Steal a wish from the stars in the sky,

Take a ticket to the mainland, then back home you'll fly

To a empty busy city, lit up by the grid,

Leaving the moon a lonely spectre, by drifting stardust hid;

The cold air sits--

Water in your lungs;

Wonder if you'll ever

Scramble up these dirty rungs;

So stay perched on your spot, hanging from moon,

For when day breaks, you too, 'll disappear soon. 

~~~~~

Another segment of a song I made up. I also have an alternate version that's similar but kinda unrelated.

this is a total ramble but i just needed to get it out :)

how do you tell if you like someone or if it's just platonic attraction? lol 

--

maybe more than friends

misty otherworld

blank eyes like parchment paper not yet smudged with ink

your soul is an ocean, beautiful yet so dangerous- (steal my breath)

what is love, anyways? is it the fluttering in my stomach when our fingers connect?

because that always happens.

but is it not that? is it the curve of your lips that i watch,

every precious minute the mask slips?

i don't do that, not really, i'm always looking down.

the fog tangles my heart into knots, ether catches flame & dulls my head

slate covers your smile & rain drowns my eyes

should i say something about it? maybe a casual

"i love you" tossed out like a leaf on the breeze

(drifting effortlessly, yet so unsteady)

the question is- really,

would you toss it back?

probably, as words slip off your tongue like silver

it wouldn't mean anything from you, anyways 

you say that i make everything better but do i really?

i could do more, should do more if that's who you are to me

but what if i don't understand our connection?

hmmmmmmmm friends?? complicated! so i wrote a long poem about it :,D

--

what our friendship has fallen to

remember when we went to the arcade that one time? we waited in line for passes and

somehow your hand found mine- i don't quite know why

it was all a blur of bad pop songs & too many people & neon pulsing lights 

but your grip was tight enough that if i let go you'd notice

so i held on

we left the lobby & went to the games- i watched as our sisters gathered tickets & threw them like confetti

they were having fun- i wasn't, not really, but i lied to myself & said 'her hand makes it better'

(it didn't change a thing)

i felt drunk on nervous energy, drifting above the crowd- maybe

that's why i fooled myself into believing that your hand was a lifeline,

or maybe i actually beleived it was true- i had no idea what i

was feeling, & i was so naive

(i just look back on my younger self like it was millenia, not a year, ago-

scorn darkens my tired eyes as i watch us fumble for contact)

the races were about to begin, literally, & you tried to convince me to come with

you on the go-carts, but i was scared of crashing & said no.

it didn't matter that you begged & begged, i have always been a rock, and

even your gentle fingers on my shoulder, the touch sending shivers, couldn't budge me

you went with our sisters

i sat at the counter & waited

i waited, too, at the haunted house last halloween

when you grabbed your friends by the arms & realized i wasn't with you

of course, you begged me to come in the tunnel

but i am scared of everything & didn't want to be in the suffocating space

i said no with firmness, because it wasn't worth it, and this time you didn't argue-

just ran through the tunnel & laughed & screamed while

i listened, leaning on the gate

i listen to you now as you chatter on & on about some

random thing i don't quite care about, remembering to nod once in a while

i still look at you, but not with foolish admiration-

no, i look at you with irritation from the corner of my eyes, i scoff under

my breath when you say something dumb & i know i'm being a jerk but

i am so tired of you

our friendship has deteriorated enough that when i pass you in the hallways, i

look the opposite way, never seeking you out to practice our special handshake

that we spent ages on last summer

even though you're a year older & taller, i feel like i grew up & you didn't

of course, you met me at the end of my glory days, when i was still a 

honey-soaked child, dripping in sunshine & happiness

you became friends with that version of me, & you don't know what to do with my true form

the chasm between us grows ever large, & i have long since abandoned my hastily-made bridges

why can't you drop the ropes & let us splinter apart? 

do you remember when you found me on the floor

of the preschool classroom 

crying 

because I missed my family

do you remember when you took my 

hand 

and told me we should

be friends 

do you remember when we would 

always run to find seats next to 

each other

remember when we would 

pass notes under the 

table

remember when you left me alone

for them?

and I waited for you

to come back

like a faithful dog to its

master

I waited

for a year

and a half

(yes, I kept track..)

until I realized

that you 

(wouldn't, couldn't?)

weren't coming

back

so I stopped waiting

I left and made some

friends of my 

own 

and then 

you decided to come back

you wondered why I wasn't waiting

for you 

