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Ankush 1d
Once upon a time
a father with his belt –
(with black shiny paint
and a steel which is melt)

And a son, a pen in his hand
A book by his side
A lamp blowing light
Tears in his eyes
The fear in his veins
With his wimped tiny mole

(A cry in his neck and
a gulp in his bones)

Whimp whimp strikes the ground
Wipes the tears,picks up his pen
Shakes up his head,
Gives him a cloth,
to blow up his nose

(A smile on the boy's face
The fallen tear on the page's lace
It dried his shake on hand and
moved him a pace)

Whimp, whimp, whimp – strikes again
(A posed fear on son's face)
Whimp, and he strikes again
(The clueless child, shakes with his pain )

The blats on the floor
and its black remains
The years of slaps
which slashed up cement

(He comes back..
drops his belt   )

A relief in boy's breath

The steel fallen,
relief is felt

The father with his red hands
(Blood flows out at a spot's end )
Smiles at the son

Dark is his eyes like year's repent

(A strung in his mind
He shakes only once,
As he picks up his belt)

He sits on his couch and
acts as he had a father –
with a belt-
(with its black shiny paint and
a steel which is melt.)
(this poem is Just my imagination )

A haunting reflection on the cycle of violence within a family, where a father’s painful legacy is passed down to his son. Through raw imagery and symbolic language, this poem explores the emotional scars of childhood trauma and the generational impact of abuse.
Zywa 1d
Children wonder what

it would be like to be dead --


but not: to be old.
Essay "Laat me niet alleen" ("Don't leave me alone", 2008, Renate Dorrestein), chapter "Step Six: Let's face our fears"

Collection "Old sore"
Zywa 2d
Sometimes a child walks

in the hallway during class --


wearing the *** chain.
Childhood memories "Het warmtefort" ("The warmth fortress", 2022, Marieke Lucas Rijneveld), chapter De gladneuzen (The simple nosed bats)

Collection "Germ Substance"
i was “born” without lungs
gasping for air
and while they grieved for me
i pushed air throughout my body.

june 20, 2024, 6pm.
you did the bare minimum
and i have been obsessed with you.
months. you, of all people.
and when i have told my friends they said
“him, of all people?”

april 29, 2025 and many days before that
my friends called me a *****.
that word is red and bold and ****** and italic and underlined and highlighted and- *****.
im 14.?
to all the mothers out there- god(?) bless your hearts,
how would you imagine
your daughter
a *****? (i know im not, but what am i if not society’s opinions?)

…November (?) 2021 until now (every moment every second of my waking and sleeping being)
i think about it.
i think about him.
he should be in jail
and he probably has a girlfriend
a wife
kids
by now.
i’ll never forget what that “man” ( if you can even call him that ) did to me
and i wonder if i told my friends
*****-callers!
what he did to me
i wonder what their faces would say
i want to see them shocked and cry and apologize for calling me a ***** (because i am not a ******* *****!!)

…the things which i held in my palm
as a young child (was i a ***** then, did i come out of the womb “asking for it?”)
always seemed so large
but they are specks of sparkling stardust in my hands now
they seem so small. (were they always?)

I AM SICK AND TIRED (only a ***** would be tired) OF EVERYONE ELSE GETTING WHATEVER THE **** THEY WANT BECAUSE EVERYONE ELSE HAS DETERMINED THAT THEY DESERVE THAT.
i wonder how many of our lives are determined by how others think of us
i wonder how many of us are others
society is not a singular being but something that is inside all of us
we are all society
(so you can all be ****** too.)
(or maybe just me.)
(just me.)
(me.)
-

-a something-year-old *****.
please dont censor ***** theyll start calling me a ****
Phia 4d
And then you showed up
And discovered a part of me
That I never even knew existed
My friend sent me a poem, I’m not sure who by, but it reads

“No one is mad at you
That’s just an echo
From how you grew up
You’re safe
You can let go”

I didn’t realize that this was a huge part of my childhood that I connected with one of my biggest “temp checks” and fears: “are you mad at me?”
I’m scared.
Scared I’ve been too vulnerable.
Scared I trusted too much.
Scared I’ve gotten my hopes up.

I should have known by now
nothing this good is ever real
Nothing ever has been.
Nothing ever will be.
And it’s time to accept that.

