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Her inner strength spread forth,
Winged with affection,
She taught others of its importance,
It wasn’t that she was made of stone,
God, no!
She was flesh and blood.

Fragility echoed in the walls of her heart,
Her never wavering eyes,
Hid the ingress to her troubled soul,
A guiding light she was,
Great a thinker she was taken to be,
Yet only one with minuscule eyes,
Could one see the gravity of her pain.

Nothing seemed to be in her favor,
Always contemplating on how to make it,
Fear gripped every bone in her,
Disappointment had been her colleague,
Nursing her into betrayals and discomfort,
The waterfalls of her tears had wet her bed,
In the secrecy of her capsule

Yet, her standing remained an inspiration,
Her pain was the light of others,
She knew all too well,
Her fragility had no place,
And hoped,
That the strength seen by others,
Would one day make its way,
Into her weakened heart.
Who we are to the rest of the world is different from what we are inside our hearts. This poem is a dedication to all strong people, men and women although specifically to those strong ladies who know how to hold on even when everything around is falling, mothers who remain pillars for their children even when they cry everyday in their beds, wives who remain the backbone of their husbands when all they want is to be shielded from the pain they have.
There is a shadow looming near
staring me straight in the eyes
unflinching
its darkness pitch
it must be the devil's friend

Its contours stretch far and wide
spreading its arms right about me
engulfing me in its cold embrace
taking me for a ride
one that i cannot run away from

Once strong, now i remain weak
determination is nothing but a wish
work is everything but fulfilling
contentment if far long gone
the shadow is right here.....

with me.
“I rather be alone, than in the arms of someone who does not have the ability to comprehend the true essence of me. I want the type of love that is on fire; true passion engulfing my existence like a sixth degree burn.” —Awakened Vibrations
Let me slip
Into oblivion
and be
satisfied that
pain exists
no longer
I always wonder why
birds stay
in the same place
when they can fly
anywhere on the earth.
Then i ask myself
the same question.

By
Harun Yahya
I aimed for the sky
and got myself to the moon
still,
i can't help but wish
you were my shooting star
so that you would quench
this burning desire
to have you all to myself
It rained heavily - on my face
The wetness blocked his view - on my face
Skin to skin, wiping it away won't help
Oh how i hate pimples
The first thing my neighbor told me today when he walked into office was 'It has rained on your face'. Never felt sad!
Never before have words been so
meaningless
than when the moon of your dreams
falls
at the feet of your past.
All in the golden afternoon
Full leisurely we glide;
For both our oars, with little skill,
By little arms are plied,
While little hands make vain pretence
Our wanderings to guide.

Ah, cruel Three! In such an hour,
Beneath such dreamy weather,
To beg a tale of breath too weak
To stir the tiniest feather!
Yet what can one poor voice avail
Against three tongues together?

Imperious Prima flashes forth
Her edict "to begin it"
In gentler tone Secunda hopes
"There will be nonsense in it!" --
While Tertia interrupts the tale
Not more than once a minute.

Anon, to sudden silence won,
In fancy they pursue
The dream-child moving through a land
Of wonders wild and new,
In friendly chat with bird or beast --
And half believe it true.

And ever, as the story drained
The wells of fancy dry,
And faintly strove that weary one
To put the subject by,
"The rest next time --" "It is next time!"
The happy voices cry.

Thus grew the tale of Wonderland:
Thus slowly, one by one,
Its quaint events were hammered out --
And now the tale is done,
And home we steer, a merry crew,
Beneath the setting sun.

Alice! a childish story take,
And with a gentle hand
Lay it where Childhood's dreams are twined
In Meinory's mystic band,
Like pilgrim's wither'd wreath of flowers
Pluck'd in a far-off land.

Alice's adventuers in wonderland
This maze that is called life
has its claws clenched deep inside flesh
that i have no where to twist and turn
or whom to lean on and love

I am just a head on shoulders
feeling nothing but doom and nursing
nothing but tragedy after tragedy
oh how it can play tricks on you
sometimes

Only yesterday did i have
the whole world in my hands
yet only crumbs do i own now
i guess that is the maze that is called
life.
Welcome to society,
We hope you enjoy your stay,
And please feel free to be yourself,
As long as it's in the right way,
Make sure you love your body,
Not too much or we'll tear you down,
We'll bully you for smiling,
And then wonder why you frown,
We'll tell you that you're worthless,
That you shouldn't make a sound,
And then cry with all the others,
As you're buried in the ground,
You can fall in love with anyone,
As long as it's who we choose,
And we'll let you have your opinions,
But please shape them to our views,
Welcome to society,
We promise that we won't deceive,
And one more rule now that you're here,
There's no way you can leave.

By
Erin Hanson
What I’ve Learned as a Writer
By Leo Babauta

I’ve been a professional writer since I was 17: so nearly 24 years now. I’ve made my living with words, and have written a lot of them — more than 10 million (though many of them were duplicates).

That means I’ve made a ton of errors. Lots of typos. Lots of bad writing.

Being a writer means I’ve failed a lot, and learned a few things in the process.

Now, some of you may be aspiring writers (or writers looking for inspiration from a colleague). Others might not ever want to be a writer, but you should still care about writing. I’ll tell you why: it’s an incredible tool for learning about yourself. And if you’re an effective writer, you’re an effective communicator, thinker, salesperson, businessperson, persuader.

So for anyone interested in writing, I’d love to share what I’ve learned so far.

