Best of Poems from NEW Poets. Read the best of NEW Poetry around the world.

Thanks for including me on this list! ❤

WILDsound Writing and Film Festival Review

Read the best of NEW Poetry around the world. Best of Poems from NEW Poets.

CLICK the links and read the poems

DUDE WAS RICH, by Anthony N’Neke
https://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/06/22/dude-was-rich-poetry-by-anthony-nneke/

THE DEATH OF LIFE, by Andres Herrera
https://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2016/06/20/the-death-of-life-poetry-by-andres-herrera/

DISCRIMINATION, by Rashika Roberts
https://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2016/06/20/discrimination-poetry-by-rashika-roberts/

TOMORROW, by Olumayowa Fagbure
https://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2016/06/20/tomorrow-poetry-by-olumayowa-fagbure/

DARK NIGHT BRIGHT DASHBOARD, by NoFaithPoet
https://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2016/06/20/dark-night-bright-dashboard-poetry-by-nofaithpoet/

CHILD OF MIDNIGHT, by Anthony Silva
https://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2016/06/20/child-of-midnight-poetry-by-anthony-silva/

HEARTBREAK BY THE LAKE, by Forrest Jamie
https://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2016/06/20/heartbreak-by-the-lake-poetry-by-forrest-jamie/

ACID RAIN, by Cathy Hammer
https://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2016/06/20/acid-rain-poetry-by-cathy-hammer/

CLARITY VISITED, by Sharda Bhakri
https://wildsoundfestivalreview.com/2016/06/20/clarity-visited-poetry-by-sharda-bhakhri/

GENIUS GODDESS, by S. Michaelis
https://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/06/22/genius-goddess-poetry-by-s-michaelis/

THERE ARE TWO SEASONS, by Neville Johnson
https://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/06/22/there-are-two-seasons-poetry-by-neville-johnson/

SUSPENDED LOVE, by Anna
https://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/06/22/suspended-love-poetry-by-anna/

LOTTIE WE CAN FLY, by Elaine Longworth
https://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/06/22/lottie-we-can-fly-poetry-by-elaine-longworth/

HIJO PRODIGO DE LA DESGRACIA, by Francisco Fernandez
https://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/06/22/hijo-prodigo-de-la-desgracia-poetry-by-francisco-fernandez/

DEAR BROTHER, by Rani Powell
https://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/06/22/dear-brother-poetry-by-rani-powell/

PLAY HOUSE, by John John Kind Ravenell Jr.
https://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/06/22/play-house-poetry-by-john-john-kind-ravenell-jr/

MY REALITY WITHIN A DREAM, by Roderick Dupree
https://festivalforpoetry.com/2016/06/22/my-reality-within-a-dream-poetry-by-roderick-dupree/

A REMARKABLE TALE FROM THE LAND OF PODD, by…

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BPD and Letting Go of You (Part 2)

I spend so much time living in anger these days that I’m starting to forget the good things. And maybe should…but the thought scares me. It breaks my heart just thinking about it. I’m not sure if I should go on as best I can like you never existed, or just try keeping the bad in the very back of my mind and remember an old friend held so bittersweet in my heart. Because it had to have been real at some point, right? The first friend I made in highschool, just days before it even began at orientation. So here are the things I want to hold onto for as long as I can, even if they sadden me to think about at the same time:

  1. Your childlike sensibility; watching the cartoon network on your couch with your cats. Never thought I’d miss that innocence you’d held onto now that it’s gone.
  2. Your granola upbringing, courtesy of your hippie mother. You loved nature and would feed the squirrels outside your window. I miss you feeding the squirrels.
  3. Blue eyes. Beautiful.
  4. Your intelligence; the random facts and trivia, always something new to say.
  5. Unashamed, but quiet around others for the most part, like me.
  6. The texts you’d send when I wasn’t at school, asking where/how I was.
  7. Your laugh; contagious, and always made me smile.
  8. How open you were, how comfortable it was to be in your presence.
  9. Your forgiveness when I messed up bad… something I could never seem to do in return for you.
  10. That bond we had, like in the movies. Like sisters separated at birth.

There’s plenty more, but right now all I feel is this ever-present stabbing at the still bleeding wound from your silence from when you left.

Happy birthday. I love you. I miss you. Forever.

IMG_20151021_190915175 2“I survived every one of your goodbyes.” – Della Hicks-Wilson

Heartbreak By the Lake, Poetry by Forrest Jamie

Huge thank you to WILDsound for featuring my poem! 🙂

WILDsound Writing and Film Festival Review

Genres: Closure, First Love, Heartbreak, Hurt, Love, Painful, Relationships, Sad

Heartbreak By the Lake by Forrest Jamie

I anticipated the heartbreak
I knew would come
because I just couldn’t leave
these feelings and questions unresolved.

And here it is;
first heartbreak
(over eight years in the making)
delivered by
first love.
A new kind of pain
and it’s my own damn fault.
Of course
a girl like me
could never be enough.
Not for you.
But I knew it all along.

So this is what it feels like.
And this is the beautiful view
of the lake we saw
on a Monday afternoon
when you broke my heart.
My eyes began to mimic the waves
while you admitted to your lies.

Did you feel
anything
as you sat there beside me
watching me cry,
watching
my heart breaking?

Until forever fades,
I will love you forever, I’m afraid.

    * * * * *

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My Last Day of 22

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“Amazing, still it seems, I’ll be 23.
I won’t always love what I’ll never have.
I won’t always live in my regrets.”
23 – Jimmy Eat World

It’s my last day of 22. Half of it I spent sleeping, wanting to experience as little of the day as possible. I’ll do the same tomorrow. But I’m tired of it – of not living.

