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Kagami Jul 30
Dependency. A cruel fate for a young millennial.
In this country, karma means nothing
Ethics are fiction, as I've found out.
Relying on the manipulative rich man.
He's different for everyone.
Where do you get your checks from?
Riley Cartwright Dec 2018
In my memories you were so pretty the first day we met. I immediately noticed your smile as you were in awe of my team performing. I noticed your eyes as you kept your gaze trained to me.

What was it about me that kept you fixated?

I know my long hair made me look like a dork, but it wasn't too different.

So what drew you towards me?

If I ever go back and ask you, would you even remember?
Cana Sep 2018
The Silhouetted buildings peak
through the clouds, obscured
across the river, a city shivers
on a cold New York morning.
Just a little pitter patter of thoughts
sara Jun 2018
I'm anti-attachment
and I cant help that
I'm a hardback book bound tight-
Always on the rewrite
every word placed right
because it's so important;
that you read me right;
that you see things right;
undress your mind for me
under the right light
because
God above
I don't want tears tonight
if I tell you it's not serious
or when I make you work or wait
it's obviously worth the work
and even more than worth your wait.
I don't like games
I play it straight;
you're either with it
or you ain't.
So if you do not like the blurb
don't bother reading my first page.
something other than love poetry for the lady in the back please
Seanathon May 2018
I Am Comprised
Not of stars
Or of seas
Or of trees
But of leaves
Because I fade
And will Fall
To these
Winter winds
Nothing can define a human such as you. Such as me. Only HE.
Seanathon Feb 2018
When you look at the body,
        you can see his work.

And when you investigate your own work,
                you should see his work.

And if you can see nothing else,
                        in the kindness, see worth.

And when you see the next failure,
                                 see him quietly at work.

Because we have no room for ego next to him.
                                         And nothing is small enough to stand beside.
There is only room for one.
Cecil Miller Jan 2018
From the soul backed to the precipice of a life never changing,
Through the crest of an almond shape and cascading over an apple fullness,
Fall the tiny tributes of hopelessness;
Until she is offered
Tulips for her tears.
I have been working on a romance novel, which was going to be heavily focussed on a location, as was Casablanca or Streetcar name Desire. I decided to focuss the romance more on the characters. In delving into the creative process I discovered that a passion for love does not make them weak or sappy. It makes them human.
I am considering the above brief poem as a blurb for the back cover.
My business model is to have five novel length pieces off work before publication or agent submission.
Typically, I write suspense or horror. What could be more suspensful or terrifying than waiting for love or fear of living without it, or how to live once it has found you at long last.
Seanathon Jan 2018
Gawd...
Frost is so good.

Gawd...
Cummings is so good.

Gawd...
Dunbar is so good.

Gawd...
Field is so good.

God, am I
Any good?

Gawd...
My Favorites And Me
Seanathon Nov 2017
The mountains and the valleys, the rivers and streams of my childhood call out to me and tell me to return to them and swim again, down below the underneath.

My father loved the meadows. Loves the wildness and the wilderness and the winters growth which is yet to be seen, in both the deer and the withering trees.

And part of me remembers still. Because part of him will always be me.
Yup.
Liz Nov 2017
Okay, let's be profound for a second, let's be cheesy, sappy, gross or whatever you want to call it for just a second. Because it's better to have it out there then to bottle it all up inside of yourself.

Do you feel?
I try to, in the shower. I attempt to feel something, anything, so I take off my glasses, and I turn the water temperature to boiling. And I just stand there, hot water streaming down my back, trying to feel something. I guess I do, I feel the heat radiating off my back, I feel the cold when I step away. But I don't feel.  
When I take off my glasses, all I can see are blobs of color, sometimes I prefer that to the world I see through my glasses, here, everything is whatever you want it to be, you can see a mixture of blues and reds and you don't have to just assume it's a balled up sheet. It can be anything you want it to be.
So when I take off my glasses in the shower I hope to be transported to this realm, but I don't. I stay, where the walls are white and shampoo bottles line the shelves. I stay in the place where I can't have creativity, where I don't  feel like anything.
Do you ever think to yourself, I exist, try it sometime. I acknowledge that I exist as a person, I exist, but for what purpose? Will you find that purpose with another human being? With an animal? With a job? Who knows. I just hope that I find mine soon. Because standing in the shower, hot water pouring down onto my body, I think of this, I think, is this what I'm supposed to be doing? Is this what I'm meant to be? Someone who tries desperately to cling onto people, someone who hates sharing her friends because I am scared they will run away, someone who can't trust her best friend not to leave just like the other ones who stole the label best friend has. Someone who doesn't think she is good enough for anyone.
Since I can't feel anything don't you think that I should be a thrill seeker, I'm the absolute opposite, I've tried stuff like that before, it doesn't help, it just makes people worry, makes people judge, I don't like that. The only time I think I feel something is when I'm in the shower or reading. Reading is my escape, I go into someone else, I see what they see I finally feel. People think it is weird that I don't think when I read. It's because I Feel when I read.
I don't enjoy reading in between the lines while enjoying a good book, I Like to just go with what the author is attempting to get across. When I do this, I feel something. Even if it's a fake rush of adrenaline, or anxiety because of something a character did in a book. I still feel something.
Do you feel?
I try to, in the shower.
I write when I'm depressed or sad, heyyyyyyy
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