Lyn-Purcell Jun 1

a spokesperson of history and
their own language

an adventurer who dare to brave the
unknown jungles and uncharted temples

a student who starts from nothing
and grows by learning more

a listener who can hear and hone
the sound of their own prose

a lover who always leaves their
mark on virgin papers

a waterbearer who pours their soul to make
readers see and feel the beauty of the ripple

one soul that can and will write
their way into multiple lives

a warrior who fights to conquer
their greatest enemy, self-doubt

a drinker who wishes to
forget reality

a crafter who hears, sees, sniffs, feels
and thinks through their fingers

a sadist who loves to whip their
readers with twists, turns, pain and agony

a masochist who revels in the beautiful
agony of words, drafts and revisions

The writer's language is all that and more
It can bring as much agony as well as galore
And a special few truly understand that
the writer's language is anything but bland

The writer's language

The Writer's Language

It truly is second to none

The writing craft...
One I love to hate and hate to love. But I can't deny the good it's brought me
as well as the bad!
Also, to everyone who loved, liked and reposted my poem 'Naturally',
you guys are ah-mazing!
I logged in and saw 30+ notifications which made my jaw drop!
Seriously, it makes me feel warm and fuzzy that people love poetry as much as I do! I can't thank you enough!

Be back soon!
Lyn x
Loren Riley May 14
When a child is born,

A mother is born

When a mother is born,

A spark of love is born

When a spark of love is born,

There's a never-ending bond between them

When there's a never-ending bond,

Trust is born

When trust is born,

Empathy for one another is born

When empathy for each other is born,

One must part with the one who has supported them their whole lives and will always and always has been there for them.
I wrote this personally for my mother and found potential in it... So, I shared it!
How can a poem begin to trend
Without any likes or loves
It just doesn't make sense.
Am I writing the poem?
Oh um!...
Sorry about that...

I'm back!
I know you're happy for that.
So relax, eat snacks and enjoy the poem.


Bestowed below him.
He holds his only pair of clothes.
The story goes.
He was raised within a broken home.

The hate and discrimination.
Creates his inner sanctum.
The way that they raised him.
Makes him the same.
Hate them.

Insane he became.
Someone save him.
If you liked please share. Otherwise, I dont know. You know what you dont have to share its all good. Have a good day.. Share it.
Where will I go.
From here I hope you know.
I'm broken.

I show my love hopelessly coping.
Notice me, show me.

Am I not enough.
Tough and Rough its been.
But then again.
When will it end?
Taking request.
Mental illness is rising
Psychologists' career are blooming
Social media is redefining
Making it a beautiful suffering

Sadness has become boring
Misery has become enchanting
Scar has become beauty
Grief has become engaging
Depression has become alluring

Emotions have become art
Heartbreak has become a heart-wrenching song
Pain has become poetry
and mental illness has become a edgy-trending label.

When did they start to disguise agony behind such beauty?
i remember when we met, we clicked instantly
i still remember how much you meant to me

i remember feeling whole in your arms
like not even a meteor could keep us apart

i remember when you told me you had been cheating
and how i begged for you to stay

you were the first person to ever make me feel worth something
and then you took my imaginary worth away

i remember when you told me you loved me,
and then told me you didnt actually mean it

i remember all the people ive left,
just because they werent you

i remember their words, in pain as i left
but all i can remember is the love i felt for you

ill never love anyone like i loved you
so why should i love?

its been 3 years
i know you dont care
i know all this is just wasted air
youll brush this to the side
just like how you did me
but i loved you
with a love that was so rare
one that no one else will ever experience
because how could i ever love anyone
like i loved you
fell for an ugly guy with a beautiful heart and a love for girls in other countries.
I still love you
i'll always love you
and if I ever lost you,
i'd have concrete on my feet
and water in my lungs
you are my oxygen,
my problems are carbon dioxide
I still have issues,
when you're near
all I breathe is oxygen
Ellie Kelley Apr 29
There once was a man
Who only thought about things
And never thought that things
Never thought about him.
He clamors to the thought
Of having more things
Without giving his things
A thought.

The sun would rise
The moon would set
The moon would rise
The sun would set
Another day passes
Without a thought
Till all there was left
Was his things.
Open for a critique! this is my first post, and I would like to carry on this theme of writing for my daughter
That moment
or is it this moment,
the next moment,
That defines how you define, that moment, in your life? ~SacredInkedveins
"Moments," written in a moment on 04/25/2017 in another moment of sleeplessness. Okay enough of that word. Blessings, me © 12 hours ago   life • moment • family • random • misc
"Moments," written in a moment on 04/25/2017 in another moment of sleeplessness. Okay enough of that word. Blessings,
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