suddenly it was all

my fault?

I had

abandoned you?

so I gave you

the benefit of the doubt

so we are friends, still

and to this day, I'm sure

you think we're still best of

friends

but every time you laugh at what I do

call me a name

take my life into your hands 

I wonder

why do we

play this

game? 

why do we pretend

that everything is okay?

why? 

(Looks like there's two of us anonymous poets now - I'm the one of the Poetry Contest thread)

Also, dreamiing, I love your poems. Beautiful and a little heartbreaking.

--

"alone"

i have friends but i'm alone, if you understand -

we hang out & talk & have fun & sometimes even laugh -

but it's shallow, so shallow. we never talk about what we

feel. we never ask for help when we need it -

all we see of each other is our perfect porcelain

masks, painted with our best smiles.

we're not vulnerable, and

i gotta admit,

i'm scared of shedding my armor.

(even in front of my closest friends, my

family)

(even in front of them, i wear my mask)

it feels wrong

to me. people are supposed to be comfortable

with their families, at least,

if not their friends,

but

i'm not. even though i know they'd never hurt me,

i'm afraid of telling them how i feel,

of taking off the armor,

of telling the truth when they ask,

'how are you?'

i don't know why i'm afraid. i guess,

like always,

i'm scared of what they'll think.

it makes me want to scream. why

does it always come down to this?

why do all my poems have

this inevitable stanza where i say,

i'm scared of

'what i

think they think

of me'??

i always end up

circling back to that house of frickin mirrors

and the glass cuts me open

every time.

i'm sick of it.

do my friends feel this way?

do my family?

my friends always seem so perfect -

at least my families can see behind my mask,

even if we don't talk about it -

but my friends, all i see are those perfect porcelain masks.

how are they so mature & clever & funny & brave?

while i'm so awkward & strange & too talkative & shy inside?

one of my friends has a

new friend now.

they two are both up to date,

both are part of the effortless mainstream of

conformity,

which, today, means watching japanese tv shows & avengers: endgame

and making 'references' and having facebook & twitter & instagram.

at least, that's what it seems like to me.

i've met her new friend, and i like them,

but it's ever so painfully obvious

to me

that, when i talk to her, there's invariably at least

one awkward silence, but when

she talks to them, they laugh and there's no silent moments.

i feel so alone, so strange, so awkward, so armored, so devoid of real friends.

and i know a lot of that is an illusion

but that doesn't mean i don't feel like it isn't.

why can't i just be perfect?

Hold the fragile silence in your hand

A testament to a moment of lonesome

Dark and quiet

Hold your breath, let it out slow

Afraid of shattering the moment

Silence still 

Slow, grating rings that hang you thoughtlessly

And amass fidgeting bubbles in your belly 

When will this torture end, 

Only when the empty voice sings thier robotic song

"Your call could not be answered" 

"Please wait or leave a message!" 

Then the beep, mocking you out of real life 

Taunting you to let go of it all.

What will you do now?

Just wait, I suppose.

In the cold and the quiet.

Alone as you are buffeted by fleeting flakes

Fading from reality in your warmth

The same way the warmth fades from you.

I rewrote a poem I wrote nearly two years ago. The first poem I ever posted on the CB. People at my school convinced me that it was really good, but I got third place out of three entries here. I think this is one of the main places where I grew as a poet and learned what makes a good poem good.

Here's the original:

Creeping through

The shadows,

Dashing through

The night.

She's a survivor

In a dead world,

Scavenging.

Snow falls in fast flurries,

Clinging to her hair,

Her makeshift robes,

The bag she brings

To steal the food,

The only thing

Keeping her alive.

It would be an

Everyday adventure,

For some,

But for her it's a job,

A chore,

Like taking out

The garbage

Would be,

For a normal person.

She's not normal.

Life is an

Adventure,

For everyone.

This,

Is not.

And here's the rewritten version:

snow falls in fast flurries, your

fingertips turning blue,

nose turning red, dark hood

draped over your hair. you 

steal through the shadows, bag 

draped over your shoulder.

clouds block the sun, providing

no warmth & less shadows to hide in, and 

trees with no leaves provide no shelter. you 

are on a mission to feed the hungry beast 

that lives in your stomach, that

growls when it’s not satisfied.

your worn bag with the holes

like the beast tears into you

can never fit enough food for it.

you scan for the scraps someone you’ll never meet

deemed uneatable & all the smells are

washed away by the snow but

you find a loaf of stale bread.

enough for now. you

turn back & flee. you should be 

used to it by now, but 

every day you dread the search for food, like

someone else might dread

taking out the garbage or

loading the dishwasher.