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Literature Text
I was once told my heart beats
But how can I be sure
When my soul feels so empty
No sound so pure
As the reverberation of life
Beating in my core
So should i believe them
I'm sure they've lied before,
They said you only die once
But I first died when I was four
When daddy snuck into my room
And treated me like a whore,
And they said crying helps
That it sets the pain free
And though i cried every night
The tears never helped me,
They even said wounds heal with age
And though I got older,
Every single day
My wounds only grew deeper,
But I still continued to believe them
Even as they lied to me again
Telling me I'd find someone
Who'd save me from my pain
Someone who'd love me
For who I am
Not what I am
And past what's happened to me
Though I've searched and hoped
Believing what I was told
I was never enough for anyone
And my heart grew cold.
I was once even told
My heart beats
But that seems too lovely to believe.
But how can I be sure
When my soul feels so empty
No sound so pure
As the reverberation of life
Beating in my core
So should i believe them
I'm sure they've lied before,
They said you only die once
But I first died when I was four
When daddy snuck into my room
And treated me like a whore,
And they said crying helps
That it sets the pain free
And though i cried every night
The tears never helped me,
They even said wounds heal with age
And though I got older,
Every single day
My wounds only grew deeper,
But I still continued to believe them
Even as they lied to me again
Telling me I'd find someone
Who'd save me from my pain
Someone who'd love me
For who I am
Not what I am
And past what's happened to me
Though I've searched and hoped
Believing what I was told
I was never enough for anyone
And my heart grew cold.
I was once even told
My heart beats
But that seems too lovely to believe.
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Literature
These Tears Would Come:
These Tears Would Come:
If my tears could tell a story of two -
What would they have to say about you?
Of a boy who spent his whole life seeking
And a girl who found it in the arms of another…
Would they tell us of laughter? Beneath a starlit sky,
Or of harsh words exchanged on bitter nights.
Would they speak of moments, so beautifully captured;
To be enjoyed in memory, like a perfect wine.
Or perhaps they would tell us of an untampered truth:
Of the lonely nights spent longing, for an Eden lost.
Captivated, habituated, to this lonely habit of you;
For her alone, these tears would come.
-Chen Yuan Wen, 31st march 2013
Literature
Screaming at the Beast
How many have I had? Why would you ask such a question?
I've had--only three! Yes, three I swear.
What? No--of course not, what are you suggesting.
Those: I can't quite see them clearly. Oh! Oh dear...
No, you, you must understand this was--just a bit of relaxation,
A little sip to help me sleep.
No--No, don't cry, I'm not going back to those days; I'm not!
I swear it was just--just a passing shower I...
I...
I'm sorry...
It's just been hard...
It's been so difficult!
WHERE WAS I SUPPOSED TO TURN?
...
But it's not your fault, I know that.
I suppose I was simply looking for an excuse...
I was drowning you know, in the icy wate
Literature
no one is ever going to want me
maybe once
this would've been
poetic
but i'm crying &
there's nothing
pretty
or wonderful
here
i think
my face is scrunched
like a red rag
in the sink
slumped beneath a leaky
faucet &
my hands are shaking
maybe i could make
it
sound nice--
high
buzzed
lustful
but what i have
you won't like
memories
and do you want them too?
stealing & paying
pressing bottles and
pictures to my sternum
the heat
the cold
maybe it's the silence
that hurts
the stumbling
the tumult of words down
the sink and
across the floor
the empty heads
&
i was pretty then
bird-legs and stilted poems
so nice
numbering stars and
crushing books between
my teet
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No cover or pdf this time. This was merely a quick poem made in ten minutes. It was inspired by ~grew-up-a-screw-up and their piece
If you drink enough vodka it tastes like loveHe’d whisper sweet nothings to trees. Don't really care if not that many people like this piece. It's raw, poorly made, and has weak vocab but i like it. Hope everyone enjoys
Hoping the roots would remember his name
I watched him drop pieces of himself like bread crumbs
His lantern limbs quivering
I don’t think he ever really knew how lovely he was
And on a sunny day when the pavement was sweating
Out onto the roadside
Everyone else found out too
I don’t think I’ll ever forget him because he was like a dream catcher
So quiet and magical in the way his eyes turned green in the dark
And blue in the winter
Like he stored the world’s secrets behind his cuckoo spit heart
© 2013 - 2024 CrumbledWings
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I like it although it is a little jarring when the rhyme scheme seems to change midway though the poem. I also like the rhythm, quite steady, a nice beat. It is a little repetitive, but that is easily fixed by either moving words around or picking synonyms to use. It also seemed like you were starting to tell a story, but then it faded and didn't go anywhere. I think to add a little color and to kill repetitiveness, you should let the story grow and that be main focus of your poem. The stories that you put in will make the reader be able to connect more with you and what you are trying to say as it is a little blurry right now. It's a good poem, but I think you could do better by expanding it more