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DivineDao Sep 19
Well - -
By Your Interpretation~~~

Só Much To Love!
So Beautiful!

Thank You---Neverforgotten Moments
Carl D'Souza Aug 1
I need
to continuously practice
responding to situations
according to my best principles of wisdom
because continuous practice
improves my skill
at striving for joy and happiness
in a wise way.
Rozey Mar 30
I used to tell myself that I was never a pretty girl
I allowed someone's opinion clout my world
I doubted everything I could do
I allowed someone's thought influence me too
Only now:
I am confident wearing my flaws
From head to toe, I know I have it all
I know I'm not perfect but, I indeed have great skills
To all those before, you no longer have the power of my wills
At the age of 10,
I enter a world manipulated by a smooth console
with knobs to weave myself into a different skin
level up with every ****,
and move with a certain skill.
At the age of 12,
I open a world stacked on my shelf.
Some world lying there parched like the desert,
accumulating dust and letting its texture fray away.
Whereas some lie there with their syllables
paving roads to adventure
and intoxicating the air with its tropic odor.
At the age of 14,
I scroll myself into another world;
where vision is pixelated
and lighting is perfect.
Instagram and Snapchat are the societies that exist,
ranking your position with the followers you keep.
Endorphins are the taps you receive
and filters are what you apply before you leave.
At the age of 16,
I pick up the VR goggles
and sleep under lucid rainbows
and a different constellation.
Everything is under my control,
the timezone;
a stimulation that feels so real.
At the age of 18,
I meet people of different hues,
discovering new worlds in them.
With different nations weaved on their skin,
and composition of carbon, nitrogen, spice and sweet ever so different in them.
uv Jan 18
When we mimic nature,
using our skills,
It is in the nature of nature,
To bloom every where
it instill's.
Words bloomed from the pen she held, nourished by the fertiliser of imagination.
soli Jan 12
What a commotion!
My talent needs promotion!

I can't seem to write.
I really want to fight
whatever's stopping my fingers
because now they over-linger
on the keyboard.

Agh! I really want to write!
But quit I just might!
The words in my head
just want to go to bed,
but I don't want to let them!

Grr, writer's block is frustrating.
I have ideas, I'm ready to verbal *****,
but the something that stops me
I'm really really hating!

It's like there's a transparent wall
between my motivation
and my story ideas.
I can see them,
but I can't use them at all.

Help! I need a bulldozer!
I can't break this wall down!
Ugh, my head hurts from being overused.
I can feel my brain frown.
Come on, dude!

Writer's block, go away,
don't ever come again
another day!

PBTHHH I can't think.
Maybe I can use a hammer
to pound ideas and motivation
into my head.

Okay I'm done.

I still hate writer's block.
To anyone who suffers from writer's block, kudos for pulling through, y'all. Stay strong.
Lyn-Purcell Oct 2018

Everyone is a unique seed
with a potential to bloom
into something beautiful
Nurture yourself as pure
and consistent as love itself
Fear no drought
For you are not destined
to wilt before your time
You will have all you need
to get to the stage of flowering
All your God given talents,
known and hidden,
discover, refine, hone

Nothing you possess is wasted. You are unique. Nurture your skills.
Im sorry for the inactivity, I've been finishing late and I'm so exhausted when I get home. I really appreciate all your support.
Thank you so much for 252 followers!
I'm so grateful for all of you!
Much love,
Lyn ***
Anya Sep 2018
What is being smart?
I've always wondered
Is it having innate talent?
Or being exceedingly knowledgeable?
Perhaps, having the skills to survive in one's society?
Is it a special skill?
Is it something that can be cultivated?
Is it limited to certain people?
So what is it?
I'd really like to know
Spry distractions loaf on lithe intent,
men waking, wishing, trying,
b’lieving, doing, buying -inging time rather than be-,
results in salt-work, sprawling like the C
in coldness: callous spray
that dampens your New Canvas Day.

Pixels splat and reek of pure demise,
wine trauma met with whys
fires livid earth from foil-pressed crumbs
from which your towers rise. You miss
the point of -ing;
the shape you’re in’s an -e-d thing
writ past because of practice;
timed it slow, fixed solemn bets
all rife with catty pugil,
ribbons placed on “I-got-tīme-in” *******
that gleam too brightly
for the lover’s open eye. Youriyese
in grace, ingratiated by devices
(rueful caries)
shelter you from toil’s ten-thousand days.
You see them, they see you whilst print-ing,
comb-ing over, feel-ing joy anew: such sugar lines
the bottom
of a borrowed cup of time.

White hues direct-ing -ingots in a line
totally gold
and pin “pathetic” on your chest,
their best not forged in -ing or be-
(like they would want you to be) -lieve,
but rather hey! and halt!
The hollow points of discord,
blood of victims be- -in’ salt.
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