Books are worlds in which you explore.

Where the impossible becomes real.

You can open any door,

All you need is a book and that’s a good deal.

There are fairies and trolls,

Kings and wizards alike,

You can take many strolls 

And lots of hikes, 

Through the pages and words.

There’s a school for evil,

And a world of talking birds,

Sometimes stories cause a great upheaval.

Magic doesn’t exist!

Dragons aren’t alive!

But they are, I insist

The unbelievable has survived.

Especially in books.

Because books are worlds in which you can explore.

maybe this is being a teenager.

this slow sixty-mile-per-hour molasses rush of

worrying about the minds behind the other eyes

and being afraid and lonesome and worrying that you're the only one who feels like this

taking am i depressed online quizzes

staying inside too much and wishing to be free

and wanting to be older and wanting to be younger

staying up past midnight finishing passionately loved four-hundred-page novels

and listening to rock music and soft indie with ukelele instrumentals

and online forums with strangers you know better than your real friends

and researching colleges years in advance

and awkward conversations and trying to figure out how to be a human being

and watching the number of candles on the cake grow anxiously larger 

writing progressively-better-but-still-depressingly-mediocre poetry on google docs

thinking about religion

and having 1 am epiphanies about life, the universe, and everything 

feeling guilty

and feeling cynical and overmature and pressed by the omnipresent void

and feeling surprisingly happy but never enduringly content

and feeling tired of thinking so much

and feeling

All these poems are amazing! Here's mine:

Piano 

My fingers glide against the keys

With tunes of black and white

Chords in minor a sorrowful cry

Songs in major cheery and bright

The keys are all separated

But I can string them together

With notes written on paper

Melodies that last forever

A sweet song fills the room

Whenever my fingers drift across

They sing and dance and laugh

They sigh in mournful loss

Melodies and songs

My fingers can play

To play a tune

And brighten the day 

Feel free to give me feedback! :) 

Moon Wolf that was A-Maz-ing! I loved how you discribed the idk feelings I guess of the music. My favorite line was definetly

Melodies that last forever

It's so true! Great job!!

Yesterday is past

Tomorrow could be the last

Time I ever see you

Today is gray

The sky is crying

Mixing with my own tears

A storm is swirling

Inside and out

A hurricane, a tornado, a black hole

Of lonely misery

Life without you is life without

Sound

Sight

Touch

Smell 

Taste

Imagination

Life without you is 

No life at all

Darkness drowns

The stars and moon

All light extinguished

Alone

But then

A spark of light

A bit of hope

I must cling to it

Until forced to let go

Time will tell

Tomorrow is new

And love can still ensue.

Find Yourself

Felt like a sponge for the longest time

I’d agree that anything would be fine

I’d copy the way someone talks

I’d copy the way someone walks

But now I realize that I’m a mess

I was not myself, I had to confess

A blank slate, I had to be

In order to rediscover me

Find your own interests at heart

Find your story, find your art

Make your own personality

Make your own morality

Discover who you are inside

In yourself, do take pride

Do not change for others

Be yourself, not another

Learn and grow, change and thrive

Find and know, achieve and strive

Find yourself and be yourself

For no one else

But you

i.

you don’t cry.

not at first.

it’s a shock, a

slap-in-the-face,

air-snatched-from-your-lungs,

laugh-because-it-must-be-a-prank

kind of shock. 

and the reptile part of you wants to defend itself.

(self-preservation.

first...

last...

always.)

but there’s nothing to defend against. 

ii.

when the tears come, 

they are

silent/loud

fat & hot & all too real/

welled up eyes & a single drop slipping out

they are

your entire body shattering into 

a million pieces

with each sob/

numb.

cold. dead. empty.

(all words you’re far too

familiar with.)

it’s a stupidly beautiful day.

iii.

and when you lay awake at night

thoughts plague your mind.

eternity &

mortality &

regret.

so much regret.

iv.

the bells & the hymns

reverberate around

your soul like inside it’s hollow

and empty, like some piece of

it

broke

off.

and it doesn’t smell like him.

incense & fake

fake

fake.

v.

finally, beneath the earth, it’s over.

(they say)

but. 

years later, it’s the little things 

that

hit 

the 

hardest:

swedish fish &

yellow pansies &

black squirrels scurrying up trees &

that one song on the radio &

a whiff of something

f a m i l i a r &

he

dies 

all

over

again.