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Marina Dec 2019
You are in my written poetry
I portray you as someone I look up to
I sense the feeling you're capable
Of being that person.
You are in my head
Pinpointing the level of anxiety
I get from you, when you tell me you have fantasies of other people.

I portray you as my killer
You killed the most beautiful thing inside me
You wrapped me up in a plastic bag
And sold my heart to the wolves.
I portrayed you as the person
Who lifts me; in reality you brought me to my knees.

I want to see you as the better person,
But that just hasn't happened.
I wanted the world to think what a better person you could've been
Mystic Ink Plus Jan 2020
Yet
Nobody
Has written
Your biography

And It's always
You
Who have to

Even as
The third person
Genre: Inspirational
Theme:  "I wonder, if I write behind the 'he', and behind the 'she' , to hide the 'me'.-Atticus
Mystic Ink Plus Feb 2019
Once upon a time
He called himself
“He”
Not to hurt her

She called herself
“She”
Not to hurt him

That’s how
The story began
That's how
The story ended

Time, back then
Genre: Abstract
Theme: Impact || Telling Story || Journey towards infinity
Bésia Davis Nov 2017
Saw her standing on a balcony's ledge, staring down. Swore she could have jumped if it could stop the talking in her head, she's lost contact with herself, "insane" with hatred of self- she's felt the breath of death against her neck since **** had hit the fence- now she's hopping over it , total devotional focus, to hop, to land in the place of older, like greener grass, being sober, to love the one reflected when beauty gets inspected, expected recognition of her faulty symmetrics, civil disobedience creeping up in the rear of her, teetering on the length of the time that takes to make it, from top to bottom, toppling, dropping nonstop, won't stop till her heart stops.
Inspired by a move I recently watched.
Guen Sy Sep 2016
you love how your sun rises bright
though she always sets by noon
i promise to be by your side
like the persistence of the moon

but let me know if her brightness stings
if its past dawn and u couldnt sleep
let my waning light meet ur skin
take shelter in my muted dim

let my downy embrace envelope
your every lesion
cautiously i will stroke
every region
she must have missed

but who can blame her
no one is ever surprised about this
you can leave anyone in distrait
with that wicked smile on your face

now as we are on the verge of daybreak
shes rises back as a ravishing view
always as beautiful as our eyes can take
so who can blame you?
Spencer Dennison Sep 2014
He is walking the streets of his mind,
blind to any and all rays of light
peeking through the crack in slight
little flickering beams.
It seems that he will never be
the assembly of feelings that she
called happy.
It is there now and again,
but it is gone before now becomes then.
He walks the path of a thousand other men
but he walks it alone.
He is Spencer Dennison.

Do you feel pity?
Do you feel spite
at the idea that I might
quite possibly
have penned this
for for you to feel sorry for me?
I enjoy attention.
It's a thing I get in rations,
packed in  a steel MRE
waiting to be peeled back and basked in
just for the time it takes
to flee back again.

I wrote this
not for you to feel sorry for him.
I wrote this
not for you to try to support him.
I wrote this
why?
Because it's late
and I have nothing better to do
than to create
little save-states in the page.
To fall back on when things are in doubt.
What I get out
of this is the calm of mind
in knowing that I have shouted my plight
into to dead air.
So if no-one ever hears my prayer,
it's not because it was not offered.
Ariella Apr 2014
I guess I write in third person
so I can pretend that my feelings
aren't mine
Charles told me today—
But don't tell him I said so—
He really likes you.

— The End —