will 3d
once there was kid,
curious and imaginative.
he wants to discover the world,
as he sat a chair,
enclosed with the four walls.
it suffocated him
and as well as his creativity.

sadly it died.
Having a million
Stories to tell
But lacking the
Proper words

Having a
Brilliant vision
But unable to
Paint it

Wanting nothing
More than to create
But the motivation
Is absent

But we try
And we try
camps Mar 11
if there's any spark in her eyes
it's because she stole the light from mine
taken from my poem
depression killed my creativity and
it's going to take more than sunshine to get it back

see my [xo] collection on instagram: @iseemaps
Sarita  finally embraced the idea
That God must want her
To be a sexual  exhibitionist.
So many men
Were impressed by  her nude photos......
Willing to pay a high price
For a print,
When her paintings were exhibited
At a local coffee shop,
She wasn't able to sell even one
For the most minimal fee.
People just sat there
Or punching keys on their laptops,
Not even slightly aware
Of all the beautiful,
Surreal paintings
Sarita worked long and hard on
Hanging on the wall.
Never one to argue with Destiny,
Sarita concluded reluctantly
That God must have
A Dirty Mind.
Orange Rose Mar 10
Once I was a Butterfly,
With colored wings I flew so high,
Up toward the sun in the clear, blue sky.
Once I was a Butterfly.

Once I was a tall Pine-Tree.
I towered above the canopy,
And saw all that there was to see.
Once I was a tall Pine-Tree.

Once I was a Shooting Star.
Beyond the Moon I soared so far.
I burned so bright but did not char.
Once I was a Shooting Star.

Once I was an ocean Wave.
I splashed the children while they played.
I touched the sand but never stayed.
Once I was an ocean Wave.

Once I was a Little Girl,
Who thought the Earth was like a pearl,
But saw her dreams dashed by the world.
Once I was a Little Girl.
maybe i can’t transform black ink
into pages of gold with lavish
and crystal orchids
it doesn’t mean i can’t
build a cottage
on the side of a hill
where birdsong is brought in
by the goddess of the east wind
through paned
where the sun kisses the critters
good morning
and tucks them into bed at night
everyone has different writing styles and that doesn't mean you should judge them based on what they're used to when they're technically also right.
writing is beautiful no matter which genre or style it is in.
(if it's correct, that is)
Graff1980 Mar 6
How fast my favored fuel
of rage burns,

pushing me to
ascend higher then
most humans do,

but not in the pursuit
of materiel wealth.

Instead, I prevail,
pushing myself
in the pursuit of
a better me,

all the things
I see and seek
into the art
that leaks
from my
poetic veins,
while most of you
barely change.

The sun sets
on your repeated
as you use drugs
to dull this
unsatisfying ache,
seeking simple pleasures
from the things
that others make.

As I strike
the golden core
of who I am
and who I seek to be
you are drenched
in the misery
of your sick
rushing to fill an
ever growing hole,
with more
and more stuff.
So off I went to
the local market because
the weather was nice

Lovely blue sky made
my heart leap into a
colourful rainbow

Then I saw a fish
wearing boxing gloves and boots
boogying in street!

I said what you doing
in the street , you should be in
a park pond swimming!

He said' listen here
darling,  I'm fed up swimming
all day long in pond'

And having to keep
pouting all day long blowing
those silly bubbles!

Nah! I want to walk
on land! , 'hey sweetheart check out
my groovy flip flops!

There lovely I said!
Make sure you don't fall over
You look slippery

I said 'but why are
you wearing boxing gloves', he
said for protection!

Against who I said!
Er..I'm a talking fish,  I
think that says it all

The first ever fish
to talk can you imagine
all the attention

The government , the
scientists , tv shows , o
there love me darling!

Oh okay I said
Well I wish you best of luck
In your adventures

Laters doll! I'm off
to pull a bit of sushi
at local restaurant

I thought to myself
What a strange morning I've had!
Sod the fish market!
Fun and silly just being creative x
camps Feb 27

i want to buy these mice a home so
that their presence helps keep the table clear
i think i’ll place it in the gap between the door and the floor
in the hopes of keeping the noise out and
of having at least one of us feel
a sense of being welcome

the paper bags in my hands wouldn’t feel
heavy if they knew where they were going maybe
and hitting my head against the bed again doesn’t stop me from
showing off the letters on my chest although
i’ve been known to miss the mark

if there's a spark in her eyes it’s 'cause she stole the light from mine
but i like the cold because it makes me feel alive

my favorite part comes around
when the two trains meet and for a second
i can catch a glimpse of everyone’s place in the world
before we’re whisked away to
our respective loneliness

or maybe it’s where the streets
run narrow like those in the places where
connection, if anything, tastes a bit more genuine
it's quite polarizing but this time i’ll seek
comfort in the grey of it until it
all comes rushing back

they say home is where the heart is so this probably still isn’t it
but it will do for now

[new york city] | [definition of home] | [pursuit of cold]
I See a picture,
Dear with color bright.
Its whimsical strokes,
A smooth, but lovely, Sight.

I Smell the paint,
A sense not faded yet.
Like prints left exposed,
With the trail's fine Scent.

But underestimated, the Tool,
And ability to express
The ideas my head
Conjures as a coordinated mess.

Yes, the paintbrush,
Much simpler than I,
Yet it works its hardest,
While I don't even try.
Written around January, 2017.

Word doodles...
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