I don't know if anyone would understand if I told them how I feel, A clear explanation is something I long to have. I'm hardly ever honest, especially with myself, But I realized there is one I could anyways be honest with.
One who accepts my lies and my truth, whichever I wish to share. One who has no expectations other than that I be myself. One who indulges in my vices and virtues. One who has known me all these years.
One who is there when the tears fall, One who is there when my lips stretch into a smile. One who is warm comfort in the frigid night, One who soothes my burning rage with a cool kiss.
One who connects me with millions holding but a pen, So that I never feel truly alone. One who captures my thoughts when they slip through my fingers. One who treasures every syllable in every word, and sentence, and line.
One who takes many forms, but in all of them is there for me. One who treasures the power of the tongue, Yet the only one who heard my cries when they fell silent on human ears. One who harbors the weakness to express my emotions, When I can't find the strength to say a word.
This is the one who is a savior to my tender heart. Her name is Poetry.
to lose all my senses is just so typically me oops, you did it again playing with my heart wondering why you've done this always from the start
you know i'm in love i think you're sent from above but you're not that innocent, are you? are you really serious? my problem is this: i'm foolish in all the ways and i cry during my days wishing so many different things all that happened, if only i could press repeat
you know, things just don't sit well and in the end, it doesn't matter 'cause, oops, you did it again and you'll do it again and again making sure i'm lost in the game i fear you'll forget my name and things will stay the same
Is it weird that a Britney Spears song is oddly inspiring?
oh here we go again. same tears, same pain, same pen writing down the words i wish i could say to you, hoping the anger would go away i have a feeling it won't i give you chances to redeem, you don't i know i should be supportive in your time of need but when i see you with her, i fill up with greed and i wish sometimes i wasn't as nice as i was and that you would care more than it shows because i want to be your friend, i really do but sometimes i wonder what you would think if i crushed my love, and hurt you too.
These are different words, but it feels like I'm writing the same poem again...
There once was a berry muffin that sat on a plate I was ready to be fed, the muffin ready to be ate But alas, Lucky had his eye on the prize He lunged, canine jaws were open wide GULP! A bittersweet vanish, it was too late!
My attempt at a limerick using a true and tragic story
I wish I could write like all the grand poets do I dream to let my words flow onto paper for all the world to read I'm only a kid though I'm only me What could I accomplish?
I used to write because I was required to earn a grade but now I write to express and relieve I might still be motivated by a sliver of the past though Not grades, but approval They say all the best writers are intrinsically driven But is it so wrong to want to belong? to want to touch people beyond a moment's memory? I'm not sure I don't think I even have the skill but will I try? yeah I will
At the end of the day whether I write for myself or others I'm grateful for my privilege to hold the pen in my hand The ink will spill 'til the day I die My thoughts will continue to be broadcasted even if I have no inkling as to why