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Shaking hand holds pen
"It is just cold" one more lie
Afraid to face truth
The only person I lie to usually is myself
Renae Apr 25
I'm okay with nothing
I wasn't made for much
Always wanted to do something
but somethings never enough
So I turn into
my own little world
Still a sad little girl
Don't laugh at my pain
roll your eyes in my face
I know your watching me die
Inside and outside
alI I wanted was love
guess that was just too much
Intuition isn't such a gift
When you see so clearly
Can't pour from a empty cup
When you've only
become everybody's charity
Now they believe
they can be redeemed.
What am I here for
when all of this is
just make believe
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
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,

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

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!"


"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.

"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
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.
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!
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