so. paradise is updating tmrw btw. 

please read this at least twice. there are a lot of hiddne meanings. 

i think i'm fragile, oh-- 

it's true, always will be-- 

in the beg/inning, 

i found myself in the dark, 

discovered my secr/ets, 

rewrote my flaws  

but i ke/ep finding myself there, 

time and time again, 

even when i don't want to be there, 

and in time, shards of glass and ice 

begin to pierce my h/eart and 

the warm blood runs cold down my chest, 

dripping into puddles that 

pool at my side, 

tainting the 

pristine white flowers that stand 

so valiantly at my side, 

dripping up into the bloody sun 

that shines so brightly, taunting me, 

the remnants of a smile carved into it's moving mouth, 

"do you still d/ream of that utopia? 

the one where every day, it is bright? 

it is bright here, is it not?" 

it is, but in a dark way- 

as if i am wearing those glasses 

designed to block out the sun when 

staring at an eclipse, 

as if the sun is 

just an/other moon 

with a man's face carved into it, 

and i am just another speck of dust 

floating below it- 

and my colorless blank eyes 

stare into shattered mirrors 

instead of a s/tarry sky, 

and the mirrors reflect 

everything about me 

i don't quite like- 

my eyes, my nose, the way i smile, my laugh- 

and my reflections stare back at me, 

laughing, no longer m/e but some 

long-gone remnant of a corpse 

i call for an answer, 

but i find that it is some 

twisted sick version of "me" 

who replies, "d/o you still believe in that fantasy?" 

not a question, but rather 

a sickeningly sw/eet mockery 

of who i once was and 

i can't help but wonder if i was ever "me" at all? 

there is no belief. 

in the end, it will all fall apart someday, 

twisting and twirli/ng, falling to the ground, 

shattering- and all i will be able to see is- 

fragmentation. 

i think you're fragile, yes, 

you've always been- but in a different way 

not in the hopeless, shattered way that i am, 

but in a hauntingly beautiful way- 

like a lonely rose that's far too delicate, 

a rose put in a glass case, on display, 

as if you weren't protected, 

you would wither- shrink- die- 

because society w/ould kill you with its poisons 

and they'd prey on you, predators drawn to fresh blood

like a snowflake, fluttering towards the ground- 

and you try to save it, 

but you're always just a second too late, 

and all that is left ar/e the drops of water 

that trickle down your wrists, tracing the veins- 

like drops of clear, pure, blood 

like a glass vase, 

beautiful and exquisitely crafted- 

but o/h-so-fragile, 

because if you were pushed over the edge, 

you'd topple and shatter into a thousand glass shards,

iridescent glass glitter that ever-so/-slightly pricks your hand 

and if you keep it in your hand for long enough, 

you can feel the- 

fragmen tation. 

i think this world is fra/gile, yes 

but in an old way, as if it has existed for too long 

hooked up to thousands of medical devices, 

coughing and wheezing, 

breathing out half smoke half life, 

as some try to destroy it and some try to save it-

the delicate "equi/librium" that is slowly tipping towards destruction, 

and the doomsday clock is ticking 

and i can't help but wonder how much time 

do i have left with you? 

how much time b/efore i die- 

before you die- 

before this world dies? 

how much time,

how much time- 

i wish it was forever 

and i wonder if there is some secret way to save you- 

to remove you from that hauntingly beaut/iful fragility, 

to have you be able to truly live in that fantasy that i once dreamed of- 

i wonder if there is a way to paint the sky blue again with a big brush, 

sweeping over all the gray and s/moke and clouds, 

and then a bright green for the grass, 

and then little flowers- 

and would this world be "cured" then? 

i wonder if there is a way to break society's mold, 

to take a hammer and destroy it all, 

the stone, the walls. 

maybe then would this world be "cured"? 

would we have our "forever?" 

and i wonder if there is a way to cure this world 

besides this glass/like poetry i am writing- 

not in that it is pristine and beautiful, 

but that it, too, is fragile. 

