Poetry competition CLOSED 6th January 2017 5:14am
- Missy - (Miss_Sub)
View Profile Poems by Miss_Sub
RUNNERS-UP: wallyroo92 and Pariah Shadow (anonymouslyhere)

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I wrote my way out

Fire of Insight
United States
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Poetry Contest

see below
idk if we got any Hamilton the musical fans in the house.. but Lin-Manuel Maranda came out with a mixtape with a song (spoken poem) about how writing saved him.  I am sure you can relate to using poetry as a tool to get through the tough times.  All I ask is that you write about about how YOU wrote your way out!

new only.

will be opened to a vote


Guardian of Shadows
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Writing the Pain Away

have you ever felt
that your world is ending
and a new one is not coming
anytime soon

I wrote about the cat
that pounced on the bird
but let it go
after the bird warbled its anxiety

have you ever thought
that the best way out
was to slit your wrist
and let your heart bleed dry

I tapped out words on my laptop
about a rainbow in the sky
and little pretty people
using it as a slip-slide

have you ever felt so alone
that walking in a crowd
is like walking through a desert
and silence is as loud as creation

I wrote about a bubbling brook
that ran through a wood
and the naiads that played
on it, splashing about

as I stand here now
on this sunny warm afternoon
the pain that I feel
is nothing compared to others

the child who drowned in the fish pond
the pain of his parents eternal regret
the father who crashed his car into a post
hurrying to bring home food for his family

how will they wipe their pain away
as I have done
how tiny is my hurt
as compared to them

but my pain
is still as painful.

Fire of Insight
United States
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Thank you Grace for starting off the competition with this piece! <3

Thought Provoker
United States
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A Road of Metaphors

My poetry has been a disguise of phantoms and recollections,
Fused fantasies with realities and the differences I can’t tell,
They’ve been obscure secrets escaped through innuendos,
Implicitly in coded language loaded with ghostly bombshells.

And some never went off…

It’s been a road of metaphors filled with similes and analogies,
Allusions to the illusions of the near madness that I bore,
Allegories of the freed confined mind resigned to stay silent,
Yet a little bit of it bled through the wounds and on to the floor.

They’ve been the expressions of lonely glumly feelings,
Endless streams of daydreams of my subconscious thought,
Reveries of love and anger ranging from passion to languor,
To euphoric epiphanies and revelations I used to plot.

It’s the journal to my life’s story without the fame or glory,
The reflection and hindsight to the past I sometimes forget,
Comical chronicles of the years, some of laughter, some of tears,
And of the paths I overlooked and chose, and people whom I met.

I go back and read about:
Fifteen year old me and how silly I used to be,
Twenty year old me and how naïve I was back then,
Thirty year old me and how lost and scared I was,
Present old me and how I’m still trying to reach my Zen.

And I wonder about older me and if I’ll be a little wiser,
Maybe senile, maybe shrewd, perhaps ruthless and yet calm,
Writing better than old times dropping nuclear power rhymes,
Maybe then my message will come across louder than any bomb.

Fire of Insight
United States
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Damn wallyroo! I <3 this

- Missy -
Tyrant of Words
United Kingdom
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Joined 26th June 2011
Forum Posts: 5682


And it was as if
this huge burden
had been lifted


silenced by circumstance
and the leather strop of guilt
that lashed us together.

Your hate defied your love
and I was unprepared
to feel the dead in you

the void, those chipped teeth
that scratched the skin
but never tasted the surface

and I knew that your bitterness
would peel away the pith
of your aura

like the man who watched
the sun go down
never knowing

that his shoulders
would meet
in the gloom.

Fire of Insight
United States
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woah.. missy, your way with words is quite incredible.. They serve you well! thanks for entering the competition!

jade tiger
Tyrant of Words
United States
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(a palindrome)

Since I've started to write
While I walk the path
I don't presume whether I'll make it
In spite of being young & brash & brave
This apprentice could have immortality
Despite the lack of formal training
And refusing negative foretelling
Once direction of a future is revealed
That my latest poem won't be the last
To hear the Muse stirring
And so I let go
To be still and listen
To nourish the insatiable mind
The language and timber
To learn by example
It doesn't look for me if I don't try
I need only seek
It's not just by luck
The offer is out there
Because they've no desire to learn
The posers have nothing to teach me

Either I write because it's real, or I refuse to pretend to write

The posers have nothing to teach me
Because they've no desire to learn
The offer is out there
It's not just by luck
I need only seek
It doesn't look for me if I don't try
To learn by example
The language and timber
To nourish the insatiable mind
To be still and listen
And so I let go
To hear the Muse stirring
That my latest poem won't be the last
Once direction of a future is revealed
And refusing negative foretelling
Despite the lack of formal training
This apprentice could have immortality
In spite of being young & brash & brave
I don't presume whether I'll make it
While I walk the path
Since I've started to write