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This song, by a band very important to me that I grew up with, has been on my mind lately. For obvious reasons. It’s called 23 and tomorrow that’s how old I’ll be. I want this song to motivate me.  I want it to be a part of what gets me to really start living.

Because I have more bad days than good. And some days I can’t even get out of bed. Normal, every-day activities wear me out and I’m tired of wishing my life would just change magically. I know I have to do something about it. It has to be me. I can’t sit around waiting for someone to save me from my loneliness.

And I have been slowly making changes. Slowly but surely. DBT was a huge step for me. I’m writing a book. I’m submitting my writings to different magazines and sites – I’m no longer living stagnant.

I’m in need of a friend – of people – who understand. Where I’ve been, where I need to go. Because I can’t do this alone.

Scars Are Souvenirs You Never Lose

“Scars are souvenirs you never lose; the past is never far.” IMG_20151021_190542734 2
From my art journal – “Name” by the Goo Goo Dolls.
I grew up listening to this band. Name had always been one of my favourite songs, but it wasn’t until I started self-harming that it took on a whole new meaning for me, became one of the most special songs in my heart to this day.

I’m very back-and-forth on my scars. On one hand, they’re a reminder of what not to do again, proof I’ve held on this long. But on the other hand, I fucking hate them – they’re a reminder that I was ever so weak to do such a stupid thing, and now I have to live with the physical proof.

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“Cut” by Plumb.
“I’m not a stranger – no, I am yours. With crippled anger and tears that still drip sore. I may seem crazy or painfully shy. And these scars wouldn’t be so hidden if you would just look me in the eye. […] but the only anesthetic that makes me feel anything kills inside.”
Another song that’s in that special, tragic place in my heart. I remember so vividly the first time I ever heard it. It was just a few months after my parents found out about my self-harming, in 2006, 12 years old. The way they reacted and dealt with it was totally wrong. And hearing this song for that first time just broke me, saying what I couldn’t.

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And of course, this quote from The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides.
“What are you doing here, honey? You’re not even old enough to know how bad life gets.”
“Obviously, doctor, you’ve never been a thirteen year old girl.” 

And over the last decade I’ve relapsed and just keep adding to them. Like I said – always recovering, never recovered. 

I’m never not aware of them. I never forget. Some days are easier to deal with – like, this is me, this is my body and my scars and it’s okay because I’m still here. Some days, I just want to hide, they’re ugly and forever a part of me and I hate them.

I don’t want to be ashamed of myself; my mental illness, my body. Every day is a fight to do the right thing.

I am in recovery. I am a work in progress. And I’m still working on being okay with that.

Bravery Doesn’t Come Naturally to Me

I’m trapped. All of my failures have caught up to me and I am stuck.

My day-to-day is full of nothing and I can’t break the routine.

Society would call me either lazy or a loner or shy, but the truth is I’m being held against my will by my own mind and body.

I want out. I want to wake up each morning with a smile and have a good day.

I want to live. I want to travel and meet people, create memories and experiences I’ll hold dear for the rest of my life.

I want adventure. Excitement.
But I also want stability. Comfort. Home.

I want meaning. I want to change my life and change someone else’s. I want to take risks and not be so afraid of failing. I already regret so much.

All of these wants I’m not sure I’ll ever have…I’m still finding the courage, and I’m afraid that bravery doesn’t come naturally to me.

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From my art journal – “I Feel So” by Box Car Racer, always there for me in my angsty moments.

The Power of Music

Like many others, I grew up with music as a huge part of my life.But it was always different for me than the kids I grew up with. With my dad as a musician, I was exposed to all kinds of music and I started playing guitar when I was 10. That’s when I realized just how important it was to me. It simply became a part of who I was. I found it was the best thing I had to express myself, along with writing.

I was 11 when music first started saving my life. Diagnosed with depression, the only thing that kept me sane, that kept me going, was music.

All I cared about was my guitar and going to shows. Those were the only times I never felt truly alone; my guitar, a pen and some paper, or the stereo on full blast; or being in a room surrounded by other people who feel the exact same as you, are there for the same reasons, and the band giving back just as much as we gave them.
To this day, I never feel more alive than in a crowd, all of us pouring our hearts out with the band onstage. It’s really the only time I really feel understood and that comfort is what keeps me going.

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One of the best quotes I’ve come across that really hit me, as shown above from one of my art journals, came from Soupy of The Wonder Years:

“There’s a reason we all listen to punk rock instead of Top 40. There’s a reason I’d rather be stage-diving than at a bar. I think that most everyone I know involved in punk or hardcore is intrinsically fucked up on some level. There’s something wrong with us. Maybe not “wrong”, but certainly different. Because of this, I think we all share a similar outlook and because of that, we share similar experiences. I’m just writing songs about my life, but as it turns out, my life is pretty similar to others and honestly, it feels good to know we’re in this shit together.”

I remember so clearly the first time I experienced this rush and contentment, the first time I was ever in a mosh pit. 2006, 12 years old, with my cousin (who I’d had this shitty all-girl punk band with) where we saw From First to Last and Fall Out Boy. I’d been to shows before of course, but this was the first time I was ever in the pit. I was immediately addicted to the energy.

I miss those days. Yeah, I was going through some rough shit but, for at least those first couple years, I had this outlet that I shared with my cousin; our band. I lived for practices and performing. I continued playing my own music after the band “broke up”, of course, but I’ll always hold those days as some of the best in my life.

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I can’t imagine my life without music. What’s it’s done for me. Punk, especially.

I was 11 the first time music saved my life and it’s been saving me ever since.