I have always been disappointed,
since I was a little girl,
and somehow,
I have made peace with that.

But this time,
this time I want it to be different.
I want it to stick.
I want you to stay.

I’m sorry I love too strongly,
too loudly,
too much.
But there’s something about you
something I can’t explain.

I have never felt safer before,
and yet,
I have never been more terrified.

I’m scared I will let down all my walls,
let you in,
only for you to look around
and decide you don’t like what you see.

I’m scared I’ll scare you away.
I’m scared you’ll be like everyone else.

I’m scared.
I want it to stick.
I want you to stay.
This is a poem about me, its quite vulnerable. I have no old ties and connections, my oldest friendships are no more than 4 years, I never had friends growing up, and I always thought that my family hated me (they never did)

But this is specifically about my current friends, I love them so much and I'm scared that history will repeat like it always does <3
Zywa 6d
I threw my suitcase

into the hole and I jumped --


back into my youth.
Poem "Fakkel" ("Torch", 2018, Bart Chabot)

Collection "Being my own museum"
Zoe G 5d
it smells like the smoke of a barbecue in my grandparents' backyard,
the perfume my brother pretended to be allergic to so i wouldn't buy it,
the kitchen before christmas dinner

it tastes like the pumpkin and feta bread my mother used to make,
the blackberries from my grandmother's tree,
the fish and chips on saturdays

it sounds like all the dumb youtube videos,
the songs blasted on the small cd player on the desk,
the conversations that blend together over dinner

it looks like the rollerblades with a broken strap,
the overgrown garden we could get lost in,
the playground with the train

it feels like collapsing on the couch after marathoning the one just dance song we know off by heart,
like laughing until our chests ache and crying until the same,
like looking back and wishing i still knew all these things
i had a terrible realisation yesterday of the passage of time and that it just goes on. i think there are too many things i will miss
We are the last generation,
A couple of years, we will be extinction.
We never wore helmet,
Riding bicycles with whole heart.

We played outside without fear,
Knowing none will bother.
We never drank from plastic bottles,
A gulp anywhere, as it wasn't fatal.

Drinking water from water springs,
Without worrying with playful flings.
Shared our toys with others,
As all were our sisters and brothers.

No Security fences,
Not knowing what was offences.
We never had medicine cabinets,
Healthy eating, our regular habits.

Stalking our crushes,
Sending them unknown wishes.
True love was like a heaven,
Generations will miss those haven.

Eating all the chocolates & sweets
Not bothered about obesity, as it was treats.
No brand shoes, walking with bare foot,
playing, jumping & running, always cute.

Ate real and healthy food,
Each chosen by parents for our good.
Never knew what supplements were,
Even doctors medicine was rare.

Made our playing things,
With scarps, mud, sand and all things.
Gliding through the slides,
in playground, no security nor guards.

No phones, computers, Nor PlayStation
Had real friends, our plays, full of action.
The only tablet we had, when were sick,
We had many things to play, with no logic.

Going to school with backpacks,
Carrying the load of notebooks,
Getting beaten with cane sticks,
Escaping from teachers, were real tricks.

No calling or prior texting,
Surprise for friends, us visiting.
Relatives lived closely,
With love & bonding, made ties, as a family.

Photos were in Black and white,
We were always looking bright.
But the memories, were colorful,
Each moment we spent was cheerful.

Not worried about colors nor looks,
By age and numbers we were hooked,
We shall be remembered, as the last generation,
Who were filled with real human emotion.

We gave keen attention to our elders,
Whom we considered our life ladders,
Listening to flashback stories,
With grandparents, our memories.

An unmatched generation,
Which makes us responsible,
In sharing all things wonderful in life,
As the next don't spend theirs in grief.

Lets return to the basics,
To teach old ways of life and to fix.
Stop wasting time, for tv's and screens,
Care and love others, is what life means.

Put them gadgets down, and rise,
Start to look in each others eyes.
Take off your shoes, don't get spoiled,
Step your foot out, feel the soil.

Often, Use Thank You,
as a gratitude, make it a habit, new.
Involve with people, say I love you,
You will not regret, even if you have a few.


We the peoples,
born during 1950's to 90's,
We aren't special,
but a limited edition models.
Inspired by a post by Beautiful Words
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