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Cam Feb 2018
Today I was told a story
Of a little child and her bird
And of how she had a string
That she tied to its leg
Every time she let the bird go
It would start to fly away, thinking it was free
But she would always pull the bird back,

And the bird never learned
So it kept trying to fly away
Hoping one day his wish would come true

I feel like the bird
Always trying to be free
But being pulled back by some force that I have yet to discover

Maybe the bird always knew
That he would die in the child's hands

Just like I know
That I will keep trying,
Trying to fly away
Even if my string is pulling me back
Not really a poem but...
anotherdream Dec 2017
Your heart brings the warmth I seek,
Doing the little things that matter to me.
You listen so well with your cute little ears,
And can hear me when I’m not even near.

Your eyes speak of fall’s endless leaves,
And leave me with repeating sweet dreams,
Where you could be you and I could be me.
Still wondering why these dreams aren’t realities.

You play my heart like a crimson-stained guitar,
Drawing me to you, no matter how far.
You know the strings, you know how they work.
I’m used to fixing, but with you there’s nothing to rework.

Your jeans are the sky’s only limit,
I can’t help but staring for endless minutes.
Your sweater makes sparks fly with every niche,
And I helpless fall for it with every stitch.

You are a present just waiting to be opened,
You have so much in you yet you don't show it.
Love has to be hidden, love has to be found,
Now I give in and embrace your every sound.
Destiny C Nov 2017
This depression is my insanity.
It follows me,
watches my every move.
It hears every creak,
spies every movement,
never leaves me on my own.
It's my shadow.
I cannot get rid of it.
This depression is my insanity.
It molds me,
shapes me into it's darkness,
never letting me see the light.
It's a possession of the sickest kind.
It won't let me breathe.
It won't let me be.
This depression is my insanity.
It's my puppet master,
holding me by it's strings,
as it drags me along,
putting on a sick show for others all around.
My depression is my insanity.
Gabriel burnS Oct 2017
The puppet master's gone completely mad
Who knows when
Weaving webs of chaos
Knots collide
Casualties fall
And so I do not know
What he was before
But now I’m sure
He is a spider
Eating his own
Children
Bryan Oct 2017
Her fingers dance along the keys.
Delicately at first, then with more conviction,
As she grows more assured.
"Something inside this one is broken," she says,
The disappointment plain on her face.

Then she moves on.

After a time, sometimes a day,
Sometimes more,
Another comes by,
Finding the notes to her dislike.
"This tone is not where it should be."

And like all the others,
She moves on.

The instrument has been there waiting
For a long time.
When the shop closes,
And no one comes to peruse,
I sit down with myself,
And strike the chords aloud.
They sound beautiful to my ears,

As my heart-strings always do.
Britney Lyn Sep 2017
I'm so tired of fighting the demons in my head, but how long will it take before I realize you're controlling them.
Ahmed Ali Sep 2017
Guitar


Pluck the strings of your guitar,
Pluck them one by one at par,
The notes may be different if you hear,
The song it sings is but so unique and clear.

These strings I just strike
Makes my slumber fade like morning mist,
And the music that streams out,
Gave me a life that is not on any list.

(by: Khan, BA)
I used to play on guitar, but then long time back it was smashed by the security forces in our rented home and since then I never touched the instrument.
Poetic T Sep 2017
Ligaments are folly for the static movements
that I tender on the world around me.
I'm a puppet that has had its strings severed.

No longer will I stand before a crowd admiring
the swag of free motivation. Now I'm but a flawed
puppet with my useless severed strings lingering.

Once upon a time I was  a puppet and I pulled all
my own strings... But now I'm gathering
dust in my self  pity, and my strings are now cut.

But even though they are severed, and no longer
dance to my own tunes. I'm no weaker than before!
I'm stronger within myself, I may have fallen but got up.

"We are stronger than we think,
"We just have to pick ourselves up.
           *"For we are our own weight, that only we can pick up.
emmie cosgrove Aug 2017
You’re still sitting there

In the middle of my heart

Plucking at its strings

With your fingers made of razors
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