Gardenia by Jasmine Mans

“Billie, did you wear that Gardenia in your hair so you wouldn’t smell yourself rotting? How did that work for you? Because I’m 20 and I’m trying to find the easiest way to not look like I’ve been hurting. Can you help me? Whether I wither or kiss a night too still. The man I fell for got his heart broken by girls prettier than me. Girls prettier than me have broken my heart.”

Haiku: Death Awaits

Happy Valentine's Day

You may not know this,

But to me,

To girls like me, to us

It's just another capitalist holiday,

This things called Valentine's Day.

We don't need a calendar

To remember ourselves

Of the deepness of our feelings,

We don't need a manual,

To be in love

Regardless of our fears.

And girls like me

Wear their hearts proudly

Right at the corner of their souls

So that they fall easily

into the unselfish black hole.

Girls like me are fools!

And are rarely right,

But our eyes recognize honesty.

They blink when in front of commitment.

And our bodies are allergic to gravity.

We don't wear rings!

Our fingers weren't built for marriages.

These hands are art agents,

Made to hold pain,

Heal hurt,

Bring help,

Put bandages.

These hands are mothers.

And girls like me

Make beautiful daughters.

Daughters whose children

Will freely open up their wings

And love away, everyday!

Not just in Valentine's day.

Girls like me

Don't need February 14th,

Or anniversaries.

We celebrate our feelings

All the time.

We don't need dates.

And we love red,

But we hate roses.

We'd rather just bleed our words out 

And watch our lovers making

their promises proud.

Girls like me,

Write and Read poems everyday.

Hear and sing about love always!

But anyways,

Happy valentine's day.

On a Christmas Night

On a Christmas night

I want you here, as soft as Summer breeze

As right as a this will ever be.

On a Christmas night

I want you here, I want you home.

I love everything that lives. Everything that is.

Does that mean I'm broken?

Does it mean I'm dying?

Does it mean that I'm half asleep,

and the part of me that's awake

has its eyes closed?

Because I've dreaming about dreams,

I've been doubting my doubts.

Slamming doors,

Looking for whatever it is that I'm longing for.

On a Christmas night

You should let me know.

You should let me go.

On a Christmas night

I will wait for you again.

Knees on my feet, heart on my sleeve.

I will no longer be afraid.

For the last time.

A speech to the non-dreamers

People don't dream anymore, that's sad. I'm not talking about "I wish I had money" or "I wish I was famous", I'm talking about realness: something you want to be remembered for.

Steve Jobs died rich, but we remember him for his amazing management skills and innovative ideas. He inspired (and still inspires) people to take risks, to be entrepreneurial, to not be afraid of losing everything.

Mandela is mad rich too, but we will remember Mandela for his resilience, courage, his strong will, his trust and honesty to his cause. Madiba will be remembered not for his fortune, not for the money he gained, not for the prizes he won; but for his sacrifices, his journey; his beliefs.

Some people just want to be famous and rich, and are willing to compromise their values and integrity for that. Some of you just want to be flattered, want to have fans, want to be followed... How dare you calling that a dream? How dare you?!

A dream is not frivolous, is not selfish, is not pretentious! A dream is as real as this pen and this paper, and this hands, and this... This is a dream. To be here and to be heard. To live and to be loved. To be present, and to be past. That is a dream.

Dream of your name in History books! Dream of young people screaming "If she did it, so can I"! Dream of your mother and her labour pains! Dream of failure, struggle, bruises; but also dream of triumph, climb, success. Dream of birth and death, of tear and smile... Just dream, please, I beg you: dream!

Willies are more dangerous than guns

"We teach our children that this piece of skin is a more frightening sight than dropping bombs on children in Iraq like sick falling sweets, selling weapons world wide waging war on the weak."

Willies are more dangerous than guns by Hollie McNish

Daddy’s little girl apology

Daddy, I’m sorry!

All I ever wanted was to make you proud

But at the time it sounded like

The loudest voice was the crowds!

I left my virginity on the back seat of your car,

That night you went out.

And he told me that if I loved him

I’d go down.

So I did it.

I let him drive me insane

I did everything he wanted me to

Until he came, then pain came. Then shame came. 

I did it and I wanted to tell you before

But I didn’t know how,

I’m sorry dad.

I’m still a child, I can’t be a mom!

I still have dreams of graduating and going to prom!

You know the girl with the big belly never wins prom queen.

And I can’t do this without him.

I thought he loved me. He said he loved me!

But what do I know about love?

I’m a just little girl and he just too old!

Your little girl, your baby girl.

Daddy! What am I supposed to do?

Adoption or abortion?

Neither of them sounds like a life option!

Daddy, I’m sorry.

I never pictured my future this way.

In my dreams we’d both be happy

Somewhere else far away,

But in reality life feels worse

Than my worst nightmares.

I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.

But I couldn’t look you in the eyes any more.

I had to runaway and find something worth living for.

Although all the stupid things I’ve done,

Besides the wrong path I choose,

I’m still daddy’s little girl.

And I’m sorry.

People say I’m a whore,

They don’t know my story!

They don’t even want to know

Where I come from!

I do drugs not because I feel worthless,

But because I need something to kill 

The pain of sleeping with someone else’s husband,

Brother, cousin... father!

Because I am someone’s daughter!

Maybe a prostitute, a failure, a drugs addict.

But at the end of the day I’m still your daughter.

Daddy, all I ever wanted was to see you proud!

To see that smile of yours you had when I was a child

And you would spin me all around!

So forgive me father,

For leaving town,

For giving up on the prom crown,

For failing in life somehow