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I giggled when
I heard them say
things about me

"Sharpens pencil"
Allesha Eman Jan 21
If the world was a stage and I was a play-write:

The wind: It was a musician, the muse of a heartbeat and whistling was its charm.

The leaves: The companions of the wind, they were the strings of the guitar. Dancing towards oblivion.

The flowers: They were the painters. A vision was their purpose. They played with colours and mystery.

The sun: It was the stage light, as it glowed upon the sounds of music in the air, the surface of the leaves, and gave life to all the trees.

The stars: They were the show stoppers, dancing in the sky. Revelling in the attention from the eyes of the observer.

The moon: The shy wonder of the night, sometimes barely visible. As it timidly sets the stage for another afternoon.

And lastly,

You: With a thousand stories to tell you’re in thousands of places at once. Looking for mountains to climb and things to design. You’re curious and too quick, never on the stage but merely an observer, but secretly you’re the whole show.

There are a thousand stories to tell,
So I’ll tell you a secret to this mysterious show
The script is blank, the pages clear white
And every minute new words appear
For I am merely following sentimental alliances
Just an observer watching as the future becomes clear.
There are people who are for no one,
For whom there is no one.
They are two sides of a circle.

The first is clad in shadow-black,
Who sails down a river of blood,
Deeper still, never glancing back.

The second, alabaster white,
Who watches over life and love,
A justice bitter as winter's bite.
Why are they not "for" one another?
Although both share a love for something greater than themselves, each stands in the way of the other's dream.
HTR Stevens Dec 2018
Billy Whizz!
Billy Whizz!
How fast you run!
You climb the mountains…
You cross the plains…
And when you’re done,
You do it all over again!
Catteleya Fukui Dec 2018
All around me, every day, I see them, lurking
Characters teasing me, praising me, staring at me, smirking
They're there every day, waiting, preying upon me, I'm their target
These characters of mine, I loathe them, they speak to me using an argot

Characters, they won't leave me alone, droning on and on in my head
I can't get rid of them, they'll never leave, each one I hope to shed
These characters most people call "voices," but that doesn't explain much
They hold onto me, suffocating me, they're a huge mental crutch

They're just holding me back, but I can't push them away, I hate it
Characters, I avoid and ignore them, but I share their pain, I'm a hypocrite
I despise them all, each and every one, I need them gone
These characters, these "voices," they're a "phenomenon."

Characters, such a repetitive topic, repetition is so boring
I hope I can keep this up a little longer, my abilities restoring
These characters limit the things I can do, I have a lock
I don't know how to express it, I might go into shock

I hope one day they'll leave me for good, they're such a pain
Characters I see, in the darkest puddles, and in each and every drop of rain
I can't ever get rid of them, they're here with me for life
These characters of mine will be with me, even in my afterlife
Van Byrde Dec 2018
If all the best characters are a little broken...
does that make
the favourite?
Anya Oct 2018
I discovered something today
The proposal
Of the main character
Of my novel
Had me jumping
All over the house
In a fit
Of giggles
It’s easier for one to get closer
To a fictional character
You know everything about them

If my classmate
Told me something
In the way of romantic
I may congratulate her
With a smile
But it’d be
Nowhere near
As energetic
As I am now
Anya Sep 2018
How much conscience must one lack to
**** a fictional character
But it’s not a matter of how much one lacks
Because to them,
The video game
Board game
That lies in the figments of one’s thoughts
Is not living
Simply empty shells
With a name
Too easy to swipe off a board
To swipe off a screen

But then again,
Are they easy to erase because they are not living?

For, there are people in the profession of-
People who raise to slaughter-
People who make sport out of-
Their deaths
To raise, end, and eat
Wilder animals to catch
And place in a cage
Loss of freedom
Or loss of live
What kind of a choice is that?

So then, if not living
Line must be drawn at humans
Isn’t that the case?
But, isn’t it also true
That a human life can disappear at a simple,
Lillian May Jun 2018
you can tell a lot about someone from their shoes

the well kept,
new looking dress shoes.

the unkempt,
hand-me-down tennis shoes.

the classy,
high-heeled stilettos.

the scuffed,
well loved,
well worn work boots.

you pictured a person in each pair didn't you?
isn't it amazing
that given only shoes
we can create a character.
random thoughts.
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