    Write every **** day. Yes, even weekends. Yes, even when you’re busy with other crap. Each day I write a blog post, an article for Sea Change, part of my new book, or perhaps part of a novel. If I don’t have enough to write every day, I start a new writing project. I write at least 1,000 words a day, but you don’t have to write that much. Writing daily makes it a routine thing, so you never have to think about it. You just do it. It gets much easier, less intimidating. You get better at it. It’s like talking with a friend: just how you express yourself.
    Create a blog if you don’t have one. Whether or not you’re a writer, you should have a blog. Why? Because it’s a great way to reach an audience, to practice writing on a daily basis, to reflect on what you’ve been learning, to share that with others so they might benefit, to engage in a wider conversation, to learn about yourself. Anyone who wants to learn about themselves should have a blog. (Protip: Try Sett to start a blog — it’s a great way to grow an audience and community.)
    Write plainly. I think this is from Strunk & White, but it works well for me. I write in plain language, leaving the flowery stuff for others. Academic writing is the worst — it’s so stilted no one wants to read it unless they want to show others how smart they are. Technical jargon, business-speak, pretentious vocabulary, insider acronyms … none of them have any place in communicating with your fellow human beings. Only use those things if you want to hide the fact that you don’t know what you’re talking about.
    Don’t write just to hear yourself talk. Lots of people like to go on and on about themselves and their lives, but readers don’t come for that. Readers come for their own purposes. You’re reading this to get ideas for yourself as a writer, not to hear the life story of Leo the amazing writer in technicolor detail. Now, you can tell stories about yourself if they’re vividly entertaining or inspirational or really instructive. But have a purpose, and be sure you’re meeting that purpose. Don’t just ramble.
    Nearly everything can be shortened. Including this post, of course. I could probably cut 25% of this post and get away with it (I’ve already cut 25%). Go through your sentences and ask: is this necessary? What purpose does it serve? How would this read without it? And if you can, drop it. It makes your work more readable, clearer.
    Fear stops most potential writers. Most people don’t write (publicly at least) because they’re afraid their writing will ****. Well, it will. Everyone ***** at first. You don’t get better at something by sitting on your hands. **** it up, put yourself out there. You won’t have many readers at first, when you ****, but as your audience grows so will your skills.
    Read regularly for inspiration. I might write more than 1,000 words a day, but I read 10 times that. I read books and (online) magazines and blogs and more. Reading gives me ideas, shows me better ways to write, gives me access to the best teachers in my craft (amazing writers).
    Procrastination is your friend. Every writer lives daily with procrastination. If you allow yourself to feel guilty about that, then you’ll feel bad about yourself as a writer. Instead, embrace your procrastination as a friend, enjoy it … and then ask the friend to leave for awhile so you can get your work done. No friend should monopolize all your time. Get your writing done, then invite the friend back when you have free time.
    Have people expect your writing. This is another reason blogs are fantastic: if you build up an audience, you feel the pressure of their expectations. This pressure is a good thing — it keeps procrastination from taking over your life. You know the audience expects you to write, so you get off your **** and you do it. Before I had a blog, my editors were the people expecting my writing.
    Email is an excuse. We often go to check email because it feels productive (and it can be), but it’s easy to use that as a way to put off the writing. Honestly, if you close your email for a couple hours, nothing bad will happen. Close it, close everything else, and get to writing. Your email will be waiting for you when you’re done.
    Writing tools don’t matter. Most people tinker with their writing tools, trying to find the perfect system. ***** that. You can write with anything, as long as you have a keyboard. Yes, I much prefer typing to writing by hand, because I’m much faster at typing. I can get the words out closer to the speed of my thinking. But what writing program I use is irrelevant: I write in TextEdit, Sublime Text, Ommwriter, Byword, Notational Velocity, in the WordPress or Sett editor in the browser, in Google Docs. Just open up a new document and start writing.
    Jealousy is idiotic. Writers can often be insecure types — perhaps it’s a byproduct of putting your soul out in the world for all to criticize. So they’re often jealous of the success of other writers. That’s a complete waste of time and energy. It does you no good as a writer. Instead, learn from the success of others, see what’s good about you, and merge the two. Be happy for people. It’ll make you happier too.
    Writing can change lives. When I publish a post, I hope it’ll be of use to someone. But the responses I get are often incredible — people tell me how much a post or my blog in general has changed their lives. I’m blown away by this. When you put something with good intention out in the world, you have no idea what kind of impact it might have on others. It might do nothing, but it could have a profound effect on someone’s life. That’s truly powerful. That’s truly a reason to get up and write.

And one thing I’ve learned, above all, is this: the life that my writing has changed more than any other is my own. Writing for you has changed me, in ways I am only beginning to grasp. In wonderful, crazy, lift-you-off-the-ground kind of ways. And that makes me want to do it forever.
You have combed through the very inside of me,
Like an old broom,
You know the corners of my heart,
Had a taste of my sour cream,
Seen the dirt in my streets,
Now that you are done,
Where do we go from here?
Would it be too much to ask
For a break from the drama that's called
life?

Would it be stupid of me
To think that there is something called
Happiness?

Would it be senseless of me
To hope for anything better than
This?

Would it be too much to ask
For a break from the drama that's called
Life?
Its not always easy to tell you i love you,
but yes, i do

its not always easy to reach out to you,
but i would love to try
and yes, i do

its not always easy to say i am sorry,
the words never come out right
try as i might
at least i try
am sorry

— The End —