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I'm Just A PoetI'm just a poet
Stringing together words
In a way that tries to force you to feel,
To understand what I feel.
I'm just a manipulator
Gaining recognition by
Warping what you understand
Trying to change your emotions
Till they fit my own.
I'm just an instigator
Using my words
To try and lead you along a path
That was created in anger
And fueling your passion to follow it
Until you can't even remember
Why you followed this way.
I'm just an interpreter
Translating your feelings into words
While ignoring the very fact
That in doing so
I'm ruining the very thing
That made these feelings so powerful
But I don't care
I'm just a recorder
Writing the pain of a person,
Of a entire nation
With a few measily words
While deluding myself
That this actually helps someone,
That writing the same pain
In a different way actually
Makes anything less painful.
Priding myself that my words
May one day move people
To change the world
When all they actually do
Is garner a few mo
Will you be my home?Will you be my home
My gentle security?
Will you lift me away
With the caress of your arms
Warm me wholly
With the slighest brush
Of your lips?
Will you be my shelter
Even from my own tears?
Will you let me take you for granted
Let me wrap you around me
And rock me to my dreams?
Will you hide me away
Be the place of my safety
Be my happiness
Sheilded from a world of sadness,
Will you be my home,
My gentle security
Silently filling my life with love?
Just For A SecondPlease can you imagine for me
just for a second...
Both of us...
That's all I dream about
I don't have the imagination
To think of the specifics
Like how it would happen
What we'd be like together
Why we'd be happy
But when I let myself dream
I imagine us...
And while I know
You don't dream about me
You don't know me
Or whether I can truly
Make you happy...
I want you to imagine that
Just for a second,
And tell me if I can try
To make it real.
I Spent All My HappinessI spent all my happiness
All those years of saving
Are now useless
As I look
At this heart shaped piggy bank
With nothing inside.
I had changed venues
Tried to hide
All my happiness in you
Thinking maybe you wouldn't notice
The few coins
I stored in your smile
Or the bills hidden in each hug
And the fortunes in each kiss.
I spent all my happiness
Thousand by thousand
For each small butterfly
I felt tingle in my being
Till I finally went bankrupt.
I spent all my happiness
Every single drop
Has been given unto you
And I know
Every investment in you
Is completely worth it
As long as
I can still glimpse your smile.
insomniac.night is when all of my monsters emerge.
not from under the bed
or in the closet -
though i still insist
on keeping the lamp on 'til i'm in bed
so something doesn't grab my legs
and keeping the closet door shut
so i'm not watched all night -
but from deep inside me,
that dark place where they hide
until the sun sets and i'm
the shadows are frightening
of the clock
seems like a timer
counting down the minutes until i explode,
a self-destructive time bomb.
sometimes the flickering flame of a candle
or the heavy fumes of incense
will calm me down and i'll
be just fine.
but other times i stare at the candle
and wonder why it isn't burning at both ends
like my life is.
and i watch the incense slowly die and think
how sad it is
to watch its ashes fall.
and i feel like that's
what i'm doing to myself -
lighting myself on fire and just
as i turn to ash.
and the night goes on and i
don't know what to do
because i'm so lonely and afraid and i ache
for the a
Confession about me Silent StrengthI am strong, but please never confuse this strength with invulnerability.
I do hurt.
I do cry.
I do love.
I do feel.
I do get crushed.
I do regret.
But please never think that while I may never show these things in front of you, that I don’t feel them.
Because I do.
More than you could ever imagine.
I’m a hyper sensitive person, forced into a role of strength.
It is just a rare occasion when my reserve breaks and I show it in front of people.
And when this happens, I reach a state of such openness and vulnerability that I fear.
Because I can withstand a thousand blows, but just one word can cut me down. And at that moment, I fear what could be said to me.
I’m very sorry if anyone who see this thinks of me as cold, or heartless, or unfeeling.
It's just in my life, I have had people who rely on me to be the strong one who keeps a level head and calm emotions.
And so when I break in front of someone, I apologize profusely.
Because what if they were someone that needed me
How to Write the Best Poem Ever - Tutorial----- How to write an amazing poem -----
I always hate what happens when I search stuff like poem inspiration, or how to write a poem, or basically anything to do with poetry on the internet. All that comes up is generic, “find inspiration,” “write what you know,” or best of all, “Let it come to you.” Haha, yeah that’s really going to help when you have writer’s block… So here we go my solution! My own tips and tricks I’ve learned to writing great poems when I don’t have inspiration. I’m going to be doing this right along with you, so you can check my examples for each method I show you too. So let’s begin already~!
// What you will need //
Mandatory: Paper and pencil (Or computer)
Suggested: A rhyming dictionary, regular dictionary, thesaurus, and some good music (preferably instrumental so the words won’t get you distracted while writing)
// Before we start: What you should know about poetry writin
and i have tried to make it right.i.
let me tell you a story
using six words.
their names become parts of statistics.
let me tell you a story
using six words.
