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Adaa Sayed May 2020
They cheat .
That's how they are .
They take what's yours' ;
They make it theirs .
How pitiful !
Such vile people ,
I say .
- Adaa Sayed
Instagram : @whatever.adaa
IMCQ May 2020
It can be done.
A poem without heartache.
I can fill it with hopefulness and desire.
The void isn't there if I fill it with life.
The rain doesn't fall unless I will it to.
If words can hurt, words can heal.
If I close my eyes I wont see I'm alone.
oops
I'll try again tomorrow.
I've been challenging myself to write at least one poem/short story/script a day during quarantine. This was my tongue-in-cheek response to my best friend, who said to try to write something hopeful and happy for a change.
梅香 Apr 2020
my heart wants to heard,
but everything else is blurred
and the world isn't capable of listening.

and so i resulted to writing,
hoping that the pen and the paper
could give me consolation.
then, i finally found solace.
daily poems! ♡
Charlotte Ahern Apr 2020
the most painful experiences in life
hurt because the universe
is using all it’s power to redirect you
on to the right path
Meruem Apr 2020
You are my home,
I am still tangled up in you.
It was not the Last Embrace,
I ain't no Quentin.
April 17, 2020 - 05:14

Part II:

I've been missing my bubba so much.
Sempre per sempre, B!
Meruem Apr 2020
Stuck in isolation,
Nothing much that we can do.
Is there a cure in place?
I hope things won't go obscene.
April 17, 2020 - 05:08

Part I:

Here's a reminder for every one to stay safe, always practice washing your hands, and to observe proper social distancing.

#StayAtHome #FlattenTheCurve
Ylzm Apr 2020
The familiar and well trodden
Walked over each and every day
Yet they still surprise and bewilder
Not so much that stones moved
Or grass grows blue or pigs fly
But the eyes of the soul renewed
Like a newborn child's first sight
Seeing the world fresh and anew
In every step you walked the walk.
koketso Apr 2020
Death and the ***** got a high exchange rate
How much marketing is put up for the hate
Its graffiti how the bullets are sprayed on us
Splattered on our T-shirts to reminisce but never do make it on any front page
The museums are filled with masterpieces painted from the bristles of our anguish
The harsh circumstances that make us selfish
If my blood turned into a currency
how much would you sell me out for?
Naked and raw  
I bear my soul to the sea
Freed from a shell outgrown
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