older.

Yet all I have now are lies.

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Reply by andy-matronic 🍉


I could never forget

giggling and shushing each other,

our towels loosely wrapped around us

covering sand-stained swimsuits

walking on thin branches like circus performers

Singing camp songs and laughing when we would mess up

ignoring the sweat dotting on our foreheads
ignoring the pain of the burning concrete on our bare feet

shoving each other playfully

I could never forget

lost footing

a short, cut off scream

air knocked out

heart pounding

close words that sound far away

touching my knees and feeling blood

but not feeling pain

dazed and blurred thoughts

I could never forget

the pain hitting like a train

counselors words

still far away

the laughter now silent

rummaging through backpacks

waking up

the smell and taste of blood surrounding me

I could never forget

nauseating pain

electric-blue and snow-white bandages all over my legs

loud people forming around me

burning pains in my knees,

like gunshots every time I moved

the camp center

smelled like sanitizer and wood

I could never forget

sitting up with the gunshots still in my knees

teary-eyed apologies from her

assuring her it's okay

reassuring her it's okay

I could never forget

scars on my knees

raised skin adorning my legs

caution at camp

the smell of metal and sanitizer

the rush of people and drained blood 

no more laughter or circus performers

My assignment was to write a poem based off of Richard Blanco's "Looking for The Gulf Motel". This isn't even that amazing, it's just one of the first times I genuinely felt proud of my work.

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Reply by VET_77


This isn't my favorite work I've written, but I've noticed the trend of poems being published. So, here's the only poem I've ever semi-successfully written:


There’s this pit in my stomach

It’s black, and infected;

A teratoma with a mouth and a mind of its own

And it tells me things:

It tells me I need it;

I wouldn’t be here without it;

It only does what’s best for me;

Everything it does is for my own good,

But I don’t feel good.

I feel like I’m starving,


And so, so cold.

And it teases me

It forces me into a room

With cream-colored walls and even duller bedsheets

And through the window, I can see the rain drop down from the sky

Into a bucket just out of reach

A bucket I know won’t be used to quench my thirst

The rain drops:


And through the window I see a bunny

Lean and hearty

And surely scrumptious

The bunny hops:


Before it’s shot dead in the yard

I can hear the meat sizzling on a pan in the next room

I can hear laughter and the clinking of forks on plates

It sounds joyous

So loud I can almost get lost in it

And pretend that’s me

And I laugh with them to drown out my howling stomach

Through the window, I see two figures;

Two women, both petite and pale

They share an hug

As the older woman runs her hand along the other’s back

I hear the fabric moving beneath her nails:


The embrace looks warm.

I wonder when I last felt that warm.

The tumor hears my thoughts,

And tells me that I should be grateful for all it does for me

It breaks its back everyday trying to keep my frail body healthy

I should be satisfied

I’m perfectly whole– perhaps, even gluttonous!

And it wraps itself around me in an embrace

But it feels cold. 

And I feel so empty.

And I’m so thirsty I can’t form the words to beg for help anymore.

But it’s okay

I’m happy

I have everything I need in this room

With its cream-colored walls and snow-white sheets

I don’t need anything else, 

And I should stop whining, 

Because my happiness isn’t the only thing that matters.

At least that’s what Mother tells me, anyway.

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Reply by SUSHI!!


i ask her 4 a pair of skates

she pushes me away

i ask 4 a book

she pushes me away

i wait

i wait

i wake

the day of my birth

14 years later

i wonder

if she thought

before pushing me

i wait

i wait 4 her

2 come through

my door and hug me

but it never happens

i stand up

knock on her door

she opens it

“its my birthday”

she hands me 

an orange box 

my favorite color is blue

i open it

a pen

and a sketchbook 

is what i see

“you better be grateful” 

“no i love it” 

i lied 

chat this was something my friend wrote 4 me bc i had an idea just didnt want ti write it so yeah!1!1

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Reply by Ace



I miss you like midwinter misses daylight

Missing your warmth, beauty and light.

I sit in the cold waiting.

I sit.

I wait.

I wait for your sunlight to shine upon my skin.

But once sunshine comes it burns my back.

 Stings my eyes

 And whips my skin

I relish in it

Relish in the heat 

As I bathe

In hot daylight.

Warm, for once.


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