“suicide is the easy way out.”
let me tell you a story
using six words
that will never be told.
pain is not a fucking
do you still pray,
knowing there will be no answer?
see, i cannot speak for those
who have no voice to give
but, sincerely, these are the six words
i respond with:
i wish i could save you.
we live our lives being told that
there is always a safety net -
that there are people designed to protect us.
i’m going to use six words because,
the saddest stories
take the fewest words to tell.
for them, there was never anyone.
blades can cut wrists but
here are six words:
blades can cut stories short, too.
i have approximately 250,000 words
to choose from
to try and describe to you what suicide is
but i don’t
Seeing never come true dreamSeeing "never come true" dreams.
Heart starts to ponder
Desire the hallucinated
Releasing the emotion
To live those moment,
To live that again,
Accepting the Reality,
Playing hide and seek
One is life, The other is the end
What is the life and what is the end,
Is the puzzle
Hiding the reality to seek the unreal.
A thin thread slowly disappear.
I’d rather believe in something,
Rather than to believe in nothing.
Because to believe in nothing implies there is no purpose.
It implies that there is nothing below or above the earth’s surface.
It suggests that there is no advanced assistance and that our existence
Can be revoked in an instant, despite our apparent spiritual commitments.
It would mean that mankind will not be punished for all their wrong doings.
And that living a good honest life will not grant you a shoe in
To something that is not indefinitely there
And that it was us who made this world unfair.
But if you believe there is something greater in place
And that this something does not have a form, figure or face.
From this something we gain a feeling that cannot be described
And although countless cynics have allied, defied and tried.
They have dedicated their entire lives to proving there is no evidence.
Because disproving that something is the only thing of any relevance.
What if confirming its p
Her Song.She holds on to your memory.
Keeps your picture near at all times.
Dark curls and green eyes.
Perfect white teeth.
A sharp chin.
When she sits down at the keyboard to play;
She'll hear the words in her ears:
The sound of love.
'I love it when you smile..'
Her fingertips grace the keys, black and white.
Turning pink and red.
'You ARE beautiful'.
The sound of countless sunsets fills the dusty room.
Your arm flits around her shoulders, it is but a memory.
Just a memory.
You are a ghost that listens to her talk to herself.
You are the air against her lips.
You're nothing but a memory.
The sound of picnics in the park graces your ears.
She never would have done this without him.
A helping voice in her ears;
'B flat. No, no baby, B flat.'
The sound of heartbreak fills the room.
She has to stop the song.
You won't come back.
She went, all dressed in black.
A single rose.
And a tissue under her nose
Awareness.She writes such lovely poems
But nobody really cares
She hides them all the time
To avoid the judging stares
She wrote one yesterday
About a boy who said he loved her
But to her own dismay
She caught him with another
She wrote one about school
And the words painted on her locker
“No one likes you, stupid bitch.
You’re lucky I’m at soccer.”
She wrote about her parents
And how she wished they were together
But she knows that won’t ever happen
And forgetting’s probably better
Yes, she writes such lovely poems
But there’s so much more to this
See, her pencil is a razor
And the paper is her wrist.
Reality's RejectionI look at the world as it is,
but am I noticed or seen?
I have nothing that makes me stand out,
no crystals or jewels that gleam.
I am just me, and it's not enough.
I try to get by but it's really tough.
I push myself harder but it gets rough.
I'm shown that I don't have the right stuff.
Simply throwing your hat into the ring
isn't worth the time to do,
especially with all the strife and pain
that life is meant to put you through.
Sometimes I wonder if it would make more sense
to rig up a bomb or two.
Then I would just curl up to it like a cat
and the pieces of me can stick to the wall with glue.
At least when I'm pushed away with such
an explosive opinion like that,
the pain will be non-existant,
and I'll be a new form of splat.
But being alive is the worst for it
and it doesn't make things any easier.
Without any support for myself,
must I turn to something sleazier?
I would rather not; I stick to my guns.
I hold fast to what I feel is right.
I will push back if I have to,
and will c
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Blue Eyes in FlamesWhen the prince sees the flower bloom from the palm of her hand, he orders her arrest.
She is only seven years old.
He takes the flower from her and keeps it, even though he knows he shouldn't. He puts it a vase, or, rather, his servant does that for him. The flower doesn't ever die, even years later.
It's dawn of a December morning, and he's cold. But still, he stands next to his father dutifully and looks at the little girl with blue eyes that are now black from seven nights sleeping on a cold, dungeon floor behind bars. They cut off her dark brown hair during that time. She's tied to the pyre, and there are seven guards around her, holding sharper swords than normal, not that she could get away. There's one man dressed in black holding an unlit torch, with a mask over his face to prevent his death. His father raises his arm, and the torch is lit.
She locks her gaze to his, and he blinks at her. It's like she expects him to prevent it. He couldn't, though, he can't. She scares him, w
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More