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Samm Marie Jul 2016
Dear fellow ink dwellers,
I wish that when you have a problem
After writing about it
That you would talk about it
We can't sit around letting an issue
Weigh heavy upon our souls and hearts
We need to open up discussion
And bear our burdens
We might not all like each other
But as poets we are a large community
And all of us can relate to pain
You can't make light of it
So I urge you
*Talk
I'm 1000% serious about this, y'all. If ANYONE needs someone to talk to I am willing to listen. Please do not hesitate.
Jennifer Weiss Jan 2016
We spend so much time editing ourselves,
correcting every little thing that displeases.
Even my poetry is revisited,
trying to pretty up all my diseases.
But I no longer want to appear "neat" or "tidy".
I want to show the world all the things I am hiding...

It is difficult to do the right things,
some times I would rather sin,
but then I remember
Who gave me new life again.

I lay in my bed too long when I wake,
trying to read my bible,
but like the disciples
I fall asleep...

I am too ******* myself, thinking I need to be perfect.
Other times I don't try hard enough,
out of fear that it isn't worth it.

I struggle to forgive, others and myself.
I struggle to realize only I can choose to not live
in hell

I want to restore relationships, but sometimes I fear it
hurts too much.
I am working on remembering
Who is my source of love.

My biggest admission, is that I try to control.
I want to tell God how to write the story,
thinking my words are some how better or more bold.
When in reality He is author of every single thing.
I am reminding myself I am lucky to even be written
into a single page.
the truth.
A Writer Aug 2015
I wish I could tear my skin away to show you the scars unseen.
So you could see how my hearts been beaten and battered,
Stomped, forgotten,
And worst of all,
ripped apart.
If you could see the story of my heart,
Yours would cry for mine.
But this thick skin doesn't open up easily,
Or for just anyone.
It protects so that my heart sustains no more injuries or pain.
RRD Jun 2015
Little pieces I give away
Bit by bit I chip at the source
Fragile, precious shards
Leave me raw and rough-cut
I’ll whittle this soul down
To carve you into me
If only you’ll give me the tools

— The End —