#nanowrimo - Hello Poetry

I betray myself with thoughts of you Though I hid you away Why gone you would not stay For love denied our ribboned passions The unnumbered time we left You could not stay Gone too long, gone too late Myself, I betray

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Nov 10, 2020

Nov 10, 2020 at 12:46 PM UTC

beingesther

When I Lose These Words

I betray myself with thoughts of you Though I hid you away Why gone you would not stay For love denied our ribboned passions The unnumbered time we left You could not stay Gone too long, gone too late Myself, I betray

8

hurrah, hurrah! cue to cheers! for the long writing program has ended. quite a journey it has been! spilling out words squinting at pages and conquering the flame breathing dragon in the very end. so hurrah, hurrah huzzah, huzzah, it's over!

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Dec 5, 2016

Dec 5, 2016 at 9:56 PM UTC

blueberrymoon

nanowrimo

hurrah, hurrah! cue to cheers! for the long writing program has ended. quite a journey it has been! spilling out words squinting at pages and conquering the flame breathing dragon in the very end. so hurrah, hurrah huzzah, huzzah, it's over!

14

Falling in love is more like living in a apocalypse . Love is dead and you was the disease that brought me there. Just like Falling is not a volunteerary action being zombified isn't either. When you broke out of your containment you infected my world and instead of looking for my friends I looked for you. When I saw you, all I wanted was you. Every limb, ligament, and being of you. The more I'm with you the more I change. I'm losing my mind. Day 7, My mind is gone, wait when did I start writing a apocalypse diary. Wait am I talking about falling in love or about becoming one of the walking dead. Day 8 they're both about the same but as long as I got you, my love, my disease I don't care. Day 9, you granted me your full disease the kiss of death. Day 10 I'm fully submerged in you, the sickness, I am you, I've finally landed from my fall to love that was inspired by you but yet I look left and right and you're not in site, you're actually flying high in the sky like I used to be. Day 11, you're no longer circling me from above like my halo. I blame everybody that said you were my vulture cause they never you were frail solution. Day 12 until eternity, I circle the world looking for your reasons or you, but like answers to a custom made quiz on google no results were ever found.

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Apr 1, 2016

Apr 1, 2016 at 11:26 PM UTC

LeviKips

Falling in Zombification

Falling in love is more like living in a apocalypse . Love is dead and you was the disease that brought me there. Just like Falling is not a volunteerary action being zombified isn't either. When you broke out of your containment you infected my world and instead of looking for my friends I looked for you. When I saw you, all I wanted was you. Every limb, ligament, and being of you. The more I'm with you the more I change. I'm losing my mind. Day 7, My mind is gone, wait when did I start writing a apocalypse diary. Wait am I talking about falling in love or about becoming one of the walking dead. Day 8 they're both about the same but as long as I got you, my love, my disease I don't care. Day 9, you granted me your full disease the kiss of death. Day 10 I'm fully submerged in you, the sickness, I am you, I've finally landed from my fall to love that was inspired by you but yet I look left and right and you're not in site, you're actually flying high in the sky like I used to be. Day 11, you're no longer circling me from above like my halo. I blame everybody that said you were my vulture cause they never you were frail solution. Day 12 until eternity, I circle the world looking for your reasons or you, but like answers to a custom made quiz on google no results were ever found.

1

It hurts to love you because every breath I take marks a moment you are closer to your last one and my lungs can't take that truth. It hurts to love you because my arms lie aching at my sides every moment they could be holding you, and the weight of that is somehow more than I can take. It hurts to love you because my brain is leaning so fully on something that is not even mine that I both long for and hate who I might have been (Who was I?) before.

0

Apr 11, 2015

Apr 11, 2015 at 10:08 PM UTC

brittlebird

Lovehurt

It hurts to love you because every breath I take marks a moment you are closer to your last one and my lungs can't take that truth. It hurts to love you because my arms lie aching at my sides every moment they could be holding you, and the weight of that is somehow more than I can take. It hurts to love you because my brain is leaning so fully on something that is not even mine that I both long for and hate who I might have been (Who was I?) before.

19

Bristled blue feathers Like nature's forgotten child She chirps to no one

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Apr 10, 2015

Apr 10, 2015 at 8:01 PM UTC

brittlebird

Haiku #14

Bristled blue feathers Like nature's forgotten child She chirps to no one

3

I got to 40,000 words in this month And I may finish NaNoWriMo I may win I think that For once in my life I've earned the right To be proud Of myself.

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Nov 28, 2014

Nov 28, 2014 at 10:27 PM UTC

thunderstorm

Proud of myself

I got to 40,000 words in this month And I may finish NaNoWriMo I may win I think that For once in my life I've earned the right To be proud Of myself.

8

days or days of words, leave me like a flock of birds one by one. find a place, to come to rest, and take me there, let me be, but not alone, i am so alone, eyes observe with every breath, every step, down streets filled, my arms by my sides, hang tired reaching for the spectres, relationships, empty boats, float by, no rope have i to throw, nor harbour safe or sage place to anchor, there be, distractions like rocks, waiting for me, YOU, lay alike in wait, wish I, you would, find me, for your softness, would rip me bow to stern, empty all the words i did yearn to spill on paper, cover a screen, with worlds, in ink stained blood, of my own hand, my write hand, type set for all to see, when i am free, and believe, that dragonflies, win staring contests, the story is important to tell, and will be read, humbly God gifts us, and we each in our turn, not deserving or have earned, finding, sharing, enough to care, to give what you have, trusting, rusting away, from the inside out, rain drops pelt the ground from the sky make a sentence, fill a cup with a paragraph, throw myself to the ground, soak them up as i roll around, run inside and wring out every drop on pages scattered across the floor and watch for words to appear, that i will know what i am like, really like, so the lies i live will flee, to the shadows and leave me, so you will know that the one you love, is a writer of stories, a teller of tales, not a scribe but a scribbler, who places people and places, and colours and conflict, and lives and love and cups of coffee black. Thirty days hath November, have i the will to write fifty thousand and ninety-nine words, from my heart, from, my hands, to tell a story. Give God the glory, i will, in thanks.

0

Oct 27, 2014

Oct 27, 2014 at 1:24 AM UTC

darrell-wade-elverum

Thirty

days or days of words, leave me like a flock of birds one by one. find a place, to come to rest, and take me there, let me be, but not alone, i am so alone, eyes observe with every breath, every step, down streets filled, my arms by my sides, hang tired reaching for the spectres, relationships, empty boats, float by, no rope have i to throw, nor harbour safe or sage place to anchor, there be, distractions like rocks, waiting for me, YOU, lay alike in wait, wish I, you would, find me, for your softness, would rip me bow to stern, empty all the words i did yearn to spill on paper, cover a screen, with worlds, in ink stained blood, of my own hand, my write hand, type set for all to see, when i am free, and believe, that dragonflies, win staring contests, the story is important to tell, and will be read, humbly God gifts us, and we each in our turn, not deserving or have earned, finding, sharing, enough to care, to give what you have, trusting, rusting away, from the inside out, rain drops pelt the ground from the sky make a sentence, fill a cup with a paragraph, throw myself to the ground, soak them up as i roll around, run inside and wring out every drop on pages scattered across the floor and watch for words to appear, that i will know what i am like, really like, so the lies i live will flee, to the shadows and leave me, so you will know that the one you love, is a writer of stories, a teller of tales, not a scribe but a scribbler, who places people and places, and colours and conflict, and lives and love and cups of coffee black. Thirty days hath November, have i the will to write fifty thousand and ninety-nine words, from my heart, from, my hands, to tell a story. Give God the glory, i will, in thanks.

69