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Do not fall inlove with a writer
they see and feel everything.
particles that somersault in the morning ray telling them to embrace the day

They can smell the haunting
aroma of a coffee
whispers 'go grab your pen and write'

they look into a person's eyes
and could witness
how a sea crash into someone's soul

Do not fall inlove with a writer
they appreciate and value everything you do

they could see the entire universe
from your smile
only the ocean could tell
their hopes and fears.

They easily fall and break too hard.

Don't fall inlove with a writer
they'll make you their muse

from good times to bad times,
you will be the lyrics of their song.
Annie Cynthia Mar 2017
A beautiful soul is hard to find,
With so much on my mind,

You are so much more than what others think of you,
A tower, a flower and a writer too.
Kata Mar 2017
I like my simple way of writing
It represents who I am
And who I sometimes want to be
I like the way I think, I’ve found a certain freedom in it
But that freedom exists nowhere else
Not in any ***** nor sinew nor bone
Django is a free slave.
Too long I’ve been feeling like a trail gone cold
Pull me by the back of my throat, rest in the bed of my bones
And call me home
Because I’m lost, and maybe I just want to be found.
- Kata
DEREK RODARTE Mar 2017
I Didnt forget my power
I didnt loss my mind
Just drifted into infinity
Now, as I come back to a world that is ready.
In a world of endless possibilities and scattered lightwaves

understand it is focus that makes a fire.
this was life Changeing and transforming!
Sorcier d'argent Mar 2017
I’d consider a trip over two quills and a bottle of ink,
A wooden pencil as well; an eraser-ended one.
A sharpener green and stacks of empty notebooks;
Two chairs and a short table upon a patio, with a drink.

And I’ll be content with:
A couple forests to watch,
Rings of rainbow to wear,
And a piper to dance with.

Then maybe after a nap under a lyre;
trilling upon a bed of proses,

And just maybe then I’ll write for you.
A short poem that popped out in my mind earlier today.
Lunar Mar 2017
The most tragic story isn't the one written by Shakespeare
or Hans Christian Andersen

It is not about Romeo, Juliet and their forbidden love, dying together

Nor a man, a mermaid and their impossibility to live for each other

It is about a writer and a reader:
Where the writer has written down, in every language, every realistic & imaginable word & emotion for the world
But the reader doesn't even have a chance to read them

The most tragic story is about the reader who can not read, and in the end, the writer who will not write

The most tragic happily ever after is where the reader and writer end each other
To My Reader
Sophia Lynne Mar 2017
you were that one blinking star in the sky i had pondered on for hours when i was a child just to discover that all stars twinkle and you were no different from the rest

sls
Kata Mar 2017
I’ve been craving female companionship as of late. The need to have her in my presence at all times. I want her, face against the wall with joyfully erratic breathing, hands tied behind her back. I want her on all fours, head swivelled my direction with a smiling look of pleasure. I want her legs wide open for me, only because it’s me, only because it’s her. I want my tongue to make musical instruments of her ******* and *******. I want her to put me in her mouth so I can see her eyes tearing with shameless sin. I want her in her parents’ bedroom, I want her in tut rooms and auditoriums, I want her in the back of my car, in McDonalds, in elevators, under restaurant tables and on top of kitchen counters, I want her to say my name under soft moans during rough rounds. I want her in as savage a manner as possible.

I want her sitting in silence with me. I want her to listen to my ramblings, to sit there and be present. To exist. I want her to have her own ramblings, to educate me. I want her lips to be available for me at all times, for my head to make pillows of her chest. I want to introduce her to Ben Howard and Tom Misch, to Planet Hulk and The Pixar Theory. I want flowers to remind me of her. I want her to cradle me when Chelsea loses, to stroke her hair and rub her tummy when she has monstrous cramps. I want to hear ‘I love you’ over loud laughs between soft kisses. I want her on butterfly wings. I don’t know who she is, but dear God I want her to laugh, because I know I’m going to love her laugh.

I want so much from her, I want her to want so much from me. I want so much that I never wanted before. Only thing I’ve been wanting was to feel again, now I need to feel again in order to get what I want. I want her. I want more than me.

I’ve been feeling a certain emptiness
I feel like I’m not enough
I’m not enough to make myself as happy as I want to be.
I feel like there is nothing more I can do for myself.
For so long, I’ve been happy because all I’ve wanted, I’ve given myself
Or I’ve taken, but
I don’t satisfy myself anymore,
And I can’t take what I now want.
I think, for the first time in a long time, I feel lonely.
- Kata
Aaron LaLux Mar 2017
----

**No,

I don’t want to go out,
not trying to be negative,
nor am I trying to hang out,
with people who are negative,

which is why I don’t want to go out,

no,

no way,
you’re not getting me out today,
don’t care what you do,
or what you say,

I’m perfectly fine here,
with my nostalgia and insecurities,
and I’m paranoid enough already,
so please I don’t need any one or thing else to worry me,

I’m fine in my own mind,
in my own home in my own room,
where I spin these stories,
which makes this room more of a cocoon,

but if this room is a cocoon,
then does that make me a butterfly,
or better yet a catepillar,
my mind’s drifting again whatever never mind,

just forget it,
it’s easier to just not care,
no need to pretend you want to attend to my wounded heart,
believe me you don’t want to mess with the mess that’s in here,

I’m a troubled soul,
we both are,
so what good would two troubled souls be together,
that’d just be double trouble for sure,

sure,
I might seem popular if you read my Facebook posts,
and sure from the outside looking in,
I might look like I’m living life the most,

heck,
a lot of people even call me a Player,
but I’m not a Player I don’t even play,
at least not anymore,

and I’m writing this like it matters,
like this poem will be the one that the world shares with itself,
like I haven’t written enough already,
like three #1’s in a row isn’t enough,

it’s never enough,
nothing ever is,
that’s why I’m not going out,
before I even get into anything I’m already over it,

not sober with,
my anxieties getting the best of me,
yeah I guess it’s a natural high,
if you consider a natural high EMF’s and caffeine,

and I don’t even think you know what I mean,
and if you do you probably don’t care,
and if you care I probably don’t notice,
and that’s exactly why I’m staying right here,

I’ll save us both the trouble,
so we don’t have to go out and you don’t have to feel awkwards,
because if we go out I won’t be able to let loose,
because I’ll just be thinking about how our society is so perverse,

how we party away,
having drinks that cost more than most people make,
see it seems the only way to have a good time is to be in denial,
and I am a lot of things but one thing I’m not is fake,

I can’t pretend,
don’t even want to,
I’m not your Arm Candy or your Sugar Daddy,
we are already even so I don’t owe you,

anything,
nope not a thing,
and no I’m not going out,
so please stop asking,

as if,
any one is even asking though,
it’s Friday night and the phone doesn’t even ring,
oh well I guess I’m better off alone,

so no I don’t want to go out,
not trying to be negative,
nor am I trying to hang out,
with people who are negative,

which is why I don’t want to go out,

no,

no.

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
iamtheavatar Mar 2017
The moon shines brightly
as she walks across the sky.
My soul shall follow her,
where'er she will be.

**iamthe_avatar ©2017
A poem for love.
Made with Creative Writer app.
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