it will disappear along with me- 

my memory- 

your memory. 

the world can never be saved with something as ephemeral as this- 

and maybe someday it will stop exper/iencing- 

fragmen ta tion

i think everything is fragile, 

and everywhere i look my heart pains 

and in every corner i see fragility. 

i see it in the dangling gossamer strands that 

spiders weave as they fl/oat in the wind, 

waiting to be taken to some new land- 

are they scared when they're dangling off of ceilings and roof-tops? 

i can't help but wonder what will happen if it snap/s and br/eaks, 

if someone cu/ts it, and they don't realize in time, 

and they fall to the ground. 

i can't help but wonder if they will d/ie, and i can't help but wonder 

if that dizzy spiral of falling is terrifying- 

and i break a little more in/side, because maybe it feels like 

falling into the rabbit hole that you led me in, and 

maybe it feels like bet/rayal, 

so bitter you can almost taste it on your tongue- 

frag men ta tion 

i see it in insects when they d/ie,

crushed by some shapeless color/less giant, 

fried by magnifying glasses while being 

surrounded by mocking childrens' laughter, 

as if they're having fun- is this really humanity? 

i can't help but wonder if they, too, 

feel the pain of los/ing their loved ones- 

i can't help but wonder what it feels like to die, to be lost- 

i can't help but wonder if these insects have 

little insect lives of their own- 

and i break a little more inside, 

because maybe it feels like waiting, 

waiting for you, 

waiting for someone to come "h/ome", and they never do- 

fra g men ta ti on

i see it in the wings of a limping swallow 

as it sits on the concrete ground, 

dragging it's dull wings, and resigned to it's fate 

to be stuffed and taxidermied, hung in a museum 

the bright polished poles of metal like 

fingerprints in the mid/st of brush strokes, 

interr/upting the very flow of nature- and 

i can't help but wonder if the swallow is tired of being 

something for prying eyes to gaze at 

hidden behind layers of thick glass that's 

constantly being tap/ped on by children far too young to understand pain 

i can't help but wonder if it wishes on shooting stars 

and you can't tell the difference between a shooting star and a crashing air/plane 

i can't help but won/der if it wishes to be free 

just like me- 

fr a g me n t at i on

but how can i ch/ange anything in this cruel world? 

so here i stand, stationary, waiting- 

for some/thing, 

anything, a sign- 

symbolism- do i th/ink too much? 

about things like these? 

i can't help but wonder if the world really gives us signs, 

if fate is real after all, and 

somewhere in that star-dotted sky, 

there is some all-knowing figure that decides everything- and 

i want to ask them "why?" it's a simple question but 

there's so much more to it- and 

i hate the unfeeling harshness of today's society where nobody is "good enough" 

what is "good enough" - what is "good enough" - what is "good enough" 

was that "good enough" - is this "good enough"? 

and when you cry and break you're "fragile" but 

if you're not you're unfeeling and cold and it seems 

that everyone is unfeeling and cold and i pity those 

who cannot seem to feel for the fragile butterflies and swallows and roses 

but most of all i pity those who cannot seem to feel 

for the fragile human souls that break oh-so-easily 

and they're delicate like glass - ("handle with care") 

and that seems to be the majority of people and 

there doesn't seem to be a single thread of 

emotion in today's world? never, never- this 

world is too corporate a/nd capitalist and 

ever/yone is preoccup/ied with their own work 

too preoccupied to care and because of that i 

have sworn to understand all the misunderstandings and 

say all the unsaid words and 

think all the unthought thoughts but 

even thou/gh i try my best i just can't 

i can't do this, and it's really just a broken complaint 

of our equally b/roken society and 

unsent letters litter my floor and 

all the words make me dizzy and i 

can't seem to read and it all 

blurs tog/ether, not in a 

melting pot of letters but rather a 

what does this even mean? and 

all the thoughts are breaking my head

fragile, fragi/le, fragile, my 

mind is a dangerous plac/e and my 

hands are dangerous to myself and 

i can/'t be trusted alone with my thou/ghts and 

i cry and br/eak a l/ittle more inside each time i think, 

every time, 

all the t/ime, 

until there is no more to be br/oken, and 

i am simply iri/descent glitter, 

floating away in the w/ind- and all that is left is- 

f r a g m e n t a t i o n  

Me: Thinks mine is pretty good

*sees someone else*

Me:  Thinks mine is not even worthy for the contest 

Spring is a blossom crushed

Unbeknownst to you, in your clammy palm.

