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Ariana Solo Oct 2020
We tend to tell people our whole story

Without letting them read the blurb on the back first

Giving them the option to put you back on the shelf

And allow the right reader to choose you

đź“– đź“– đź“– đź“– đź“–
Nica Monet Oct 2020
Beyond that fog lies the unknown.
The way it can hide a whole city
may fill a hole in me
bury the trauma within
by keeping our memories blurry
it’s a natural response to forget
to never again recall that story.
the fog in this context can be our own comfort zone. in this fog you may hide but you are not alone.
Bluebird Oct 2020
i got excited by the cut on my finger
and the bruise on my thigh
(got one from making art
the other from chasing fun)
i've always loved that sort of thing
proof that i'm moving and creating

people will learn things about me
just by looking

i hope that they'll take an interest
flip through my pages
hope that my title and front page
can get them to read the rest of my story

i want you to ask me how i got
that bruise
that cut
that scar

i want so badly to tell a story
I was making prints for my art class and i kept falling over while learning how to rollerblade. Loved both things and wish I could do them more.
Zywa Oct 2020
Grandpa likes to talk

about the past, yet beware! –


maybe he's joking!
“Geheim Agent Opa” (“Secret Agent Grandpa”, 2020, Manon Sikkel)

For Lotte Woestenberg

Collection "On the fly"
Kenny Anthony Oct 2020
Tell me your secrets, I want to know your life. Ill hold on to your grievance, and leave you without a strife. Your memories will tell me stories, your smile will show me your soul. We’ll walk up to the observatory, i’ll figure out this loophole.
RCurtis Oct 2020
Tiny lives he had trapped,
inside a big old jam jar.
They twirled and fluttered,
fire sparks of light afar.

His prize possession,
A starry piece of the night,
that brought him lots of joy
and gave off so much light.

Alas, they danced less,
a faint light they did make.
So, in a last act of love,
his jar he had to break.

And off they all did fly,
up into the darkest night.
He turned to his eyes up
and noticed all the light.

So consumed to keep,
a few stars of light,
he had failed to notice
the heavens shining bright.
I love telling stories with a message,  and when it all rhymes its so much sweeter:)
Erian Rose Sep 2020
A brink of clouded moonlight
amongst oranges and blood-kissed red tucked away between headstones
with stories longing to tell
Secret Whispers Sep 2020
You had no right to talk to me the way you did. No right to take ownership over me.

No right to tell me how to dress or even how to smile,
no right babe you were so sinister and vile. You crossed the line when you told me who I could talk to or what I could say after we were done. You master manipulator and I your puppeteer.
Said you’d always be here but you were the first to run.

You pulled me by the strings of my own heart and you didn’t even care about the hurting that would cause.
Mitch Prax Sep 2020
No one ever told
me that I was the villain
of my own story

7:42 AM
18/9/20
Susy Kamber Sep 2020
Writers choose pens that are inked with words.
The color of ink might be a peach colored verb.
The adverb joins in with a red that is flashy.
The prose is beginning to read somewhat ******.
The noun is thinking to mellow this down,
But the writer wants more from what has been found.
An adjective presents with its green colored hue.
Then gold trickles in making the vivid story true.
Yes, writers choose pens and words choose colors.
Stories then written,
For us and for others.
https://www.susykamber.com/
Ekphrastic Poetry Explores Art
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