Damp pavement and glassy skies. The sun lingers later, evening walks become more frequent, cafe table/chair sets emerge and litter the sidewalks. Petals peek out of buds (as do smiles from kids and the elderly alike). Spring has sprung.
On a routine evening walk, en route to grab takeout Thai and a roll of CVS tp, you spot a cracked door, faint chatter and the hiss of steaming milk coming from within. You pop in, warmth and inspiring energy hitting you.
Welcome to the Messy Poetry Slam.
There’s so much going on right now, there always is I guess,
Things building up and up creates a pile of stress.
Dealing with this pressure, being young is hard to do,
Our futures are at stake, and we’re just not getting through.
Blame it on society, somewhere you’re trying to fit,
Try to escape from reality, not realising you’re it.
Fake press, fake news—the source of so much hate,
But it’s only fueled by you, and it isn’t leaving at this rate.
All in all, is it something we can fix on a global scale?
The brave have tried before, but protesters get sent to jail.
Because despite what you think there will always be a thin shield,
put up by divisions of power that protects them from this minefield.
Maybe there’s a chance for us all to find salvation,
Religion works for some, but others need an organisation.
A spark of hope for the future of this torn, crumbling community,
Crazy how easily people turn their backs on a chance of unity.
Opportunities come but not as quickly as they go,
You think you’re in the clear, you walk away and just say no.
Don’t want to handle problems because they aren’t within your range,
Guess it’s all about evolution, it’s a shame some people hate change.
Not us though, not the dreamers who can see a perfect world,
Day one we looked around and saw the future unfurled.
Knew that it would break if you continued going this way,
Gazing up at the sky and quietly praying for the day.
That you would open up your eyes and admit that you’ve been blind,
Then you’ll be able to leave your old habits behind.
The ways of corruption, abuse, injustice, discrimination, denial and greed,
When you admit your wicked ways—the starving flocks we then can feed.
Instead you feed the anger of those who follow lies,
Pretending you care, our vote and voice you hope to buy.
Pointing fingers at those who we all need you to befriend,
For the power lies in your hands only at the end.
Or does it, maybe we all have equal rights,
Recently they’ve been stripped and the future isn’t looking so bright.
Putting us down and claiming that feathers fill our heads,
Unbeknown to them, feathers are heavier than lead.
It can be a burden, looking at a picture and seeing it all,
Instead of the little pieces designed to make us feel small.
So many fall victim to the trap of thinking that they are worthless,
And so they follow blindly, lead like sheep into the mess.
Hard to break away because difference is portrayed as wrong,
Has the list of things that separate us always been this long?
Diversity, a thing they teach us is good when we’re at school,
But in the real world, how come those who accept have to be fools?
-India Armstrong (@Indiesummer1)
What’s the morning
What’s the night
I’m a morning person when I wake up
When I prepare myself a coffee
With milk and two spoons of sugar
When I go out on the street
And there’s just the common old man and me
When the birds start to chirp
Doesn’t matter if winter or spring
And when I listen to the same song
On repeat on repeat on repeat
On my way to school
I’m a night person
When I won’t go to bed just for the sake of watching the moonrise
When I walk the streets with my friends
Under the always-changing trees
When I just feel inspired
Right before I fall asleep
And when I can’t differentiate
When the morning starts
And the night flees
It is exquisite to hear
birds chirping, and
wind rustling through the branches and
leaves of the old oak tree.
The sun is beaming on the emerald grass
and into my bedroom.
It must be mid-afternoon now.
Warmth hits my body,
from the cold, harsh insides of my abode.
Keeping my window unlatched,
I connect with the unknown.
Because I am Rapunzel,
I never leave my tower.
But I should, before the seasons change.
from time to time
it is often hard to notice
how deprived one can be
simply from a lack of understanding
that you are so desperate to find
imperfection in complete strangers
tell me, how awful is that?
attaching & manifesting
ideal traits to someone
forgetting the potential they have
stripping them from their mysteriousness
forcing a fate that could not even exist
onto this poor, poor stranger
it is one thing to have ideas & daydream of what could be
and it is another to make a massive something out of absolutely nothing
to be idealistic, it is my strength
to be too idealist, it is my weakness
people are not perfect
people will never be perfect
the concept of perfection does not exist
perfection can’t ever exist
the biggest obstacle i will endure
will not be from a bitter breakup with a lover
no no, it will be meeting those strangers
and never being anything past that
i am stuck in a space time continuum with aliens
never to form an understanding
of those around me
because i am living in a world that has yet to be discovered
“The Week I Watched You Fade Away”
The week I watched you fade away,
i saw the colour drain from your skin
i saw the bones poking out of you as if they were trying to escape
replacing the space where your blanket, your warmth, your protection
was no longer.
i heard the tiny waves splash in your lungs
filling with the water you would drown in
i heard your breaths become farther and farther apart with each
The week I watched you fade away,
I stepped on a scale
137 pounds. (the most space I have ever taken up)
and I felt grateful for my bones that were protected
yes, I felt grateful
for the flesh, the flush in my cheeks
this shell that holds my lungs and helps me breathe
The week I watched you fade away
that if the voices in my head
tell me i should look more like the dead
i can silence them
if I just remember to breathe
S E N D U S Y O U R P O E M S
T A G U S I N T H E M