It’s a season made of glass,

Fragile, disintegrating

Like the April showers filling 

Cracks in the pavement.

Spring deludes you

With days of blooms and blue skies

And nights of frog-songs through open windows,

Makes you believe the soft peacefulness

Will last forever,

Drowns you in delicious lies.

Spring is breakable, tarnishes

Easily,

With the flip of a switch,

Of a month, a new page

On the calendar, soon to be filled

With Sharpied plans for summer.

Summer—what word!
Summer is not breakable,

It is robust, it is healthy.

(The smell of fresh-cut grass

Lingers in the air far longer 

Than blossoms ever do.)

Nobody worries about summer, but

Spring, starting with snowball fights in heavy coats,

Ending with the clandestine cold of ice cream after a bike ride,

Is gone before you know it.

Instead of days filled with endless time, lemonade and

Lazy swims,

Spring is full of exams and dances and stress,

And before you know it,

You’re clinging to the last tendrils 

Of a fragile blossom

That is only crumbling even more.

so sorry for judging late!! I'll try my best to have the results out tonight. been busy with finals unfortunately. 

thanks to everyone who submitted a poem! this was really hard to judge, but I love reading everyone's work <3

honorable mentions: 

(in no particular order)

kataluna-- this poem was a great portrayal of intense emotions, which I find really impressive. you have vibrant descriptions and unique metaphors--ingredients for a wonderful poem. I hope to continue reading your work! nice job!

amethyst-- this is a beautiful piece of writing! I loved all your different descriptions of fragility. you did a great job incorporating the prompt. I thought the ending was really neat, and the section about the seed was my absolute favorite. great work! 

celineburing bright-- I feel like a lot of people can relate to this poem. it's a great dipiction of struggling to express your difficulties and shielding yourself from the people around you. I really like the way you include capitalization in the first section but not the second. I feel like it shows the mask falling away from the narrator. I always enjoy reading your entries! 

amberfox-- (judging off your first poem, by the way, though both were great!) I like the uniformity and simplicity of this poem! it's format is pleasing to the eye and makes it easier to comprehend. I love the repetition of the descriptions of fragility, and how you change this to show their strength. this was such a well thought out piece! 

third place: woodwind

I loved how unique this poem is! it captures the feeling of being emotionally affected by something no one else notices, which is a beautiful thing. this poem was a wonderful response to the prompt, and I thought your writing style was very distinctive. also, the title is perfect! I loved the lines "but most of all the butterflies with their pinned wings outstretched so close to freedom/ as if I could watch them burst from the display case to leave dizzying contrails of magic."

second place: starry sky

this was a great interpretation of the prompt! I've always loved poetry about seasons (very specific interest, I know), and this was no exception. you have beautiful imagery and do a great job creating a stark contrast between your description of summer and spring. I especially liked the way you referenced the blossom in both the beginning and end of the poem. my favorite line is "The smell of fresh cut grass/ Lingers in the air far longer/ Than blossoms ever do." good job!

first place: uriel

wow, this is such a cool poem! I'm very impressed with your dedication--this must have taken a while to write. I love the way you use puncuation. it's really creative! I love the lines "and my colorless blank eyes/ stare into shattered mirrors/ instead of a s/tarry sky" and "i think this world is fra/gile, yes/ but in an old way, as if it has existed for too long". I really liked the way your poem jumped from topic to topic as if it was mimicking a stream of thought. also, the ending works perfectly! it makes the poem feel very complete, while still leaving the reader with things to think about. congratulations!!