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XaviesPenn
XaviesPenn
20/M/78566 My poetry is not meant to be good. Hate or love it, doesn’t matter. It’s subjective and that’s how I like it. You determine how it makes you feel. I only put my heart in not my brain
When I lay in silence When I sit in the dark My thoughts race My head so loud I feel my heart Beating so hard Needles pierce my chest It’s hard to breathe The world is spinning I feel strangled My lips are quivering Tears break past my eyes My hands are shaking Simultaneous pain Head and heart Drowning dizzy I’m alone Anxious
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Nov 22, 2024
Nov 22, 2024 at 7:36 PM UTC
Anxiety
Joy conceived in the vision The Lily of the drought Volunteer of the incision And a seed of doubt Black silky Intertwined threads The touch and sound of care Love, warmth, comfort spreads Your intensity in all rare Infinite options hang above Spinning a smoky vortex Simply what you hate or love Discombobulates my cortex Only clues to a mystery Yet partials of a masterpiece Less of shortened history Wonder moves me not to cease
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Jul 4, 2023
Jul 4, 2023 at 1:49 PM UTC
A mystery of a masterpiece
I fully hate you. No questions to my detest. Why am I here though?
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Jun 12, 2023
Jun 12, 2023 at 12:12 AM UTC
Next to Hate
I lived through my mistakes I lived through the stress I lived through the aches I lived for success I lived in moments of joy I lived in optimism I lived innocent yet coy I lived through criticism I lived and showed love I lived and showed fear I lived in belief of above I lived a life unclear I died because I was tired of all that came with living
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Feb 21, 2022
Feb 21, 2022 at 9:24 AM UTC
Live & Die
I remember you each day through my crying heart. I'd rather forget than stay.
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Apr 5, 2021
Apr 5, 2021 at 11:28 AM UTC
Forget It
Bitter tasting sip Or a sweet and creamy glaze. Black cup or cool whip?
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Dec 11, 2020
Dec 11, 2020 at 9:24 AM UTC
Bitter Black or Cool Cream
Tears wash down a face. A heart drowned infinitely. The barrel in place.
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Dec 9, 2020
Dec 9, 2020 at 10:08 AM UTC
Sorrow Can Be The End
Individual; such a gorgeous and grand word. Though dull, it's visible.
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Sep 29, 2020
Sep 29, 2020 at 10:35 AM UTC
Individual in a Dull Sky
Lines map my rough palms. My nails a jagged notched path, My hands a trek of bronze.
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Sep 28, 2020
Sep 28, 2020 at 11:29 AM UTC
Hands of Exploration
Melting on my tongue; a soft and savory taste. It plucks the sense to strung.
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Sep 24, 2020
Sep 24, 2020 at 9:37 AM UTC
Senses Orchestra