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Our story isn't a poem,
nor a novel to be written.
We can not rewrite the chapters,
we can not rewrite our story.
Only if I could,
I'd write a happy ending.
Lae Mar 3
From the smiles i faked,

to the tears i've wept,

the path i took,

left me lost in just a hook.



If i could just rewrite the past,

i would still bring back us,

back to those times,

where things weren't a mess.
Victoria Feb 19
Once upon a midnight,windy,
Graveyard heavy, tombstone weary,
Rose a man of great renowned-
The writer of which works can be found
Classroom sat in many a volume galore.
As the news and folk declare-
The dead whose lungs again took in air,
The writer who now stood before-
T’was Poe (and raven) of “Nevermore”.

“So if it be daemon, omen, curse or hex-”
In deciding action next, he spoke forth these words of old,
“I have been given further morrow, time of which furthers my sorrow,
Yet if I may this new life borrow- borrow perhaps to bring prose more-
In the hope,to continue prose more-
Pen to paper I’ll restore.”

Many a night spent struggling to create rhymes anew,
Edgar realized how language had changed,
For **** no longer meant to slay, and his beloved had turned to bae!
On his desk the perched bird had flown-
To say these words in had it flown-
Quoth the Raven “Just use Rhymezone.”
XyL0S Dec 2018
It was so much easier
When I just
wanted it all.
It doesn't seem worth it anymore
Mystic Ink Plus Oct 2018
Once in the blue moon
What if, you can rewrite the history?
He asked

For sure
I'll turn it into a fairy tale
She replied
Genre: Observational
Theme: Soft words, history without blood shed
Danielle L Cook Aug 2018
his hands sketch my edges, down
tracing the dips and curves and swells
his fingers curl into my skin, soft
where ever skin is found

burning with every seconds past
longing for his touch to last

his hands feel through me
reaching soul deep, he breaths
in holy serenity, feeding me solely;
his masterpiece
what it feels like
elle jaxsun Aug 2018
my mind is in knots.

there are so many twists and turns
that I can’t seem to follow
and I’m getting frustrated.

where is the start and where is the end?
and why is it so confusing?

i can’t sit still—my legs want to get up and go
but my brain is too tired for that right now.
i stay seated and try to untangle what is
the big grey lump in my skull, trying to figure out what it’s trying to say.

but it’s illegible and i can’t,
like a foreign language I don’t recognize.

hopefully as i spill out on to what was a blank sheet of paper i can break through those knots and maybe comprehend the load of thoughts running through and around each other in the space of my body that has been assigned to them.

i only wish i knew for certain that there would finally be a break through and that i will know what I should be knowing.

gathering myself might help as I feel as if
i’m spread across a massive surface that
i can’t seem to find all the pieces of myself on.

but how can I find myself when I barely know myself?

when i find out, i’ll let you know.
This is an edited and shorter version of a very messy poem I wrote in high school. So like 8+ years ago.
Rebel Heart Mar 2018
I rewrite myself often
Never satisfied
With the person I've drawn out
...
I say this only once
And I say it as a warning...
Don't write yourself in me
Or parts of you will get lost too
.
(Part of one of the longer lyric wall quotes I think I finally understand ~BM)

(Front Page 3/5/2018)
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