Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Shofi Ahmed Aug 2023
When I pick up my pen
        She comes first.
When I land on the dust
         I am a stranger!
SelinaSharday Jun 2023
When will we.. stop admiringly
distantly..
stop posting afar,
its impossible to try and reach a star,
But I can certainly shout
to the star above
conversate with it show it love.
In my heart and mind
sparkly hype find..
share my thoughts all in the blind.
A traveler at heart is mine....
I quickly rhyme...
yet truthful a blessed find..
I'll leave and stray away..
keep my attention far at bay...
Good day...hope you like it..
my paper plane..
sent to a moonlit sky..
Registered.. S.A.M shardaysCopy Righted notes.
Your way over there up there.. can you get my paper sent planes..
I S A A C May 2023
pen to paper
tears to soil
the interactive process makes me
what am i without the mercy of paper?
what am i without the abundance of ink?
what am i without?
footprints in fresh snow
bloodstains on a sheep’s wool
what am i when i am no longer broke?
what am i when i unfold?
JAM Oct 2022
"So the pen is mightier? who'da'thunk'it."
He said to the bleeding man tied down
to a messed, stained, bed.

The bound man figured,
even though he just got
to an LA plagued
by criminals, killers, and copy-cats,
that he wasn't getting out of here whole,
finally.

Holding a pen knife,
red-faced and sweating,
was his captor.
It had been a struggle
to awake and realize
who stood before him:
Quill.

The exact killer he'd been looking for.
He had heard about him in the Halo Herald,
An LA pun, it's not very popular,
but he liked the funny section.

"Are you just going to stand there?"
The bound man says, eagerly,
"Hey bud, you're the hanged man,
I'll do the talking."

"It's about time!"

"huh?"

"I'd been waiting.
heard you'd be at that
open mic. Knew you liked
the mealy type."

"Shuddup or I'll write you off."

Quill runs his pen knife over the bound man's right cheek.

"Stings a little.
Usually, I start with a rufie
and emotional damage.
But it looks like you
want to cut to the chase.
I'm a man of a similar mind.
spirit.
problem."

"Nobody's like me dude."

The bound man locks eyes with Quill.

"What're your trophies? huh?
I read you like to drain your victims,
cook'em dry.
don't you use their blood and powdered remains as ink?
Short stories or something?"

"Oh, an avid reader?! it's your lucky day:
you get to be part of the collection!"

The lamp nearby tumbles
to the floor as Quill lunges,
ready to ****.

"Wait! Don't you want to know who I am!"

"Not really."

"I'm a ser-"
The sentence is finished by
nothing but the sound of blood
and air
gurgling
into places it was never meant to be
as Quill's blade passes through flesh.

"Pfft, what, you think you're special?"
Quill saunters over to the sink.
"I'd hate to waste ink.
but there'll be more.
there's always more.
isn't that right, Celine."
he says to no one
and stands there with a smirk
as if listening to her.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bM9SHDNAbPw&list=PLbM5LMVZad0aDdDCFZyOel2N12aq62cn7&ab_channel=TuSuShell
Odd Odyssey Poet Aug 2022
As to start all conversations, with an ending thought
to all discussions. "I choose to say a few words"
To express more in an after action; a moving poem.
I self identify as a pen—how and when?
We both bleed the same. We both could be weapons stabbing
at your side again, and again. And again!
But I’m not violent; I’m priceless—priced less for being
like this. Now isn’t that so priceless?
Rebellious and outspoken when my pen feels profound,
only when the right words are found.
And I’m actually funny, but no wait—not so funny.
I’m broke, but not referring to not having money.
I’m a joke, that I sometimes find funny. But in the current
currency, we sometimes fold like money. Easily at times
as a worthless currency.
Looking always for the perfect piece —well you’re looking at it.
Guilty of being authentic; point you finger out to say he did.
The poet who knows it!
Descovia Jul 2022
The time will come
Where my words will
forever remain as unforbidden memories
Left by those that remember
me from our legacy in creation.
Wielding the pen is a concept
a complex human as myself
will never achieve the skill-set to master.
It's a calling for me to wield justice and harmony
My time to equip the sword, will be my destiny soon.
I'm not afraid of the battle ahead.
I have slayed demons stronger than my own
Fought against my alter ego and argued with my conscious for answers
Witnessed guardian angels endure tragic falls.

The pen is mightier than the sword
The sword completes the point and cuts down the objective differently
I am not afraid to die protecting the world I love
It's all a cost for new age peace & awakening on the other side
I will not continue a cycle of hatred!
_ I love every part of you and it's worth fighting for_
I appreciate all of you for pushing me.
Motivating me. Inspiring me. Completing me.
In every imaginable way to be the best of me.
A stronger father. Advanced writer. A healer amongst all souls.
Odd Odyssey Poet Jul 2022
Circles—round a trip,
going all around the plains of plain thinking,
A blank mind; empty paper, ****** canvas,
As of the first I'll write: a masterpiece to create.

A shaking pen, a hold of my thoughts and emotions.
Dreams so unreal; feels so prohibited to a natural
thought. So I write them out in words.

Read through it, subtract, dissect,
read through it again; alter, adjust,
As many times, till I'm content with the piece.
But I'm never content; until the next piece,
the next piece, and next pieces after that.

Battling thoughts on whether to share or
archive for a later story. Post for likes, comments,
to please an ego—post for dispraise, inklings,
to better self, and writing capabilities.

For all-inclusive
Next page