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Alice Sep 2019
there is a soft emptiness in
my bones
and i still
don't quite know what's supposed to
fill it
but your smile
and laugh
and
heartbeat
seem to pour into my
hollow chest
too quickly
and take up
entirely
too much space
Butterfly Sep 2019
My words make sense in my head.
But not on paper
I'm crying because of some serie AND I NEED TO STOP ****
Mystic Ink Plus Sep 2019
Writing should never be about who liked it or disliked it. Personally I feel peace, to write events, daily life activity without an end. I don't know topics, I don't know how to blend words like the professionals. Furthermore I don't have that time to decorate beautifully, but honestly I never cared about getting it right and I don't compete besides doing personnal best.

To be precise, we are among those people who (need to) have patience to listen, to see, to feel, and finally process all those stimuli to get back with a better reflection. How much we know them is, how much we have touched their lives.
The extra mile is the factor what makes someone to write. And luckly, I am among that someone.
Finally I write to empty my head.

If we will not write, who will?
Genre: Experimental
Theme: I got ink, I got thought, I got imagination, I got emotions and I am real.
Jayantee Khare Sep 2019
an eternal search
a perpetual urge
a deep inner sigh
subsequent to a "high".

a low-key loner
once flew higher
the flaring fire
of an unfeterred desire.

here i roam
to find my home
a key to sire
peace before the pyre.

an unknown quest 
the soul, yearning to rest
searching for the path best,
life's an endless test!!
मेरी रूह का परिंदा फड़फड़ाये.......
B D Caissie Sep 2019
Capture despondency and confine it to verse. Control what is written, your emotions inverse.

©
Vic Sep 2019
{ "Here, take this test I made for you." }

"Okay?"

{ "Step/Question one: How do you really feel?" }

"I guess I feel... numb? I'm not supposed to, there's no reason, but I feel so, so empty. I mean, I can write about a lot of obvious things I feel. You know, everything you see in my poetry. And people think: Oh, this is just a little part, She must be so sad. But in reality, everything I write, is everything I feel. If you take away [name] and all my feelings for [pronouns] I feel nothing. I'm just dark inside. Dark, empty and numb.
Notes
Denise Uy Sep 2019
I wrote and rejected my own words,
I marked them basic, unoriginal.
I erased lines I never replaced.
I stopped making new worlds.
I loathed that I was only typical,
I hoped it would only be a phase
But I paused.
The pause turned into a halt.
It turned into a break, turned into never.
Then I wrote back all that I lost,
Stopped stopping and breaking and believing the false.
I want to continue writing letters.
So I will mix and match and reach my goal to have never been better.
Finally, I just went ***** it I'll write. Thank you, pinkink. I love you
Alice Sep 2019
It's just that
i'd like someone to
write for me
just once
i'd like to be the object of affection
i'd like for someone to find
that beauty my mother keeps telling me
i have inside
i'm not complaining
but you see
i'd just like to be the
poem
and not the poet
for once
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