The Six Different Faces of Our New Friend Suicide

The Six Different Faces of Our New Friend Suicide

Gay, homo, faggot.

Are the names that ring through your ears,

Like the sound of your incoming text message

From your ex-boyfriend Tommy.

As you tighten the rainbow belt,

That kept your pants from sagging yesterday,

That’s supposed to keep up your 140 pound body today.

Will that heal the pain?

Drip, Drop, Drip,

Are the continuous sounds you hear.

The blood spurting out,

Beginning to run down your arm as if in a race

Into your sink making it look like the punch,

That you drank at your 8^th grade dance.

It comes from all of those painful deep wounds,

That are supposed to heal the pain.

Man your legs dangle from 1,000 feet above.

The river that you and your siblings use to go,

Into when you were all inseparable.

The sounds of passing cars go,

In one ear and out another.

The wind quickly rushes through,

Your luscious spikey hair.

Is that supposed to heal the pain?

Sweetie you just want to be what they see.

Trying to be an A+ all the way around.

With a layer of colorful make-up,

Over your pale acneied face.

Your head buried in 5 thick text books.

Just crying those dark tears that touch your ruby red lips.

Those tiny white pills travel into your acidic stomach.

Are those supposed to heal the pain?

Your feet getting buried under pounds of wet sand,

As the waves rise and crash before your crystal eyes,

The seagulls up above race over your head.

At the exact same pace of your mind while your body

Rocks back and forth not to move your feet

Like the barricades that don’t allow you to pass,

While the Easter parade is going on.

Will your lungs full of bitter salt water heal the pain?

You all just want to be wanted.

Your arms stretched extremely far out,

Asking for just one simple hug.

On your knees begging for just some attention,

Like the small puppy you brought home not long ago,

Scratching at your hollow thin ankles.

The only thing that you are able to grasp,

 Is the inanimate air you breathe.

You all feel the sense of forever loneliness.

When in reality you have one another.

You just have to go a different to math,

Or simply look at the faces in the hall instead of the ground.

One piece in the same whole.

Each piece to the making of

The simple machine of life.

That’s what is going to heal all of this pain.
By:Hailee Baez

The Six Different Faces of OUr New Friend Suicide

The Six Different Faces of Our New Friend Suicide

Gay, homo, faggot.

Are the names that ring through your ears,

Like the sound of your incoming text message

From your ex-boyfriend Tommy.

As you tighten the rainbow belt,

That kept up your pants from sagging yesterday,

That’s supposed to keep up your 140 pound body today.

Will that heal the pain?

Drip, Drop, Drip,

Are the continuous sounds you hear.

The blood spurting out,

Beginning to run down your arm as if in a race

Into your sink making it look like the punch,

That you drank at your 8^th grade dance.

It comes from all of those painful deep wounds,

That are supposed to heal the pain.

Man your legs dangle from 1,000 feet above.

The river that you and your siblings use to go,

Into when you were all inseparable.

The sounds of passing cars go,

In one ear and out another.

The wind quickly rushes through,

Your luscious spikey hair.

Is that supposed to heal the pain?

Sweetie you just want to be what they see.

Trying to be an A+ all the way around.

With a layer of colorful make-up,

Over your pale acnefied face.

Your head buried in 5 thick text books.

Just crying those dark tears that touch your ruby red lips.

Those tiny white pills travel into your acidic stomach.

Are those supposed to heal the pain?

Your feet getting buried under pounds of wet sand.

As the waves rise and crash before your crystal eyes,

The seagulls up above race over your head.

At the exact same pace of your mind while your body

Rocks back and forth not to move your feet

Like the barricades that don’t allow you to pass,

While the Easter parade is going on.

Will your lungs full of bitter salt water heal the pain?

You all just want to be wanted.

Your arms stretched extremely far out,

Asking for just one simple hug.

On your knees begging for just some attention,

Like the small puppy you brought home not long ago,

Scratching at your hollow thin ankles.

