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 Oct 11 Deep Thought
some                   I
     say                     call
           it's                   It        
                poetry.          oxygen.

I write, therefore I am.
 Sep 2019 Deep Thought
I dream of you.

I dream of you in my sleep
You are next to me
Holding me while we laugh under the sheets that morphed us
Your gentle touch that sends shockwaves through my body
You look at me with your sweet eyes;
which hold an entire world of innocence and naivety

I dream of you in the day
I see us in the boy and girl walking hand in hand along the river;
In the airplanes that we dreamed of taking together
And most of all in the garden that became our peace

I dream of you in the morn
When my eyes first open and anticipate you next to me
Your lips softly touching mine as you whisper
Good morning, my love
Before our morning tea and pastries

But then I awaken.
You are not here.
It was all but just a dream,
My love
Wrote something real quick this morning because I dreamed of him all night last night. Very very rough, but thought I'd share.
 Jul 2018 Deep Thought
She Writes
There is too much regret
In unspoken words
The quiet thoughts
Whispered only to the moon

There is too much longing
In wishful thinking
Can quickly become a nightmare

There are too many tears
Spilled onto pillows
Over suffering and longing
From words unsaid
 Jul 2018 Deep Thought
You’re not a poet because you know those ‘fancy’ words
You’re a poet because every word you write comes straight from your heart

You’re not a poet because people admire your work
You’re a poet because you write for your own contentment and not for people's consent

You’re not a poet because you feel alone
You’re a poet because pen and paper are your biggest companions

You’re not a poet because you understand emotions better
You’re a poet because you let them flow freely

You are not a poet because you’ve failed in love
You’re a poet because you’ve been in love deeper than anyone else

You’re not a poet because you are strong
You’re a poet because you don’t hide your weaknesses

You’re not a poet because you can heal hearts
You’re a poet because you know what it means to be broken
Dedicated to all the poets here. I feel happy to be a part of the community.
we write because we are told
we write because we are cold

so why write poetry?

is it to obey
is it to simply misbehave
is it due today
is it more than what we say

if not
why do you write poetry?

because I can
because I am

we are made to feel
we are made to speak
some people are quiet
and others are bleak

words are expressive and alive
but some words are best left to die
anonymous avengers
I read a quote somewhere that said,
"I don't know how many times I have survived myself, without telling anyone else."

And I felt those words shoot through every nerve in my body. I felt them so deeply.

And I wonder how many of us feel the same way.

How many nights we fought off the suicidal thoughts, the urge to cut, the urge to purge, the urge to run or to hide out, alone, too afraid to worry or bother our friends and family.

How many days and nights have we all suffered in our own darkness alone?

People like us fight a battle no one can ever fathom because it's a battle no one can see. And we don't let them.

I've fought myself and survived myself alone so many nights.

There were nights I use to lose my own battle. But some how still came out alive.

I guess that's how we keep going. Because every time we give up we come out stronger.

You fight yourself and beat yourself up for so long that eventually you become a master of surviving a war.

We're warriors.

"I don't know how many times I've survived myself, without telling anyone else."

Tonight, I'm telling all of you.

I survived myself.

And if you're still here and you're reading this, you survived yourself too.

It's not easy but you did it.

And I'm so proud of you all.
The original quote "I dont know how many times I survived myself, without telling anyone else.", which triggered the whole poem was written by @deadwatered. A talented poet I follow on tumblr.
 Jul 2018 Deep Thought
The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.
A little escape from the madness.
Or maybe, into.
I signed my name...

Your name
Attached to mine
I took your name in mine
Took your hand in mine
That was a different time

But back to today...
I took a pen to a page
And said goodbye
To that time
And the lying
And crying.

And now I’m not yours
And you’re not mine.

You’re free to be
And Choose how you’ll be
And you can no longer hurt me
I can be free.

I hope one day, you’ll see
All the harm you did to me
No bruises, no bleeding
But you’ll remember the anxiety, the screaming.
and now here’s me
With a little bit of PTSD.

But baby,
I won’t be there to agree.

Im taking care of me.
And taking back my name.
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