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Poetic justice Jun 2020
Cutting myself away without a peep, I will no longer lay next to the guilty conscience of a mind that cannot sleep.
Poetic justice Jun 2020
She is a goddess, a warrior Worth more than her weight in gold She is a guardian, a nurturer With spirit young and soul of old She has words for all occasions Amd is wise beyond her years She has a heart as big as oceans Ind will always face her fears сме мал
Poetic justice Jun 2020
You can draw every drop of blood from my veins,
keep from me the air in which I need to breathe,
or burn my shell to charcoal remains.

Take every bit of life

that is left in me, but I'll forever live on deep within my written poetry.
Poetic justice Jun 2020
We are the adventurers & creators.

Stargazers and barefoot wanderers.

chocolate lovers and magic makers.

We are the ones they call mad.

We're the ones that came to shake this **** up.
Poetic justice Jun 2020
Seeking perfect rhythm in tune,

a poetic chorus of thoughts

begin singing,

just waiting to be written in

perfect harmony.

Words on paper, orchestrated for

the readers eyes to hear mentally,

they read the sounds of a poets

mind, silently listening ever so poetically.

Sights and sounds, never seen or heard, all created word
by
Word.
Poetic justice Jun 2020
IT'S NOT WHAT YOU SAY,

BUT HOW YOU SAY IT.

I'M SICK,

AND TIRED OF THIS ****

OF YOUR TEMPERAMENTAL HISSY FIT,

FILLED WITH IGNORANT

DRAMATIC SARCASTIC SPIT. !
Poetic justice Jun 2020
Yes, a writer's blood is red, but we also bleed in a multitude of other colors as well. Our blood oozes red, black, blue, and 50 shades of graphite.

And we all tend to our wounds differently.

Some mistakenly try to cleanse their wounds with alcohol.

(it only burns, and delays the healing process.)

Some try to protect their healing wounds by concealing them as they try to stop the bleeding and avoid infection.

And then there are the writers. We leave our wounds exposed allowing them to be aired out, and willingly risking any and all chances of infection.

Yes, writers, we expose our wounds to the world, but only in the hopes of helping those who cover their wounds to know that they are not suffering alone, and to try to heal ourselves in the process.

Yes, writers bleed openly non-stop; in multitudes of colors.
Poetic justice Jun 2020
"But what if you don't struggle with your darkness?

If you sit quietly and let it wrap itself around you for long enough

Maybe you'll get a glimpse of all the stars In your heart.
Poetic justice Jul 2020
All this hyped up glam and glitz
  giggly girls break down in fits
    these mascara clad boys devoid of wits
The shallower they go,  the deeper it gets

Sillouettes lacking inner angles and lines...
The substance goes absent when the light shines...
Plotless drama without direction, still winds
These tragically bad fads spread like vines

Overrun with Reality shows depicting what's REAL
  A mass zombie audience digesting their meal
Not In, but outside, this box they soften like veal
  Staring at a screen that numbs how they feel

When did the war on intelligence start?
  Losers not knowing that losing's not smart...
Cable providers gladly doing their part
  News channels selling half-truth ala carte

I will be a rebel and fight for your mind
Hiding remote-controls where they won't find
Trading entertainment for knowledge in kind
  Giving books out to the voluntarily blind


It's gonna be a BATTLE!!!  WHO'S COMING WITH  ME ?
Poetic justice Jun 2020
Look deep in the mirror And say: 'I LOVE YOU"

And immediately

An electric current will Ripple throughout your soul

And burst through your eyes..

Like shooting Stars

Dancing across the skies.

In ecstasy

Te tell your soul you love it.

Is like remembering

WHO YOU ARE

After being in a coma For a hundred years.

Your face will beam the light of a hundred galaxies.

— The End —