—Note to Readers: We encourage everyone to enjoy the arts and freedom of expression. Poetry is a good way to work through feelings and emotions. If you are thinking of hurting yourself in anyway, or are being abused, please tell a trustworthy adult and get help.
A child is buried within me,
but I still understand
Abraxas is suffering.
I am proud of my innocence but live with less
than I might have had.
What’s done is done
and what’s past is dead.
I live alone in my skin, wanting a real friend
balancing a chip on my shoulder
and the labels ‘good and bad’.
Certainly not an expert in anything
I too am no different, I just want to win,
A thousand million things,
And Abraxas is suffering.
Thanks for the poems, stories and art! Love you all.
Losing You By Devon There’s a hole in my soul, where you use to live. There’s a tear in my heart that’s about to give. I clamor, turn and twist, Trying to find you in the abyss.
The wallflower By Capria I am fading into the light and living this quiet life. If I scream I’m bigger than the universe, Can’t beat, or tie, Does it mean I’ll never die? So I have made a pact with pain, Not to give-up, ever again. Still the wallpaper draws me in. And I am scared of all the things, I’ve never been. School of Thought By Capria If I could reach love I would cry the freedom of water, like seas and skies. There are so many waiting in lines, I can’t find the calculations or numbers to count. You’re the passing breeze S6Y11. School of thought I never attended. Monks chirping, Minds exploding, Do la la, come again. The Cycle of Abuse By Capria It was always too dark in that house to see, all that happened between you and me. The faint glow from a window is all the world knows, and the lackluster responses grow. I only do what was done to me, so shut-up and take it, It’s the way it should be. You could never even see. The world is an obstacle course, when the negative takes control, lost and angry, tearing apart and shutting down. The guilt comes if you make a sound. Capria is 14 yrs. old, and from Chicago, IL.
I am a butcher,
I cut my own skin.
I’ve been violated so many times,
I can’t seem to win.
I am a butcher and I see red.
I’ve seen so much I’m emotionally dead.
I am a butcher and my heart has grown cold.
I’m only 18, but I feel so old.
I am a butcher; you look and stare.
And I’m supposed to stand here and act like I don’t care.
I am a butcher and I have a soul.
But you don’t care, you paid your toll.
I am butcher and I feel depressed.
Plagued by my past, there is never rest.
I am a butcher and this is me.
I’m a human being just like you, but you just can’t see.
“Poetry helps me maintain homeostasis. It is my lifeline and only source of oxygen. It allows me to say the things I’d never say out loud. It gives me the freedom to open my wings. The anger I may feel, at times, is on the paper and not directed toward myself, or others. I hope you find a way of self-expression that suits you well.
Till next time.” ~ Sabrina
Snow go away,
Play outside all day!
Rainbows hang in the sky,
It’s time for butterflies.
Nesting robins return,
Go outside, the sun won’t burn.
—Sage is 11 years old, and from Michigan.
Don’t fade away,
Keep drinking the wanderlust of Kool-Aid.
Paint a picture everyday,
in hazy water colors
If anyone knew why red bled And yellow gave in, If anyone knew colors I wish they'd paint. If anyone knew why blue fades, And white stains, If anyone knew colors I wish they'd say. —Keeley