I have two poems, the first about virginity and the second about mental health. They’re two very different topics yet the same in certain ways, as both are sensitive and significant and give insights as to how we see ourselves. I also want to point out that these are both written in free verse, symbolizing how both of these topics are in our hands and we do have control over them, even if it doesn’t always seem like it.
Poem #1: “Virginity”
Virginity is a double-edged sword:
You’re a prude if you haven’t done it,
You’re a slut if you have;
If you’re on either end of the spectrum,
a guy doesn’t want you.
It’s a lie no more true
than what tv shows
claim you should look like;
Crescent moon bodies
have no reflection in the water.
You get exiled either way.
You want to wait
for a nice guy who truly loves you,
and you’re the outcast
compared to those who hooked-up
Just to say they did it,
even though they regretted it.
But even them, if that’s how they choose to lose it,
who has the right to say there’s anything wrong
with their choice?
All this labeling,
What’s that say about all of us?
Society is a hoax.
Everyone follows it like
a mindless herd of cattle,
Like it’s a god
almost as godly as men who
sleep around every day,
praying on their own conquest,
Rising above the peasant men
who haven’t done the deed.
We put a white picket fence
around everything.
I’ve never been kissed,
and oh my god, next I know
I’m being served a death sentence.
It’s laughable for me,
because waiting for meaning is
fine by me,
And anyone who thinks otherwise
quite honestly
just doesn’t deserve my virginity,
Or me.
Poem #2: “Stone Cold”
I used to be a cry baby,
and now I’m a soldier.
I used to go on every suicide mission,
Wanting my body blown up
so my mind would be too,
But now I walk through the heavy
trenches
and it’s like I don’t feel anything,
like I can’t.
I can’t cry.
My eyes are forever dry,
a desert dying of dehydration,
I guess it’s a good thing?
It must mean I’m better.
I used to hear a sad song
and cry for hours
just looking at myself in the mirror,
and thinking about what other
people saw in the mirror.
But now the depressed piano
goes straight through my head,
I’m deaf.
I can’t feel anything.
I promised myself I wouldn’t be sad anymore,
trained myself to be grateful,
to distract myself with studies
and friends,
and I’m happy
Most of the time.
But one bad day,
I try to go to bed to cry it off
just for a little,
it’s supposed to be healthy,
but I stare at my wall,
blank
mute,
I’m stone cold.