best poem ever

Okay but here’s the thing

I have this task for some Norwegian class to find a poem that i like, and then read it to the class

and i just found the best poem ever written

translation:

Dear, babycarrot - Henrik Ibsen 1942

Babycarrot

small

ugly

lives in the shadow of the carrot

babycarrot

you are a horse running alone
and he tries to tame you
compares you to an impossible highway
to a burning house
says you are blinding him
that he could never leave you
forget you
want anything but you
you dizzy him, you are unbearable
every woman before or after you
is doused in your name
you fill his mouth
his teeth ache with memory of taste
his body just a long shadow seeking yours
but you are always too intense
frightening in the way you want him
unashamed and sacrificial
he tells you that no man can live up to the one who
lives in your head
and you tried to change didn’t you?
closed your mouth more
tried to be softer
prettier
less volatile, less awake
but even when sleeping you could feel
him travelling away from you in his dreams
so what did you want to do, love
split his head open?
you can’t make homes out of human beings
someone should have already told you that
and if he wants to leave
then let him leave
you are terrifying
and strange and beautiful
something not everyone knows how to love.
— 

For women who are ‘difficult’ to love.

Warsan Shire

8

“Kiss someone who makes you feel their magic in your bones, who makes you wonder how can someone who looks like witchcraft at midnight taste so holy.”

- Nikita Gill

My poem "Why do I bother? "

Why do I bother?
Why do I care?
I just wanna stay late
Up to 3am

I would eat cookies
And drink cup of tea
Sit on the Tumblr
And watch some TV

I would read fanfic
About one true pair
Cry in the corner
Couse that’s just not fair

Maths ain’t no worth it
Chemistry sucks
My eyes and stomach
Just don’t give a fuck

Why do I bother?
Why do I care?
Future is nothing
And I’m in despair

I Found A Boy

I found a boy and fell in love.

But he doesn’t love words like me- he doesn’t understand how they make me feel alive, how the pages breathe into me.

He doesn’t understand my obsession with buying pens and journals and writing down every thought that comes to mind.

He doesn’t understand how all of the crazy things in my mind can be silenced by the black and white pages of a good book.

He doesn’t love the things that I love-
But he loves me,

And I know this because it’s day 14 of our new tradition, and he has his phone tucked away, his head on my lap, and is laughing as I read him a funny part of To Kill A Mockingbird. Tomorrow, on day 15, we’ll be doing the same thing with a new chapter.

I found a boy, and I’m so in love.

-WanderingWorlds

Execution Style

Execution is being 12 years old and
your stepfather feeds off your shyness.
Using it as collateral to fondle
your newly grown breast.
Execution is trying to hide,
the embarrassment that’s burning
a timeless hole through
your itsy bitsy chest.
I wasn’t scared of spiders,
I was scared to tell my mother.
She may call me a liar, to save
her precious Jamaican lover.

Execution is saying “fuck it” and
deciding to tell her anyway.
Execution is holding back a cry,
when she asks for details,
Insisting you further explain.
Nothing changed, we still lived
with the motherfucker,
everything stayed exactly the same.
He was rewarded not punished
and till this day, she denies her
batshit self-serving shame.

Execution is waiting until
everyone falls asleep, to pack
your bags and crash at a friends
house.
Execution is thinking of ways to
survive, even if it requires unbuttoning
your blouse and using your mouth.
I was too young to use my mouth,
but that didn’t stop bold distasteful
men.
My lips ended up swoll, because I
Screamed, he refused to stop.
Fight or flight told me to stab him
With a nearby pen.

No need to feel sorry,
No pity party, I’m a grown
Woman now.
But pleassee protect your
daughters,
Even if it requires you
to spill blood
Execution style.

#MaggieRella

he called other girls pretty. i didn’t want to be pretty; i wanted to be intelligent, i wanted to be the light in his darkness, i wanted to be the best poem he ever wrote, i wanted to be his muse, i wanted to be the best thing he’s ever had. so the other girls could be pretty, but i want to be more than pretty on the outside, i want to be beautiful on the inside