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That desk in the front row,
Occupied with a shy smile and rings of silver hanging high.
A hint of confidence emerges from the dark parts of her mind,
As does a childlike gleam,
Sparking in her eyes.

Eyes guarded by glasses and black lashes.
Green eyes stare back, with the occasional tint of blue that escapes.
Her once long her, now chopped to just above her shoulders.
A beautiful girl, inside and out.
Yet, as that quiet, shy girl enters the room,
Her presence goes unnoticed by some.
She’s dancing:
Closed eyes,
Open palms ,
Vague smile

She is music;
And sound waves
Are dancing to her

And when she moves
Her clothes are naked;
And when she smiles,
My thoughts are
(words are flaking)

*

She tunes me
To her frequency
Riding waves
Pulling vibes and strings
Charting shores
Wanting replay
Asking for more
what, already
that aroma;
not a single spoon
of sugar:
the better
the awakening;
my coffee grinning,
shaking me

there's no way
to backtrack;
I'm sipping from b-cups,
kicking into gear...

flash forward;
(flesh in the background)
absentmindedly
chasing destination
instead of destiny,
always in a hurry

coffee drops
now drying up
disheveled,
the only ones
still keeping
memory of lips
retreating
like the waves
caressing shores
goodbye

long gone is
the reflection
undulating eyes

thoughts are perched
on mornings:
the old ones,
the upcoming...
V
Do you ever write something
So good
That you feel like you've peaked
As a writer?
And everything from then on
Is a question in your head?

Maybe you should never
Pick up a pencil again
Because your writing career
Has already been wrapped up
Tightly with a bow

Maybe you planned to be a poet
Get a proper creative writing degree
And forever make a living
Off the rhythm of words
But every idea now
Seems like a steaming pile of ****
Compared to your last masterpiece
So it just sits
Rotting in your brain
Until you stink
With a lack of genuine creativity

Maybe you've written so much
That your rhymes
Begin to sound tired
And overused
But if you don't rhyme
It sounds as if you've gotten lazy
So no matter what you put down
The effort doesn't show

Maybe writing about the ordinary
Seems boring
But writing the extraordinary
Has already been done
And every option in between
Seems like a cheap plagiarism

Maybe your standards got too high
And people expect more from you
So every ounce of energy you have
Is wasted on doubting yourself
Until you're too exhausted
To write at all

Maybe you dreamt too big

Maybe quitting while you're ahead
Sounds better than actually trying

Maybe the emptiness you feel
When you don't write
Is worth not risking failure

Maybe saying goodbye
To your dreams now
Will be easier
Than a downward spiral
From the inability
To write something better than before

Or maybe
You're just overthinking it.
Wow, the feedback I'm getting from this poem is amazing. Tbh, THIS was one of the poems I had written that I doubted and almost didn't publish cuz I thought it wasn't good enough.

Moral of the story. Keep writing no matter what. Some things will suprise you.
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