Strange Creature
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Joined 17th Dec 2016
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The ghetto embraced me like one of its own despite my country accent and my pale skin tone.Only white boy at my school only white boy in the jex.I learned to get in where I fit in as I yearned to earn respect.I guess for this white boy it was harder than the rest.As I struggled for survival amongst all the rest I learned to stand tall while sticking out my chest.Looking for a fight was like my next tes.I struggled to be be happy one day to the next.Friends eventually came but used me for my money we would smoke a sack they would get to acting funny.At the end of the day i will always be that hoe ass white boy when the shit goes down I always got to fight they turn the blame on me say I'm never right I pop off like a firecracker on new years eve night
I felt I had to fight to give me what I need.It was all fun and games till nobody believes in fighting,I seen the chrome first then out the barrel came the lightning I learned to sit my white ass down it was no longer exciting

Lost Thinker
United States
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Poetry is my bodyguard: security against all suctioning discord —
I’ve realized, through languid battles against meaningless grievances, that poetry is more than just “elevated thoughts”;
It is my entirety:
My naked freckled transparent body, transparent soul-
Poetry is a friend; a long lost brother now found; come and have a cup of coffee with me so we can catch up on all that we’ve missed
Poetry is my sanity in insanity
My sense in nonsense
My inevitable mistakes and successes —
Poetry is my amaranthine virtue

Thought Provoker
United States
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Forum Posts: 126


Possessions were the standard
of my success or failure.
Witness the parade of acquisitions,
stacked high and wide this day.
There was prize for the largest pile,
no way to take it when I'm pulled away.
I'll be remembered not for the things
I hold tight to me before I die.

Sickness gripped my plaintive self,
oh so much was not enough.
More and more did not remedy
the illness where my soul should be.
I was seeking myself in these things,
something to fulfill a hungry place.
To have felt like a remedy,
I was looking in places wrong.

A path forward presented itself,
creativity offered me integral repose.
To have and share became clear,
with the muse's help I would resolve.
Words would become my possessions
as I collected rhyming memories.
Poems spun into artful arrangements
would become what I would stack high.

Held and shared with the world,
prose would flow from a source,
touched by this mortal coil,
divinity inspired verse for all.
Words from my humble pen,
spilled ink to form a poem.
Words speak for me and you alike,
shared ground for lives shared.

Lives touched by lyrical marks,
invisible to most, felt by many,
a noble bequest to leave behind,
a soul's request to share a heart.
Now I use my tools of creativity,
spare surroundings supporting
a parade of shared sincerity
until that day I'm called beyond.

Pariah Shadow
Dangerous Mind
United States
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Birthed from a Pen

The abyss seems alluring
Purely perfect in its pitch black
The little worms are eager
As am I, for them to take
What ever of me is for taking
I am stagnant, in mind and body
I call, none reply, my limp words
They are empty breaths unheard

Embrace me, my pen
Give word to my sins
That I may crawl out
From the eternal stillness
Of stagnant afterthought
The wars of silence I fought
Ink is my reborn voice
Purely perfect in its pitch black
Giving to me what I did lack.

Twisted Dreamer
United States
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Forum Posts: 232

writing my way out

How did poetry save me? It saved me from
getting on my knees and praying to the so
called higher power, though I do believe
in a way that without it I cannot be as stable
as I pretend to be. Back to poetry, I believe
it is my savior in all its glory and contradictions
that have so far dug me from the bottom of
a few tons of life's predicaments, giving my heart
to a piece of paper and it's broken margins.
Imagine myself winning without poetry, ha!
Laugh at the ridiculousness of such a treason
of thought, for my life is written from within
a dark corner expressions of life and love
within a dark soul contemplating the worse
that any man or woman can ponder in the
face of what they might call depression.
Is it a sin to write about all the evil that I've
seen? I was only sixteen when life threw
lemons my way and said make a smoothie
of happiness, since then I am my own man
or clan wondering the holy land of my mind
giving everyone around me a reason to scream
treason!! I am still the champion of reason,
even if only in my own mind I can with clear
certainty declare myself nothing without poetry.
All those days in the corner writing nonsense
are my most memorable and joyous days kept
away from society, but a pen and paper kept
me company as I strayed into the darkness,
resuscitated by my own unique font of sorts.

Lost Thinker
United States
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Joined 5th Jan 2017
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How I wrote my way out? Born into a cloud of doubt. The way I write is the way I see through to the light. New insight from a conscious mind, who said leave it all behind? The ones I held closest, what hurts the most is...I trusted them like a poet does his pen. Gave up the light within but just then someone threw a spark..On this gasoline, my past, Obscene. But I let it go and let it show through my art. Who would've ever known from the start? The homeless kid now made it big and you work at the local Wal mart...Writing wasn't my way out, it was my way through the dark straight to the heart like an artery. It's hard, you see, to be the Outkast. I've been last my whole life, over came the strife and now I'm me. The person I couldn't be more proud to be...

Strange Creature
New Zealand
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Dude thats deep u.u

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