I typed up a whole poem and then closed my laptop and when I opened it it all got deleted rip

Here I wrote this because I have no self confidence

Swim Practice

Coach is yelling at us again

Telling us at how our last set was horrible

I can't help but think he's talking to me

And me specifically.

It's like I have a target on my chest

My suit,

My cap,

Telling everyone,

"Hey look!

It's that slow girl!

The one who can only beat ten-year olds!"

And still most of the ten-year-olds beat me.

I'm not close to anyone on the team

They don't want to be associated with someone who never wins.

Can't blame them

I wouldn't want to be associated with myself either.

I'm not on a relay team

Those are for fast kids

Guess I don't belong there

I don't win races

I'm in the slowest heat, and I still lose

Might as well be in the 9-10 group

~~~

Hope you enjoyed! 

Swimming is an activity you can enjoy for life, no matter what your speed. It's good for overall health and can be both envigorating and relaxing. I'm not a racer, but I love swimming!

Admin

Top, please, for amazing poetry!

C'mon! Back to the first page!

BACK AT IT AGAIN WITH THE SWIM POEMS

Except this one's positive.  OK HERE WE GO

My Sport

My sport is NOT easy.

It's not splashing in the water with kickboards,

It's feeling your legs burn

As you finish a 200 sprint kick.

It's not treading water and talking,

It's trying to keep your head above water

While you watch the clock so you know when to stop.

It's not cannonballing into the pool, excited,

It's diving in and sprinting a lap, 

Breathing heavily as you get out.

So like I said,

My sport isn't easy. 

~~~

Hope you enjoyed!

Helllloooo everyone! I haven't posted on here in way too long which is such a problem, so I'm back with a poem! (Just my style XD)

-----

I love you more

Than I thought I could,

When I stood on the edge of the cliff

To the sea, 

Asking the wind

Questions;

The ocean quizzed me in return

How much can you love?

It asked me

And I was sure

I said, I can love with the might of all the stars in the sky

I can love with the power of the waves crashing yonder

I can love with the passion of a fire burning brightly

I can love intensely, with the whole heart, body

Mind

And I can love in silence, unrequited

Undefined

But I was

Contradicted

By a steady voice that whispered,

More

You can love beyond horizons,

You can

Fall

Forever

And you can love like screaming, panting, tearing through the dark 

And you can love in peace, like the gentle waves ebb over

Like the misty clouds that follow

Through the mountains and the brook,

How it tumbles

Through the forest

Like your heart inside your chest,

Beating softly,

Beating softly

Beating for

All

Eternity 

And it picked me up and swept me

In a swirl of light and moon,

And it flew me through the nighttime 

To a face I knew was you

You still looked unfamiliar

But I wiped away the fog,

And you came into such clarity

Like a light switched on too suddenly

When your eyes are full of clouds

That it hit me,

Threw me backwards 

Like a dagger

Aching, pounding steel

I had never known

The power

Couldn’t have imagined

And I’d never really understand

The

Love

That I could feel.

TOPPP!!!!!!!!!

This might thread of poetry SHALL NOT DIE!!!

Huzzah, I have poetry to share.

(Untitled- I never title my poems XP XP)

Do you ever look at someone and wonder,

What is their story? 

Have fragments of their soul flaked away to the wind? 

Are they metal on the outside and paper Within?

Do they bore the weight of unfed Dreams,

Starving in their hearts for years? 

Are they kind and courageous,

An Untouchable bubble of exuberance in their chest?

Is there past as dense and murky as a swamp,

Or pure as God's own heart?

What secrets lie beneath their eyes?

Are they counting money,

Or are they counting stars?

Do they know Love? 

Or has Satan snatched their soul?

I guess I'll never know,

They're just a stranger on the street.

A stranger that I've wondered,

What is their story? 

I haven't written poetry in a while, but I wrote a poem yesterday! This one is from weeks ago that I never got to post, and I'll post the new one after that.

Clarification: I've never been to New York City. Hence the title.

imagining new york

he sits cross-legged

on a rooftop where he can see everything below.

his light brown hair is fluffy from the breeze and his eyes are blue

(not cold but warm; but they are empty).

below him, spread out, there is a city.

the people pass--millions, who all have their lives and stories

and troubles.

they hurry before the coming darkness, going home to

turn on lights and see their families and have dinner.

(he is staying where he is.)

breathing in, breathing deep--today he breathes without meaning

(his hands are empty; he opens his palms and

looks at them but places them in his lap.)

a sketchbook lies, untouched, by his side.

he is looking west. the sun is starting to set there but he

can't quite see it because there are buildings.

the color shines on his face anyway. it sparkles in his eyes

and paints his skin the warm yellow you see in photos.

(he shifts his balance a little and scuffs the toe of his

converse shoe on the cement.

he moves his hand towards his sketchbook but pauses--

today he can't draw;

he doesn't know why.)

this is a city where there is everyone imaginable

but no one that makes him feel less alone. no one

that makes him feel, today, that he could be able to

create something.

it's dark, shadowy on this roof. there is a flashlight

in his pocket but tonight he just wants to sit and

enjoy the sun's last rays and then the darkness.

he wraps his arms

around his knees and lets out a pent-up breath.

he feels small. he feels insignificant today, but then

also so significant that he could be the only one

on this earth, all alone. if he closed his eyes.

because he can still see people. they are there, but it's hard

for him to feel them

in his heart. two days ago he could still make art. but yesterday he

hit a wall and fell unconscious. he is still in

a dream, even though the wind on his skin is as

real as he used to be.

he's never felt like this. never felt so helpless and

lonely. he's always been strong.

today hurts. he wishes it would be over already

so he could laugh and dream and draw again but

he doesn't want to miss the colors of this sunset so

he stays. (he is still an artist whether

he likes it or not.)

this will pass.

he will be able to breathe again without

feeling like he could choke on the emptiness inside.

(on the roof up high, he can feel the darkness. it's

not sinister, but just real. this roof is dark but all

around him there are lights from buildings and

cars. the darkness wraps around him, warm

even though it's cold and feeling so real that maybe

he could touch it. he feels all the people around him

and suddenly feels real again. he hugs

his legs to his chest and smiles.)