The only thing that you are able to grasp,

 Is the inanimate air you breathe.

You all feel the sense of forever loneliness.

When in reality you have one another.

You just have to go a different to math,

Or simply look at the faces in the hall instead of the ground.

One piece in the same whole.

Each piece to the making of

The simple machine of life.

That’s what is going to heal all of this pain.

Trapeze By Deborah Digges

Trapeze

By: Deborah Digges

See how the first dark takes the city in its arms 
and carries it into what yesterday we called the future. 

O, the dying are such acrobats. 
Here you must take a boat from one day to the next, 

or clutch the girders of the bridge, hand over hand. 
But they are sailing like a pendulum between eternity and evening, 

diving, recovering, balancing the air. 
Who can tell at this hour seabirds from starlings, 

wind from revolving doors or currents off the river. 
Some are as children on swings pumping higher and higher. 

Don't call them back, don't call them in for supper. 
See, they leave scuff marks like jet trails on the sky.

Digges is not only a poet, but she is also an author of numerous books, and two memoirs. She won a Kingsley Tufts Prize, and a Delmore Schwartz Memorial Prize. She is known for having poems that often rely on the relationship between humans and nature, the primitive urges of discovery and rediscovery, and the physical consequences of such momentary losses of the self.

This poem gives me amazing imagery from the first line. It gives me the feeling as if i;m walking on the trapeze in the circus. I love how this poem makes me think. I can feel my hands slipping and adreniline russing through my veins. I believe this is one of my most favorite poems I have ever read.

Poem Project :3

Notes On The Art Of Poetry

Dylan Thomas

I could never have dreamt that there were such goings-on
in the world between the covers of books,
such sandstorms and ice blasts of words,,,
such staggering peace, such enormous laughter,
such and so many blinding bright lights,, ,
splashing all over the pages
in a million bits and pieces
all of which were words, words, words,
and each of which were alive forever
in its own delight and glory and oddity and light

The Tremendous Change Of Life

The innocence and softness,
portrayed in the eyes of her sweet face.
She is the one people hold,
and fuss over.
Constatly keeping her in their arms.

She is oblivious to the world around her,
and her only care is what she has been taught.
She doesn't feel the pain,
lingering in the abyss.
It's what she will get hit with,
but not yet..,


She's getting older,
and the changes of her world begin.
She cares about school and friends.
Not knowing they will not even look at her,
in the years to come.

She's even older now,
and she begins to feel this pain.
The pain that eveyone tried,
to shelter her from.
She doesn't know what's coming.

She walks around thinking about the past,
and who she was before.
The changes have made things hard.
An her simple life is filled,
with absolute chaos.

The innocence has fadded now.
All everyone sees is the lables,
that seem to be written,
across her forehead.

What happened to her?
She is lost in the sea of people.
Her grasp on life is slipping,
and soon won't even be hers.

She's old enough to realize,
that she can't even be herself.
The satisfaction of the world is,
no longer there.



 

One a Memory, Not Always a Memory

Once a Memory, Not Always a Memory

By:Hailee Baez

Laying in the massive bed.

The slippery sheets are her comfort.

The voices in her ears,

Follow her as she attempts to turn over.

Why does she always get so lost?

Her clammy skin does not feel,

The dreams that are gone.

The silkiness no longer covers the pain.

Her fragile bones don’t shield,

The icy gap in her mind.

The hollow darkness is still there.

And the memories fade away.

Why does she always get so lost?

This fortress of her body,

Doesn’t protect these distant memories,

That now linger is the drab abyss.

The voices now whisper in her ear,

Wanting to get inside the ice.

 Her thick skin is no longer a barrier,

To the dull memories.

Why does she always get so lost?

The voices soon begin to die out,

And mumble is,

All she hears.

Her pale face lays.

On the fluffy pillow of tears.

The voices are gone now,

And her once gold soul is,

Now transparent.