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Yousra Amatullah Feb 2021
Words are like water.
When they are being used well, they become a source of life for every living being on this planet. A source of hope.
When we waste them on the other hand,
our tongues will be the first ones to suffer.
Amanda Kay Burke Jan 2021
I struggled in the past
To write a respectable rhyme
More I create the harder it gets
Have to put in increasing time
But this is the first time in months
By far the most in years
Inspired I have felt
It's all thanks to my tears
Bad news is I'm crying
That means more pain
Root of excellence isn't sunshine
For me it's pouring rain
Meaning hidden in the suffering
Can't feel good 100% of the time
Otherwise things wouldn't feel good at all
Without other to compare it to
Is no difference between short and tall
I express better in shades of sorrow
Than I do in colorful rainbows and bliss
Negative emotions waiting in my soul
I try to verse happiness
Doesn't come out sounding truly authentic
That's because it's forced
Words meant to gallop freely
Not corralled
Coerced
I suffer writers block in moments of peace
In a way I'm grateful we are apart
Won't lie and say I'm not bothered by it
At least the result is some beautiful art
Going through this breakup has really brought out my creative side
unnamed Jan 2021
Sooner or later it was bound to happen.
I fell for you,
                     Again.
In a way I’m quite tired of this dance,
                Waltzing around,
         Spinning,             dipping,
   A two step.                     a  salsa.
         Rhythmic              sadness-
                   Tiptoeing love.
In a way I wish this love had never happened,
I know the impossibility for what I hope for.
Yet everyday I just wait for another song
In our ballroom of text messages and google docs,
The band plays a taunting song-
In the key of heartbreak,
And timed out to the tempo of our thoughts.
Even within our gala the other dancers snicker,
For I have no partner,
And your love is dancing with another.
I have to start learning about the eastern orthodox church
Saïda Boūzazy Jan 2021
She writes  
Her world is a poem  
Her dream is a poet  
She writes  
Her words hit like a sword
Her feelings seems like a song
She writes
life is an elegy
poetry is an  eulogizer
Short poem
Though I don’t know
Exactly what to say
Still I must respond
To the undying impulse to write
Meaningless be It may
Still the flames I’ll sustain
And reward myself with the joy
Of a holding a pen
This is a call
A duty I must perform
So when the urge comes
I allow my heart to flow
Into the streams of many generations
Yes, generations yet to come
So when my torch burns out
My life will still glow
Like a many thousand lights
Long after I am gone
Mystic Ink Plus Jan 2021
One day
Ink will refuse
To write about
You
As it doesn't
Pretend

And that day is
Today
Genre: Dark Abstract
Theme: Echoes
Author's Note: How to restrict a thought?
Eli Jan 2021
Cry
on
paper

while
tears
flow

through a
pencil.

Look deep inside.

Listen.

Stand still.

Understand.

This
is part of
nature.
I've had the phrase "Cry on paper" stuck in my head for a few weeks.  It's been there since I wrote another poem.. because I was quite literally crying on paper at that moment... both through my pencil and my eyes.
Mystic Ink Plus Jan 2021
If I tell you

With a touch of love
Poets/Poetesses are born
Paradox
Being untouched
Greater poets/poetesses evolve

They are not the poets/poetesses
Just because
They craft rhythmic verses
They are poets because
They glorify, the pain
They admire every little details
They worship, the sublime vibes
They are poets because
They reveal, the truth
They hide, what most

Whatever they serve
It comes straight
From their heart
Raw
Tuning the souls
Giving meaning to life

Hold on
For all the good reasons
They defy gravity
Romanticizing you
All with comfort

No other way, they do it best
Genre: Observational
Theme: Enjoy the ride
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